“Why didn’t you come to find me?” After they’d parted, she’d prayed every night that Christian would realize he’d made a mistake and come after her.
“I thought I was doing the best thing for you by letting you go. I wanted to spare you the sort of experience you had tonight. My world is full of danger.”
Tricia closed her eyes and pressed her cheek against his, felt his lips brush her neck. She breathed in the uniquely French fragrance of the sun and rich earth tinged with ripening fruit that clung to him like a memory of perfect happiness.
“What shall I do, Christian? Returning to the Institute is out of the question now.”
“Come to France with me, mon amour. We’ve been apart too long.”
She sucked in a breath, revelling in his fragrance, while images of Chateau Montgatine, the vineyards and gardens flickered through her mind. She would have Christian and a beautiful place to live. But how would she feel in twenty years when she was sixty and looking her age? How would Christian treat her then?
“I’m not sure,” she whispered, not wanting to voice her concern because she knew he’d just brush it aside.
“Let us talk of this tomorrow when you’re rested,” he said softly against her ear, his fingers stroking tantalizing circles on her neck and shoulder. “Sleep now.”
The feel of Christian’s arms around her gave her the security to relax. Time drifted and she was nearly asleep when he tensed beside her. The warmth of his body withdrew. She blinked and pushed up on her elbow to squint into the darkness.
In the moonlight, he stood like a statue staring at the door. “Do you smell that?”
Tricia rubbed her eyes, disoriented. Then the bitter tang of smoke reached her nose and the fuzziness of sleep fell away.
“What the hell?” She jumped out of bed and raced towards the bedroom door. Christian grabbed her arm and pulled her to a halt. “My bag is downstairs with my credit cards and driver’s licence.”
“They’re replaceable. You’re not.”
Smoke trickled in under the door and rose in a grey wispy curtain like a ghost. Tricia pressed a hand over her nose and stumbled back, the taste of burning plastic on her tongue. Christian strode to the window, unlatched it and peered out.
Tricia pressed up beside him, flutters of terror in her chest when she felt the heat rising outside. Flames licked out of the downstairs windows.
“Merde! We’re trapped.”
“Surely you can’t burn?” Tricia asked through the sweater she’d pressed over her nose.
“You can.” His jaw clenched. “There’s only one way out. Dress warmly.”
“Why.”
“Just do as I ask. Quickly.” The urgency in his voice stimulated her into action.
She yanked on her old sweat pants and jersey, then turned to him.
“Socks, shoes, gloves, hat,” he barked.
She frowned to herself but rooted through her drawers to find what she needed. The smoke had thickened, stinging her eyes and making her cough. Christian guided her to the window so she could breathe cleaner air. He pushed yet another sweater over her head, dressing her as though she was a child. Maybe he thought all the clothes would cushion her landing when she jumped out.
“Stand back.” He raised a foot and kicked out the window frame, sending wood and chunks of masonry crashing to the ground.
Tricia had wound a scarf around her face to filter the air and shield her eyes. As she squinted through the weave, Christian’s black jacket seemed to melt away and something bright and glittering took its place. He reached for her, but she stumbled back in confusion, bumped into the nightstand, and sent the lamp crashing to the floor. Strong hands gripped her, pulled her to the window. She coughed, her chest aching as she struggled for breath.
Christian dragged her against his body. His torso was covered in something hard and shiny and her gloved fingers rubbed over a pattern on his chest. He stepped out of the window. Tricia braced to fall. Instead, the smoke disappeared, and the city lights faded to be replaced by stygian darkness.
Cold scraped razor sharp across the small areas of exposed skin around her eyes and neck, drove icy needles into the marrow of her bones. She shivered, her teeth chattering so hard her jaws cramped. Her skull ached as though in a vise. Her eyes froze shut; her breath jolted in short painful snatches of arctic air. She tried to press tighter against Christian, but she couldn’t reach his heat. His arms held her close, but his body was as hard and cold as ice.
A scream echoed in her head but only a pitiful whimper passed between her chilled lips.
Just when she couldn’t stand the pain any longer, the air expanded around her. Her feet touched ground and the warm scent of night in the Loire Valley trickled into her nose.
Her legs folded beneath her, but Christian’s arms were suddenly warm and strong. He caught her up and laid her on a bed before bundling covers around her. “You’ll be all right, mon amour. You’ll be all right.”
She heard a door open and Christian shouted. “Remy, we need cognac.”
Tricia’s body trembled with cold but at last she managed to crack open her eyes. All she could make out were blurred colours. The rushing sound of water blended with the thud of footsteps. A knock on the door. “Chris, mon ami? You are hurt?” Monsieur Benoit’s voice.
“I had to bring Tricia through the ether. We need to warm her quickly.”
She huddled in a shivering bundle beneath the bed covers. When she tried to speak her lips cracked and she tasted blood.
“Shh, Tricia. Shh.” The bed dipped at her side and a glass pressed to her lips. A burning trail of brandy ran down her throat, until she had fire in her belly and a spinning head.
She managed to open her eyes enough to see him bend over her to pull off her shoes and socks. Then her sweat pants disappeared.
“What. .?” she whispered.
“Warm water, my little butterfly. That will do the trick.”
He peeled off her gloves, then pulled the two sweaters over her head, leaving her naked. He scooped her into his arms and swept through to the bathroom. Tricia hadn’t heard Monsieur Benoit leave, but the bath was full and the butler nowhere in sight.
Christian lowered her into the oversized tub of bubbly warm water. Her eyelids fell. A sigh of relief hissed over her lips as the gentle heat chased away the last of the chill.
“You didn’t suffer frostbite, thank goodness.” At Christian’s words, she opened her eyes to see him step into the tub with her. He’d stripped to the waist, keeping on his black trousers.
He settled at her side and gently rubbed her arm. “Are you feeling better?”
“Much.” Her head lolled back and her eyelids drifted down. She had dreamed of such a scenario. Suffering the painful cold might be a price worth paying to feel his hands on her body. He massaged up her arm, then shifted to her other side.
Languid heat coursed through her veins and spread across her skin. Her breasts became heavy, her nipples tight and tingly. She knew exactly where she wanted him to massage next.
He leaned his back against the side of the round tub and lifted Tricia to sit between his legs, her back pressed against his chest. He worked his fingers over her neck and shoulders. Her head flopped forward. The chill long forgotten, she lost herself in the wonderful sensation of Christian’s hands massaging her muscles. “Pure bliss,” she whispered in a husky undertone.
The regular movement of his fingers paused, then continued more gently. “Are you recovered, mon adorée?”