Lucky Break by Deborah Coonts

your friend, then I will put the pots to soak, and then we will dance.   It is life, non? ”
    “Indeed.”
    Dane sat in a chair under the Van Gogh.   Two works of art—one a vision, the other a reality.   I wasn’t sure which was which.   I handed him the plate and some silverware still wrapped in a napkin I’d swiped off a table.   “You must be hungry.”   I pulled a fresh Bud from a hidden pocket in my dress.   “And thirsty.”
    Dane took the plate and bottle with a smile.   “Thanks.”
    “Peace offerings in a way.   I’ll only say this once, and I don’t want to discuss it further.   What you did was wrong, not only to me but to your wife.   I hope you’ve learned, and I’m sorry you didn’t get the chance to fix it with her.”
    Pain flashed across his face as he swallowed hard.   “Can I fix it with you?”
    I’d thought and thought about that, and I still hadn’t reached a conclusion. “One step at a time, cowboy.   What do you say?   Friends?”   I figured I could get that far, even if trust remained an issue.   Hell, Mona was my mother and I didn’t trust her past noon.
    Dane nodded, looking relieved.   “Friends.”   He tilted his head toward the interior of the restaurant.   “Lucky guy.”
    “Nice guy.   Make sure no one gets to him or his family.   Once we leave here, I’ll have him covered.   Romeo is leaving a couple of guys here, in addition to your guards and mine so Christophe and Desiree should be good.”   Dane didn’t give me a leer, which was unusual.   Most of the time he was creepy that way.   “And he lives in an armed guard-gated community.   So get some sleep tonight.   Can you be ready in the morning to provide escort, should Jean-Charles decide to wander about?   Given the events of this evening, I have no idea what his plans are tomorrow.”  
    “I’m sure you’ll be working.”   So sure of that he didn’t even pause for confirmation.   “So give me a shout when you get ready to leave.”
    “Will do.”
    “I’m thinking I might get one or two other guys so we can tag-team a bit.   That okay?”
    “Sure.   As long as they’re as good as you.”
    “Better.   First one I’ll call is Shooter Moran, if that’s okay?”
    “Shooter?   Sure, but remind him this is an ask-first-shoot-later kind of gig.” Shooter was an old Army buddy with a Pavlovian response when it came to his former Captain, Dane.   Shooter also had a twitchy trigger finger and an over-developed sense of loyalty.   But he was a good guy to have your back.
    I left Dane with his food and his thoughts.
    I owed a man a dance.

CHAPTER SIX

    M ORNINGS.   Like I said, we don’t get along too well.   But today, a certain Frenchman worked to improve my attitude.   Spooned in bed, one arm thrown casually across my waist, his breath soft on my cheek, I savored the heat where our skin touched.   Jean-Charles shifted.   His fingers brushed the back of my neck.   The warmth of his lips pressed to the exposed skin.   Soft, warm kisses sending warm shivers to my core.
    “You are awake, non?”
    “No.   Dreaming.”
    A warm chuckle as he nibbled on my ear, his hand drifting to my breast, teasing.   Reaching back, I trailed my hand across his skin, a light caress.   His breath caught.   Easing back, insistent, he rolled me over.   His mouth found my breast, nibbling, biting.   I arched into him, my hands fisted in his hair.   His need fueled mine.   His lips found the hollow in my neck, licking, tasting.   Want unfurled, a warm, desperate need.   His lips captured mine, his tongue plundering my mouth.   Tangling, wet.   Shifting his weight onto me, I opened to him.   My hand guiding, he pressed into me.   Taking, owning.   I moaned as he filled me.   My need joining his, a syncopated rhythm of desire.   Slow, tantalizing, he toyed with me.   Slipping in, then out, warm, slick.   Pleasure, a building need, drove me.   I wrapped my legs around