Stranded with a Spy (16 page)

M
allory stood at the window of the small pension. Moonlight washed over her. A cold, damp breeze blew in through the open panes. Hugging her arms for warmth, she filled her lungs with the sharp sea air.

Instead of following the itinerary Mallory had planned originally in such meticulous detail, she and Cutter had holed up in this tiny hotel carved out of the ancient walls. The pension wasn’t as grand as Yvette d’Marchand’s château or anywhere near as modern. Cutter had lugged their hastily packed bags up three flights of stairs, grumbling with every step over the lack of modern conveniences like elevators and man-sized showers. His good-natured complaints had died when he’d taken in the view from their balcony window, however.

Mallory drank it in now, her spirits soaring. Floodlights illuminated the tall spire topped by the gilded statue of St. Michael slaying his dragon. Below and beyond, the moon-washed waters of the Gulf of St. Malo stretched as far as she could see.

“The tide’s in,” Cutter commented.

“So it is.”

Padding across the bedroom on bare feet, he slid his arms around her waist. Her head drifted back against his shoulder.

They and the other inhabitants of St. Michel were completely cut off from the rest of the world. Just the way they wanted it.

“Wonder if any cars or buses washed away?” she mused.

“Probably.” A chuckle rumbled up from his chest. “With any luck, ours was one of them.”

Then he bent to nuzzle her neck and Mallory forgot the tide, forgot the view, forgot everything but the sizzle he ignited just under her skin. Alternating kisses with stinging little nips, he fanned the sparks to a five-alarm blaze.

“Have I mentioned that I love you?” he muttered between bites.

“Not in the last hour or so.”

“I do, you know.”

“I know. Same goes.” Twisting around in his arms, she kissed the underside of his chin. The tough, puckered skin tugged at her heart. “Mackenzie said I should ask you who ignited the explosion that caused these. I got the impression it was a woman.”

“It was.” His palms cupped her face. “She’s history, sweetheart, and not worth wasting this moonlight on.”

He was right. The present was too full, and the future held no room for shadows from the past. Taking his hand in hers, Mallory led him back to bed.