‘Do you miss Sydney?’ He’d turned his head to her and she could feel the faintest trace of his breath on her cheek.
They walked across the driveway towards the dim lights at the gatehouse. Jazz music and easy laughter flowed out the open windows and doors of the villa, floating across the grounds into the evening.
‘I miss my family, yes,’ she said, turning to him as she answered. ‘But Paris is where I need to be right now. For work. Although …’ She faltered.
More distant laughter.
He shook his head. ‘It’s easy to lose yourself in work. Too much. People speak of balance, but I have no idea what that looks like. I have only work, right now. So many cases.’
‘I’m going to Saint-Cloud on Monday.’
‘Charlie, I’m not sure that’s a good idea. I promise I’ll keep you informed.’
‘Like you did with the Auclair murder? You told me that the following day. Anyone could have run that story before me.’
‘They didn’t. I wanted to put together something … substantial. I hate unresolved cases as much as you. Unlinked clues.’ Heshook his head again as they crunched across the deep gravel lining the driveway.
The last time Charlie had been here had ended so badly, but tonight, the moon was bright and clear and the sky spread low. A new party and the grand Villa Trianon absorbed all the old stories and dazzled with new ones.
They reached the door of the gatehouse and Detective Allard turned to face her.
‘Charlie, there’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you. I’m not exactly sure what tonight was?’ He gave her an awkward smile. ‘But I would like to have a meal with you. One where the main topics are not nine-millimetre weapons, leaves on dead men’s shoes and piecing together homicide clues.’
Charlie took his jacket from her shoulders and handed it to him in silence, taking care not to touch his hands. The air between them felt electric. Dangerous. She needed to bid him farewell and go to sleep with a cup of tea, as tomorrow would be a big day.
As though anxious to fill the silence, Allard said, ‘I wouldn’t have said anything, but then you asked me here tonight and so I thought …’ He kicked a stone with the toe of his shoe and it bounced along the gravel. Charlie watched it disappear into the darkness.
Allard took a step closer. ‘Are you okay? Was it unprofessional of me to ask that?’ His brow was furrowed and he ran his fingers through his curls in his now-familiar gesture of frustration. ‘I can’tquite believe it—a beautiful, smart reporter turns up in the forest and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her since.’
Charlie shivered and studied her feet. She wanted to reach out and touch his curls, press her cheek to his chest, but what would come of it? She had murders to write about, the ones he needed to solve. Neither of them needed this distraction. In fact, a liaison between an investigative reporter and her police source would be enough for George to question her professionalism.
If he found out.
She lifted her head and they stared at each other. The cool air was thick with possibility, their words swimming between them. There was no retracting them. Somewhere in the distance, a swan hissed and a taxi horn tooted as tipsy guests shouted their farewells.
‘I’d better go inside,’ said Charlie as she brushed past Allard and opened her front door.
He stepped up to the doorframe, shoulders almost touching the sides, and stretched a hand out to stroke her cheek. ‘Bonne nuit,’ he whispered as he took another step closer, asking a question with his eyes.
Charlie blinked and nodded as he ran his hand along the line of her neck and traced the seam of her dress down the side of her bust until it rested at the gathers on her hips.
She pulled him inside and leaned back against the wall. Their mouths drew close. He tasted of champagne and salt. They pulledapart and studied one another, each searching the other’s face for clarity before they kissed again, this time hungrier, deeper. She traced her tongue on his and heard him groan as he pressed his hips into hers. She was pressed against the wall now and he started to run his lips down her cheek, then onto her bare neck and shoulder.
Charlie grabbed his curls, tugging his head down greedily for more. He picked her up and carried her to the large sofa in the sitting room, where he lay her down gently as he started on her zip. Charlie could feel his fingers following the zip along her skin, peeling at her underwear. Pulling and tugging in a frenzy to remove all her clothes.
She kicked off her heels and wiggled out of the dress as his mouth found her breast and he bit down playfully. Charlie sighed as his body juddered and stiffened against hers and he let out another groan. Charlie kissed his cheek and bit his lip as her fingers fumbled at his bow tie, shirt buttons, belt, then pants, tugging them all off to reveal a hardened body.
It was her turn to gasp as she looked at his defined chest and arms. He bent again to lick and bite her breasts. His hands moved to her hips and she grabbed his buttocks, desperate for him to be close. To be inside her.
She kissed his neck and felt his ribs press against her own, then his groin as they started rocking together. She sighed, knowing a line had been crossed and she didn’t care. Not in this moment.For months, so much had gone nowhere. Gone wrong. But in this little gatehouse tucked away from the world, everything felt like magic.
Chapter 22
RUE VÉRON, PARIS
It was the morning after Violet and Aleksandr’s soiree at Lady Ashworth’s villa. The morning following Charlie’s magical night with Allard. Her skin still thrummed with the memory of his body against hers. Before they departed the gatehouse, after dressing quickly, awkward kisses on cheeks were exchanged and they bandied about words like ‘unprofessional’ and ‘busy’, making no suggestion that they would see one another again except in a detective–reporter capacity.
Charlie’s work had to be her priority. Whatever this was with Allard, it needed to stop at one night.