black.
And that she was intensely, insanely, attracted to him.
After supper, he offered to drive them back to the Ritz.
Jordan sat in the back seat, Beryl in the front—right next to Richard. She kept glancing sideways at him as they drove up Boulevard Saint-Germain toward the Seine.
Even the traffic, outrageously rude and noisy, did not seem to ruffle him. At a stoplight, he turned and looked at her and that one glimpse of his face through the darkness of the car was enough to make her heart do a somersault.
Calmly he shifted his attention back to the road. “It’s still early,” he said. “Are you sure you want to go back to the hotel?”
“What’s my choice?”
“A drive. A walk. Whatever you’d like. After all, you’re in Paris. Why not make the most of it?” He reached down to shift gears, and his hand brushed past her knee. A shiver ran through her—a warm, delicious sizzle of anticipation.
He’s tempting me. Making me dizzy with all the possibilities. Or is it the wine? What harm can there be in a little stroll, a little fresh air?
She called over her shoulder, “How about it, Jordie?
Do you feel like taking a walk?” She was answered by a loud snore.
66
Tess Gerritsen
Beryl turned and saw to her astonishment that her brother was sprawled across the back seat. A sleepless night and two glasses of wine at supper had left him dead to the world. “I guess that’s a negative,” she said with a laugh.
“What about just you and me?”
That invitation, voiced so softly, sent another shiver of temptation up her spine. After all, she thought, she was in Paris….
“A short walk,” she agreed. “But first, let’s put Jordan to bed.”
“Valet service coming up,” Richard said, laughing.
“First stop, the Ritz.”
Jordan snored all the way back to the hotel.
They walked in the Tuileries, a stroll that took them along a gravel path through formal gardens, past statues glowing a ghostly white under the street lamps.
“And here we are again,” said Richard, “walking through another garden. Now if only we could find a maze with a nice little stone bench at the center.”
“Why?” she asked with a smile. “Are you hoping for a repeat scenario?”
“With a slightly different ending. You know, after you left me in there, it took me a good five minutes to find my way out.”
“I know.” She laughed. “I was waiting at the door, counting the minutes. Five minutes wasn’t bad, really. But other men have done better.”
“So that’s how you screen your men. You’re the cheese in the maze—”
“And you were the rat.”
In Their Footsteps
67
They both laughed then, and the sound of their voices floated through the night air.
“And my performance was only…adequate?” he said.
“Average.”
He moved toward her, his smile gleaming in the shadows. “Better than adquate?”
“For you, I’ll make allowances. After all, it was dark….”
“Yes, it was.” He moved closer, so close she had to tilt her head up to look at him. So close she could almost feel the heat radiating from his body. “Very dark,” he whispered.
“And perhaps you were disoriented?”
“Extremely.”
“And it was a nasty trick I played….”
“For which you should be soundly punished.” He reached over and took her face in his hands. The taste of his lips on hers sent a shudder of pleasure through her body. If this is my punishment, she thought, oh, let me commit the crime again…. His fingers slid through her hair, tangling in the strands as his kiss pressed ever deeper.
She felt her legs wobble and melt away, but she had no need of them; he was there to support them both. She heard his murmur of need and knew that these kisses were dangerous, that he, too, was fast slipping toward the same cliff’s edge. She didn’t care—she was ready to make the leap.
And then, without warning, he froze.
One moment he was kissing her, and an instant later his hands went rigid against
And that she was intensely, insanely, attracted to him.
After supper, he offered to drive them back to the Ritz.
Jordan sat in the back seat, Beryl in the front—right next to Richard. She kept glancing sideways at him as they drove up Boulevard Saint-Germain toward the Seine.
Even the traffic, outrageously rude and noisy, did not seem to ruffle him. At a stoplight, he turned and looked at her and that one glimpse of his face through the darkness of the car was enough to make her heart do a somersault.
Calmly he shifted his attention back to the road. “It’s still early,” he said. “Are you sure you want to go back to the hotel?”
“What’s my choice?”
“A drive. A walk. Whatever you’d like. After all, you’re in Paris. Why not make the most of it?” He reached down to shift gears, and his hand brushed past her knee. A shiver ran through her—a warm, delicious sizzle of anticipation.
He’s tempting me. Making me dizzy with all the possibilities. Or is it the wine? What harm can there be in a little stroll, a little fresh air?
She called over her shoulder, “How about it, Jordie?
Do you feel like taking a walk?” She was answered by a loud snore.
66
Tess Gerritsen
Beryl turned and saw to her astonishment that her brother was sprawled across the back seat. A sleepless night and two glasses of wine at supper had left him dead to the world. “I guess that’s a negative,” she said with a laugh.
“What about just you and me?”
That invitation, voiced so softly, sent another shiver of temptation up her spine. After all, she thought, she was in Paris….
“A short walk,” she agreed. “But first, let’s put Jordan to bed.”
“Valet service coming up,” Richard said, laughing.
“First stop, the Ritz.”
Jordan snored all the way back to the hotel.
They walked in the Tuileries, a stroll that took them along a gravel path through formal gardens, past statues glowing a ghostly white under the street lamps.
“And here we are again,” said Richard, “walking through another garden. Now if only we could find a maze with a nice little stone bench at the center.”
“Why?” she asked with a smile. “Are you hoping for a repeat scenario?”
“With a slightly different ending. You know, after you left me in there, it took me a good five minutes to find my way out.”
“I know.” She laughed. “I was waiting at the door, counting the minutes. Five minutes wasn’t bad, really. But other men have done better.”
“So that’s how you screen your men. You’re the cheese in the maze—”
“And you were the rat.”
In Their Footsteps
67
They both laughed then, and the sound of their voices floated through the night air.
“And my performance was only…adequate?” he said.
“Average.”
He moved toward her, his smile gleaming in the shadows. “Better than adquate?”
“For you, I’ll make allowances. After all, it was dark….”
“Yes, it was.” He moved closer, so close she had to tilt her head up to look at him. So close she could almost feel the heat radiating from his body. “Very dark,” he whispered.
“And perhaps you were disoriented?”
“Extremely.”
“And it was a nasty trick I played….”
“For which you should be soundly punished.” He reached over and took her face in his hands. The taste of his lips on hers sent a shudder of pleasure through her body. If this is my punishment, she thought, oh, let me commit the crime again…. His fingers slid through her hair, tangling in the strands as his kiss pressed ever deeper.
She felt her legs wobble and melt away, but she had no need of them; he was there to support them both. She heard his murmur of need and knew that these kisses were dangerous, that he, too, was fast slipping toward the same cliff’s edge. She didn’t care—she was ready to make the leap.
And then, without warning, he froze.
One moment he was kissing her, and an instant later his hands went rigid against
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