“It’s in your head now. You won’t be able to think of them as anything else.” I winked in the smart-assed way I knew got under Will’s skin. He just rolled his eyes and looked out the window, returning to his contemplation.
A moment later, he asked, “You think she’ll come?”
“I think she’s smart enough to know we’re right.” I lowered myself into a chair at the table, my shoulder protesting the movement. “And I don’t think she came all the way to Switzerland just to watch from the sidelines.”
“She still might want to meet first. Feel us out.”
“Then we check the locker in the morning and go from there.” I shrugged, immediately regretting the motion and pain speared through my shoulder. “Either way, we’ll know by tomorrow.”
Will turned back toward me, his arms crossing. “I don’t like exposing this location. If something goes wrong—”
“Then we’re burned. The Opel at the hotel proves they’re watching. Staying hidden isn’t working.” I met his eyes. “Sometimes we have to take a risk to get somewhere.”
He didn’t argue, though I saw caution warring with a dozen other thoughts in his eyes.
We sat there in silence as the night deepened around us. Outside, the wind whistled through trees, and a light snow began to fall.
Three days until the 14th.
27
Will
Icouldn’t sleep. My mind kept drifting back to Paris, painting images of Thomas and me on our balcony or sipping coffee at our little café or making dinner in our flat. The sight of our simple, beautiful life made something well up inside my chest.
Thomas lay beside me. I rolled onto my side and watched him breathe.
“You’re creepy when you stare, you know that, right?” he mumbled without opening his eyes.
I grunted a chuckle as my hand reached up from the covers and stroked his hair. “I can’t help that I love watching you.”
His eyes fluttered open, and his head turned toward me. The ghost of a smile curled the corners of his lips.
“You getting mushy on me, Shaw?”
I raised a brow. “Have I ever not been mushy?”
“Fair point.”
“I really want to kiss you.”
He smiled, this time so full the skin around his eyes crinkled. “What’s stopping you?”
“The Baroness is right next—”
“If memory serves, the Baroness has heard us do a lot more than kiss.”
He had a point, so I leaned across and pressed my lips to his. Despite winter’s chill and everything we’d been through, they were soft and gentle.
Until his tongue got involved, and my heart began to race.
His hand surfaced, cupping my cheek, then finding the back of my neck to pull me further into him. I scooted toward him, and our naked bodies brushed. He was already stiff and throbbing. I could feel him as his erection pressed against my stomach. A thrill tickled my skin as my own hardness pulsed.
“Someone’s happy to see me,” he breathed between kisses.
I tried to come up with a sharp retort, but his tongue grazed mine, and I lost the ability to think or speak or do anything but kiss my infuriating, frustrating, beautifully wonderful man.
“Careful,” he said, wincing as I rolled to climb on top of him.
