He felt her lips press a tiny kiss to his neck, then move up, to a hidden spot behind his ear. His body burst into shivers.
“Celine—” His voice wavered. “Unless you want us both to break our necks, I recommend you stop doing that.”
“Mmmm. But you smell so good when you don’t smoke.”
His foot faltered on the next step, but he managed to keep his balance even with Celine giggling under her breath and lifting her head to lick his cheek.
“You even taste good!”
Burning alive would have been less of a torment. Bastien tipped his head heavenward, uttering a silent curse, and it wasthen that he noticed the sky had started thundering. A drop of rain fell on his cheek.Merde.
“We better hurry.” He pushed his thoughts to the furthest crevice of his mind, picking up his pace. “It looks like it’s about to—”
A sharp sound split across the darkness overhead. Then the shower of April rains pelted them like hail.
“Great.”
• • •
An hour later and sopping wet, Bastien wasprayingthe door to the abandoned house would open soon. He had left Celine in the car—where the rain bucketed down on her—arms crossed and staring daggers at him, while he struggled to work the broken door handle. To his amazing luck tonight, the roof had been stuck when they had gotten to the car; so they had driven with nothing to cover them all the way to the Latin Quarter. But Bastien wasn’t dwelling on the fact that the new leather seats were soaking up the rain, or that the floor of his car was flooded, the water slowly spilling through the outlines of the doors. He felt drunk—drunker than Celine was—as if he was floating above Paris, seeing everything from an out-of-body perspective.
Driving in the rain had actually been a respite—cooling him to his bones.
The door finally gave way under a violent kick.
“Took you long enough,” Celine spat when he returned to the car. Her hair was sticking to her face, the finger waves drooping and the gel melting in the rain. Her cosmetics had pooled beneath her eyes, streaking her cheeks in twin, black smears. She looked like a wet cat. Still, Celine refused to budge.“Carry me, if you must,” she demanded, turning her nose up in the air.
Adorably drunk Celine was gone it seemed, replaced now by grumpy Celine.
The rain continued pouring on them.
Bastien narrowed his stare at her. His entire body was vibrating with tension, much like the clouds overhead. If he touched her again…
“Well?” Celine pressed.
With no other option, Bastien picked her up, closing the door to his car with his knee. He nearly slipped on the water that dripped on the floor as he swept up the stairs in the dark, all the way up to the attic, and set Celine down on the old divan. She jumped to her feet the second he released her, whining about the wretched state of her dress.
“Can’t you see I am dripping?”
Bastien squinted at her through the darkness. His own hair wasdrippingright into his eyes, he was himselfdrippingall over the place. His shoes squeaked, his shirt and pants were sticking uncomfortably to his skin, his car was still outside, looking like a sunken ship, and Celine had the audacity to complain about her dress. Bastien swiped his hair back in frustration.
Drunk Celine was a self-entitled brat.
“I’m sorry,” he snapped, “that my foresight failed me tonight and I didn’t bring an umbrella. You can just—” Bastien blinked, adjusting his eyesight. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Celine’s arms were bent backwards, to the thirty star-shaped buttons along her spine, as she flicked the first few open. “The dress is wet,” she slurred. “I need to take it off.”
“No.” Bastien rushed to take hold of her arms, even as one of her wrists, slick with rain, slipped his grasp.
“What’s wrong with you?” She whacked at him with her free hand. “Unhand me right now.”
“You are not getting undressed here.” Not in front of him at least. This night had already tested his self-restraint to its limits, Bastien couldn’t take a moment longer of her drunk teasing. He was sure Celine had no idea what she was doing. Had she been sober, there would be a glowing red hand print on the side of his cheek by now. “Remember? You hate me.”
“Well,” Celine said testily, “I hate this dress more at the moment. You can wait your turn.” And with that, she performed a sharp pivot, trying to get away from him, when her heel slipped on the water that had pooled on the floor.
Bastien reached out to hold her, but the patch of floor where he was standing was wet too. He teetered backwards onto the divan, hauling Celine along with him.
Oh, this night couldn’t get any worse.
