Once in Paris

“She has black hair,” Brianne recalled. “And she always wears a long sweater, however hot it is,” she added with a chuckle.

“Oui,” Henri said, shaking his head. “The enfant is always cold. Here, let me help you, mademoiselle,” he said, and assisted them to the elevator.

Henri helped them into the elevator, which was fortunately empty except for the operator, and instructed the man in rapid French to get Monsieur Hutton into his apartment.

“He will assist you,” he assured Brianne. “And we will take excellent care of monsieur,” he added gently.

She grinned at him. “Then I won’t worry.”

He nodded, thinking what a kind young woman she seemed. And such glorious blond hair!

She rode up in the elevator with Pierce and the operator, who helped her get him to the apartment, which she unlocked with his key. They maneuvered him into the huge bedroom, done in a black-and-white color scheme that seemed to suit him. The bed was king-size, with four posts that rose like slender wraiths toward the ceiling. They lowered him onto it, and he opened his eyes as he stretched on the black coverlet.

“I feel odd,” he murmured.

“I don’t doubt it,” Brianne mused, thanking the elevator operator, who smiled at her and closed the door behind him.

Pierce’s black eyes searched over Brianne’s flushed face. “Feel like helping me undress?” he asked.

She colored even more. “Well…”

“There’s a first time for everything,” he reminded her.

She hesitated. He wasn’t in any condition to do it himself. He was very drunk. Probably he wouldn’t remember what she looked like in the morning.

She untied his shoes and pulled them off, and his socks with them. He had nice feet. They were long and elegant, and very big. She smiled as she walked around the bed and eased him up into a sitting position. She took off the jacket and then unbuttoned the shirt. He smelled of expensive soap and cologne, and under that shirt was a broad, dark-skinned chest with thick black hair covering it. She touched it accidentally and her hand tingled.

“Margo was a virgin,” he said softly. “I had to coax her out of her clothes, and even though she loved me desperately, she fought me at first, because I had to hurt her.” He touched Brianne’s red face gently. “I don’t suppose there are any virgins left these days. Margo and I were always the odd ones out. Very traditional. I didn’t make love to her until we were married.”

“Can you move your arm…? Yes, that’s fine.” She didn’t want to hear this, but she was a captive audience. She pulled the shirt off and had to fight not to admire the tanned, muscular arms and chest. He didn’t look like a man who spent a lot of time behind a desk.

“You’re only nineteen,” he said on a rough breath. “If you were older, I think I could make love to you. You’re very pretty, little one. Your hair excites me. It’s so long, and there’s so much of it.” He took it in both hands and closed his fingers. “Sexy hair.”

“Yours is nice, too,” she said for the sake of conversation. “Now, I don’t think I can…” she added, her hands hesitating at his belt.

“Of course you can,” he said quietly. He coaxed her hands to the belt and held them there, helping her, his eyes on her face as she fumbled the buckle loose. He guided her to the fastenings and then deliberately placed her hands under both waistbands. “Now, pull,” he coaxed. And he arched his back to help her.

A hundred shocked, outraged, delighted thoughts flooded her mind as the clothing came away from that lithe, powerful body. He was nothing like the painting in the Louvre. He was beautifully made, a work of art in himself, with not a white streak or a bulge or a hint of fat anywhere. Fine hair shaded the most intimate part of him, and she hesitated with the slacks around his knees, with her heart beating her to death as she stared helplessly at where he was most a man.

It was a good thing, he thought dimly, that he was drunk, because her rapt expression would have triggered a raging arousal any other time. As it happened, he was too relaxed to feel desire at all, and for her sake, he was glad. She found him intimidating even in relaxation. He permitted himself a small upturn of the lips as he considered her expression if she saw him in full arousal.

That, of course, would never happen. Margo was dead. He was dead, inside and out. The brief amused light in his eyes went out. He lay back on the pillows with a long sigh.

“Why do people have to die?” he asked wearily. “Why can’t they go on forever?”

She broke out of her trance and finished stripping him, before she tugged the coverlet over his hips to spare herself any more embarrassment.

“I wish I knew,” she confided. She sat down beside him on the bed. Her hand went to rest on his where it spread over his chest. “Try to get some sleep now. It’s the best thing for you.”

His eyes opened, searching, haunted. “She was only thirty-five,” he said. “That’s no age at all these days.”

“I know.”

His hand turned and caught hers, smoothing it palm down into the thick hair that covered him. “White knights come in both sexes, it seems,” he mused drowsily. “Where’s your armor and lance, fair Joan?”

“In my pocket. Want to see?”

He smiled. “You’re good for me. You chase the clouds away.” He studied her. “But I’m bad for you. A very bad influence.”

“It was only a sip of whiskey,” she reminded him.

“And a striptease,” he added blithely. “I’m sorry about that. If I’d been more sober, I wouldn’t have put you in such an embarrassing situation.”

“Oh, it wasn’t so bad. I’d seen that painting in the Louvre, among others, after all.” She cleared her throat. “He really was, uh, stunted, wasn’t he?”

He chuckled with pure delight.

“Sorry.” She pulled her hand away and got to her feet. “Can I bring you anything before I go?”

He shook his head. It was already beginning to hurt, despite the stupor. “I’ll be all right now. You’d better get back to school. Did you get in trouble for cutting that class?”

She chuckled. “Not a bit. I’ll finish next month.”

“Then where do you go?”

She looked forlorn for an instant before she disguised it. “Oh, back to Nassau, I guess, for the summer. But next fall, it’s university, whatever they say, even if I have to pay for it myself. I’m already a year behind the class I should be in. I’m not waiting any longer.”

“I’ll pay for it if they won’t,” he said, surprisingly. “You can pay me back when you have your degree.”

“You would…do that for a total stranger?”

He frowned slightly. “Total stranger?” he asked pointedly. “When you’ve seen me totally nude?”

She couldn’t manage a response.

“Which is something of an accomplishment, let me tell you. Until now, Margo was the only woman who ever saw me like that.” His eyes became dull again. He winced.

She put her fingers against his cheek in a comforting gesture. “I envy her,” she said genuinely. “It must have meant everything to her, to be loved like that.”

“It was mutual,” he managed to say through his teeth.

“Yes, I know.” She drew her hand away with a little sigh. “I’m sorry I can’t stop it from hurting so much.”

“You can’t imagine how much you’ve helped,” he replied solemnly. “The day I was in the Louvre I was looking for a way to get to her, did you know?”

She shook her head. “I only knew that you seemed totally alone and despondent.”

“I was. You eased the pain. Today, it came back, and you were there.” He searched her pale eyes. “I won’t forget that you pulled me back from the edge. Whatever you need, I’ll be around. I have a house of my own in Nassau, not too far from Brauer’s. When things get too hot, you can always come visiting.”