Her face fell and she looked down.
“I’m sorry to hear that—they were a nice couple.”
I nodded but didn’t reply.
“What about that funny little friend of yours—Fido? What was his real name … um … Alfred? Albert? Arnold! What happened to him?”
God, these memories didn’t get any easier. Catching up really sucked.
“He enlisted just before me: the Rakkasans, 187th Infantry. He died eight years ago in Iraq—IED. Poor bastard never stood a chance. He didn’t even make it to twenty.”
Caro’s hands flew to her mouth and she looked distressed.
“Oh no, I’m so sorry!”
We finished our coffees in silence, each of us lost in the past. I really needed to get out of here; if I kept moving, maybe the memories couldn’t catch me. Yeah, right.
“Ready to head for Chamonix?” I asked, pretty fucking anxious to get going.
Caro smiled, her eyes softening, making me feel things I wasn’t ready to feel. I had to look away.
“Yes, ready as I’ll ever be. Actually though, it’s more comfortable riding on that machine than I thought it would be. I just wish I’d worn something warmer.”
“Put your hands in my pockets this time,” I suggested. “That will help. And there’s a shop in Chamonix where we can get you some good gloves.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“I can buy you some fucking gloves, Caro!” I said, my voice unnecessarily gruff.
“Fine!” she said briskly. “Although I have no idea what ‘fucking gloves’ are: made of latex, I suppose!”
I couldn’t help laughing loudly. “God, I love you, Caro!”
Oh fuck!
Did I really say that?
The startled look on her face told me that I did.
“Slip of the tongue,” I mumbled.
We crossed into France at Saint Gingolph. The border guard was an asshole and held us up longer than necessary when he realized we were American. I don’t think it helped that the occupation on my passport said ‘US Marine’. He wanted to show that he was one tough mofo by making us wait. I ran into his kind all the time—guys who thought they’d look like a big man if they took on a Marine. Let’s just say I’d be the one who was still standing at the end.
Eventually the dickwad let us through, and soon we were passing winding roads that threaded their way up into the Alps.
“This road leads to Italy,” I yelled over my shoulder. “How about a quick trip across the border?”
“Two countries in one day is enough!” Caro shouted back.
I hadn’t been serious, but now the thought had snuck into my brain, I really liked that idea. Caro, me, my bike, and the open road to Italy. Yeah, I really liked that idea.
Chamonix soon appeared out of the low mist that had settled in the valley. If I’d been in Afghanistan, I would be reaching for my weapon, on the lookout for an ambush, but all I could see here were picture-postcard chalets and fat, placid cows grazing on the lush grass.
To my left was the looming presence of Mont Blanc, thick snow capping the summit. Great snowboarding country.
But the town was almost deserted at this time of year: the winter skiers and snow-bunnies long gone, the summer tourists not yet arrived. That was fine by me.
I pulled up outside a shop that sold ski equipment. It wouldn’t be as good as a bike shop, but at least Caro wouldn’t be cold on the ride back.
“We’ll get you some ski gloves to wear,” I said, as I climbed off the bike. “Best I can do for now.”
The sales assistant stayed close as she followed us around the shop. It was slightly unnerving and I wondered if I’d ever fucked her. But she was smiling at me, so either I’d played nice in the morning—which seemed unlikely—or she was looking for a hookup.
Caro was quiet and I wondered what she was thinking. I picked up the first pair of gloves that I guessed were about the right size.
“How about these?”
“Ninety Euros!” she gasped. “Are you kidding me? That’s $115! For a pair of gloves!”
“Just try the damn things on, Caro,” I growled, irritated that she wouldn’t let me buy her something. When I was 17, I’d have given her the stars if I could, but I’d had no money. I had plenty now. All I’d ever spent my pay on was booze and bikes.
“No. That’s ridiculous,” she insisted, folding her arms across her chest, not realizing that pushed her tits together in a way that had my dick sitting up and paying attention. “There must be something cheaper.”
“If you don’t try them on, I’ll just buy them anyway,” I threatened.
“No! It’s a waste of money.”
I turned to the sales assistant and handed them over. “D’accord. Je les prends.”
“Wait! Attendez!” Caro yelped.
She snatched them back and pulled them on over her hands. They fit perfectly. The look of annoyance on her face had me grinning.
“You argue too much, Caro.”
“I can’t imagine why,” she said dryly, a smile creeping onto her lips, even as she tried to hide it.
“Should we find somewhere to have lunch?” I suggested.
Her eyes snapped to mine.
“What, you’re actually asking me, Hunter? As in, seeking my opinion?”
I winked at her. “Sure!”
“In that case, yes; but only if I treat you—non negotiable.”
“I love it when you tell me what to do, Caro,” I teased her. “Brings back memories.”
She blushed. It was a good look on her. And she knew exactly what I was talking about. Other than Italian, the one thing she’d taught me was how to give her great orgasms. I’d paid attention.
I couldn’t help smiling at the chagrined expression on her face. Yep, her mind had gone straight to the gutter—just like mine.
I wrapped my arm around her shoulders, automatically pulling her into a hug. I couldn’t help dropping a soft kiss onto her hair, as well.
“Just teasing you, Caro.”
She shuffled away from me, and I let her go reluctantly. Damn, she was cute when she was embarrassed.
“Do you want to try fondue?” I asked, still trying not to laugh.
“Fine,” she muttered.
Fucking adorable.
At a small bistro, we both ordered the cheese fondue and were given a basket full of different rolls: foccacia, olive breads, breadsticks; and a fondue made up of mozzarella, dolcelatte and parmesan. It was the perfect lunchtime fuel, especially on a cold day in the Spring.
“Mmm, this is good,” Caro mumbled over a mouthful of olive bread. “Have you been here before?”
“A couple of times.”
“Ever bring your women here?”
I didn’t want to answer that. “You make it sound like I had a fucking parade of them,” I complained, hoping to avoid the issue.
“Didn’t you?”
My temper, always so near the surface when she was around, broke through.
“What do you want me to say, Caro? I fucked everything I could get my hands on when I realized you weren’t coming back. It was years before I trusted a woman enough to be able to make love to her, and even then...”
I stopped, not wanting to see that look of hurt on her face again.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured, her eyes downcast. “I didn’t mean … it’s none of my business, Sebastian. I apologize.”
I took a deep breath, tamping down the anger and resentment, afraid of what I’d say if I didn’t keep a hold of it.
“I’m sorry, too. I didn’t mean to yell at you.”
We ate in silence for several minutes, although my appetite was officially shot.
“How long have you had the motorcycle?” she asked, obviously trying for neutral territory.
I blew out a breath, relieving some of the tension, and leaned back in my chair.
“This one, about two years. But I’ve had one on and off since I was 19. Bought my first bike as a birthday present to myself. It’s still in Ches’s garage.”
“Really? Well, there’s another reason for his wife to think you’re leading Ches astray. Or is he the responsible father-type now?”