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I turned in his arms, surprised. "I didn't take you for a Dumas fan."
Brandon shrugged. "I always liked the Count of Monte Cristo," he said. "It's a pretty kick-ass story. Guy gets mistakenly locked in a prison for twenty years, comes back, makes his fortune, and sticks it to his enemies before he takes off with the girl." He grinned at me. "Doesn't sound too bad."
The obvious parallels between his life and the count's sent ripples down my spine.
"Is that what you're doing?" I asked as I placed my palms flat over his broad chest. "Are you the Count?"
Brandon snorted. "Hardly. I'm not much for vengeance, Red. You know that."
I traced the line of his jaw. "I'm glad."
It wasn't a characteristic I liked. Vengeance had nearly cost my dad his life. I was more interested in peace.
"How about this one?" Brandon asked quietly as his hand came up to thread through my hair. "'Woman is sacred; the woman one loves is holy'."
"That's very parochial of you," I joked, although the words and his tone made my entire body hum.
"Lapsed Catholic," he rejoined with a shy smile.
Brandon's thumbs stroke the edges of my cheekbones as he looked down at me, dark blue eyes shining with love. I couldn't have looked away even if I wanted to.
"I've never been a religious man, Red," he said, his voice suddenly hoarse and low. "When I'm with you...I find myself praying a whole lot more than I ever did."
"Oh? Not for help, I hope."
Brandon shook his head shyly. "No. I'm too busy thanking Him for making me the luckiest bastard in the world."
His words took mine away. I wanted to tell him that his touch seared my skin and made my cells tingle, that his face was at the center of my heart. That being with him made the world make sense and turn upside down all at once.
But instead I pulled him down to me for a kiss that would say what I couldn't quite put into words. That I felt that same magical connection, one that was so much more than love. One small word couldn't begin to cover it.
Brandon's hands drifted down my waist and pulled me tight to him, the romance of the moment quickly morphing into something much more animal. I pressed back, eager for the feel of his growing arousal. He leaned in for another kiss, but we were interrupted by a loud growl of his stomach.
I broke away, laughing, and he gave a sheepish smile.
"I really want to have you for dinner, Red," he said with a chuckle. "But I think I might fall over first."
My own stomach grumbled back, and we both laughed again. It had been a long time since breakfast. Brandon took my hand and kissed my palm, eyes shining with the heat of a promise for more, later.
"Come on, gorgeous," he said. "Let's find some real food first. Then we can take care of that other craving."
~
"I suppose I should tell you about our plans for the trip," he said after we sat down at a busy restaurant just a few blocks away.
Mark Grove had happily provided a list of recommendations for Marseille, and this bistro, with its casual al fresco patio that looked out over the Old Harbor and the pink lights of the city, topped it. While in Boston most of the restaurants would be clearing out their tables by now, ten o'clock in France was right in the middle of prime dining time.
I perused the menu and took a sip of my water. "I thought you said that the plan was that we had no plan."
Brandon tossed his head from side to side. "Well, sort of. We have options. Marseille is really central. I was thinking about going down the Italian coast or spending a few days in Spain, if you want. Or we could just stay in the bedroom too."
He leered across the table, and I took another, longer sip of water, ignoring the blush that mottled my skin. Brandon just laughed.
The waiter arrived with our bottle of wine and took our orders. I had let Brandon choose for me again, not because I couldn't read the menu, but because it was becoming a regular game between us to see if we could guess the other's preferences.
Brandon was easy: although he was usually game to try anything, he tended to prefer simpler foods. Tonight, for instance, he went with the catch of the day and a side of stewed beans and vegetables. I, on the other hand, almost invariably wanted seafood when it was available, and usually went with either the chef's special or whatever was a bit strange on the menu.
"I'm going to guess the supions avec artichauts," Brandon said in his slightly clunky French. He glanced at me. "Did I get it right? I figured you'd go for anything with tentacles in it."
