CHAPTER TWO
In the bathroom mirror, Veronique adjusts her dress, removing the pendant from around her neck and dropping it into her clutch. Why borrow trouble? It’s obvious that both of them are pretending to be someone else, and tonight, it’s enough for her to be Alaïs one last time, before she locks that door forever. Lionheart. The name rings in her head, like funerary bells tolling, but she pushes it away too.
Tonight is for life, not funerary rites.
If all goes according to plan, tomorrow evening she’ll be on the red-eye flight back to Europe, laying Alaïs to rest once and for all, the slate wiped clean.
So why does it feel like such a betrayal?
She sweeps out of the room to find Eddie nowhere in sight. “Eddie?” There’s a whistle from the balcony, and when Veronique steps outside, Eddie is standing there in his shirtsleeves. The sight of him with his sleeves rolled up, hair on his sculpted forearms, does funny things to her insides, making her stomach flip.
He looks her up and down with a low whistle. “You look absolutely smashing.” Eddie passes her a mini-bottle of whiskey. “Cheers, luv.” He clinks his bottle against hers, his hands firmly on her hips, pulling her in. The taste of his mouth intoxicates her, sending ripples of heat into her lower belly, her thoughts gone as foggy as mist rising off the Hudson River.
“Mmm.” Veronique pulls back for a moment, and he cups her jaw, kissing her again. The bottles clatter to the marble of the balcony as Veronique throws her arms around Eddie’s neck, and all caution to the wind.
Tonight is for living.
•••
Edison didn’t come to New York for this, but he’s not going to let a single moment of it go to waste. The last time he pulled a woman a decade younger than him was the night he fucked Anton’s soon-to-be mother in the bathroom of a dive bar in Brooklyn while in the city for a job, and as for the rest, they’ve all been criminals of some stripe, all dangerous women to the very last.
But there’s no woman more dangerous to a man fast approaching fifty than the one he holds in his arms, soft and beautiful, somehow not yet hardened by the world. If she really knew he was Eddie Quick, she would never give him the time of day, or let him steal a kiss from her sweet lips, again and again. Alaïs.
“Hello.” Breathless from his kisses, her whisper is low and husky, and when she cups his jaw in her hand, he lifts her up, setting her on the edge of the balcony railing. “I believe I was promised ‘the best shag of my life’.” Her fingers toy with the buttons on his shirt, and she bites her bottom lip, looking up at him from under thick lashes. For a moment, he feels himself drowning in her whiskey eyes, entranced by their spell.
She tastes of feathers and cream, as though he had all the time in the world to kiss her, as though he never left a string of broken promises behind him. She moans as he slides his hand between her legs, unable to stop himself, feeling her walls clench around his fingers, slick and hot and wet. “Alaïs,” Edison groans, her name an incantation.
Alais pulls down the straps of her dress, watching his face. It pools at her waist, and he strokes her lower back, stepping between her legs to kiss her again, her mouth and legs opening to him, moaning with wanton abandon in his mouth. “Eddie, I’m so close.”
Edison feels a surge of smug satisfaction quicken his blood. You’ve still got it. He cups the back of her head in his hand, deepening the kiss, feeling her yield to him. It’s true, the minute he saw her, all he could think about was how if he didn’t kiss her, he’d lose his chance. She’d walk away, and he would never know her name, or ever see her again. She’d be swallowed up by the city night, just another lost chance that slipped from his fingers, like an ordinary life.
Her walls are clenching hard around him, and he speeds his fingers up, in and out, over her clit, again and again, her legs wrapped around his waist, opening herself to him, and Edison still can’t quite believe how lucky he is, to earn this reward for all the time he’s served in hell. He takes her nipple in his mouth and she comes, sucking at as he feels it harden under his tongue, her juices running down his hand, fists in his hair, ecstatic cries filling the night like music. Edison presses his mouth to hers, her cheeks are wet.
“I want you now, Alaïs.” He lifts her off the railing, and she opens her eyes, drugged with desire. Her hands cup the bulge in his trousers, stroking, caressing, drawing a deep groan from him.
“Oh?” Alais snaps his waistband back, darting from his arms, a mischievous light in her eyes. “Then you’d better catch me first.”
Edison mock-growls, and gives chase.
•••
Veronique doesn’t have much of a head start, and the truth is, she wants to be caught. Still, she mock-struggles all the same, squealing as he picks her up and tosses her on the bed, his quick fingers divesting her of her dress, hot gaze devouring her as she lies naked before him. She flicks her nipples teasingly, grazing them up and down with the pads of her fingers, her gaze never leaving his. “I’m thinking of you,” she whispers huskily. “Thinking of how good you’ll feel inside me.”
He grips her thighs, pulling her flush to the edge of the bed, and then his shirt and trousers are on the floor. “Alaïs.” His voice is a strangled moan as she sits up, palming his cock through his briefs. He swallows hard as she traces his chest with her fingernails, the defined muscles rippling, tensing as her hands glide down his abdomen.
“Thinking about how you made me come,” she continues, bringing his fingers to her lips, drawing the digits in and sucking her taste off of them one by one. She looks up at him from under her lashes, and his pupils are dark and blown out with lust. “I want you now, Eddie.”
Eddie grabs her wrists, quick as a wink, and pins her to the bed. “Say it again.” His teeth graze one nipple, and she writhes under him, blood coursing hot through her veins.
“I want you, oh god, oh god, Eddie!” Veronique struggles against his hands, and when he sets her free, his attention completely on rolling her nipples between his fingers, she throws one leg over his hip, grinding against his hard length before straddling him. She spreads her legs apart, rocking back and forth atop him, the scent of her arousal filling the space between the two of them.
Edison grabs her wrist, and flips her over, his teeth scraping her bottom lip. “Tell me a hundred times, Alaïs,” he growls, kissing a path down her abdomen, his voice a ragged whisper: “Tell me a thousand times, luv.”
“I want… Oh!” Veronique shudders with pleasure as the tip of his tongue glides over her clit with the lightest pressure, taunting and teasing. “Eddie.” She mewls in his grasp as his fingers curl inside of her, moving slowly, so slowly, and she grips his hair, pressing on his head. “Faster… fuck!”
His breath is warm on her thighs, his voice like a prayer. “Goddamn, I could eat you out all night, Alaïs.” His stubble scrapes her thighs, and her mind goes blank. There is only this — her fingers in his hair as her hips buck wildly, pressing his face hard between her thighs, his fingers thrusting harder, faster, his tongue teasing her clit, and she comes hard, squeezing her thighs around his head as she orgasms, screaming his name.
Veronique slumps to the bedsheets, shuddering with the tremors of her orgasm as Eddie sucks gently at her clit again, moaning as she comes again, his thumbs digging hard into her thighs.
“Can’t believe I pulled a bird like you in my first week as a free man.” Eddie kisses his way back up her belly, stopping at her breasts to cup them in his hands and lavish them with kisses. “How did I do?”
“You’re fucking amazing,” Veronique gasps, pulling his head down to hers in a scorching kiss. “I’ve never come so fast in my life. I mean…” she pushes on his chest, laughing as he pops his eyebrows up and down at her. “You have really quick fingers,” she finishes.
A shit-eating grin spreads across his face, and Eddie winks. “So I’ve been told, luv.”
“Eddie…” Veronique runs her palm down the front of his briefs, and he groans loudly, his length twitching against her hand.
“I’m not going to let you leave this bed until you can’t walk, Alaïs.” He groans as she eases down his briefs, her mouth kissing the trail of hair leading down his abdomen to his cock.
He’s thick and uncut, the head of his cock glistening as she frees it, moving her hand up and down the shaft, cupping his balls in one hand and lightly tugging on them. His eyes are dark as he looks down at her, and he places a finger under her chin, tilting her head up.
“Not yet. I’m not quite done kissing you.” Eddie pins her wrists to the mattress, kissing her long and hard, inhaling sharply as she wraps her legs around his waist, rocking her hips against his. “Alaïs.”
The way he says her true name, claiming it, claiming her, makes Veronique wish that she really was an ordinary woman tonight, that she wasn’t in New York to meet thieves and rogues, that she didn’t have to watch her back at all times. But she hasn’t been ordinary, not for a long time — and she never had that chance.
“Where do you want me?” He strokes the back of her neck, staring into her eyes, and she rolls out of his grasp, getting on all fours. Understanding dawns in his eyes as she looks back at him from over her shoulder. “You good?” Eddie asks, moving the tip of his cock up and down her slippery folds, from her clit to her slit. She nods, and he sinks into her with a loud, ragged groan — and then starts moving, his fingers pinching her nipples in time with his thrusts, his breath hot and quick on the back of her neck.
“Yes!” Veronique thrusts back against him, keeping the rhythm at a steady pace until his fingers begin moving in vertical strokes up and down her clit, flicking the hood up and then pinching and rolling it between his fingers. Her orgasms come hard, one stacked on top of the next, again and again, the two of them moving faster and faster, slick with sweat.
The headboard is banging on the wall, and he flips her over, covering her mouth with his as she clenches her walls around his length, pulling her thighs up to his hips as he pounds away inside of her, his fingers on her nipples. He comes with a strangled cry, burying his face in her neck, spending himself deep inside of her.
“Alaïs.” Eddie kisses her neck, her breasts, her lips, before rolling over and pulling her into his arms, her head on his chest. “You’ve got this old fool wrapped around your little finger.”
She kisses his palm, raising herself on one elbow to look at him. “Or maybe I’m wrapped around yours.”
Eddie raises his brows, a cocky grin spreading across his face. “It’s good to know I haven’t lost my touch.”
•••
Veronique wakes sometime after midnight to Eddie’s soft snores. When she pulls from his arms, he jolts up, on sudden high alert, shoving her behind him as though a SWAT team has just busted down the door. “Bloody Christ, it’s only you.” Eddie sinks back into the pillows, laughing weakly. “I thought…” He rubs his eyes. “Bad dreams. I can’t sleep like I used to. If I had the time, I wouldn’t let you leave this bed for a week, luv. But … I’m not some young, fit bloke anymore.”
Veronique hides a smile, tracing his muscles with her fingertips. “You look pretty cut to me.”
Eddie kisses the top of her head. When he speaks, his voice is heavy with regret. “I spent a year in the bin. Did some things I’m not proud of. In my line of work… I thought I was doing the right thing.”
She walks a finger up his chest, not making eye contact. “You might not believe me, but I know all about that. I’ve been to the clink too.” Orange jumpsuits and tattoos made with a pen, three dots in a line. How can she explain what happened, without giving it all away?
Eddie strokes her cheek. She doesn’t look up. She can’t bear to see judgement in his eyes.
Veronique would lie, but tonight, as Alaïs, she feels vulnerable and raw, all her layers peeled back. “I was a kid,” she says finally. “Just a stupid kid.” Stick to the truth as closely as possible. “Me and my best friend got caught stealing a car.” There’s a lump in her throat.
Grandpere Valentine, the red Cadillac with the tail fins. No one ever found the body, but there were whispers up and down the street. The Mob. The Sicilians. The Irish.
To this day, she doesn’t like to think of it: the ringing silence in the trailer after she came home from school, the cigarette still burning in in the ashtray on the table, a menthol, the kind her grandfather had never smoked. A streak of blood on the kitchen floor, and the cat hiding under the sink, shaking and shaking. He’d run away that night, he’d never returned. Minou. She hasn’t thought about him in years, his ragged ears, his yellow eyes. He’d belonged to her mother, Ysabeau, and Valentine had once told the little robber princess that Minou had lived nine lives, waiting for his Ysabeau to come back to him.
Veronique finds her voice, and she feels Eddie’s hand tighten on hers. One week after he disappeared… “That Caddy was in the junkyard at the edge of the desert with the paint stripped from it. We rode it into the desert…” Some things defy explanation. “When we came back, the cops were waiting. Maybe sometimes we need that space, to figure out how to move on.”
But she’s always been running, always looking over her shoulder.
Eddie lifts up her chin, and she looks him dead in the eye, expecting to see judgement there. But his eyes are soft, something in his expression she didn’t expect. “How old were you? Seventeen?”
“Fifteen.” She’d taken the heat, given herself up, told them Rye had had nothing to do with it. And for whatever reason — luck, fate, what have you — they’d believed her. A six month stay in juvie, and then she’d been free. The junkyard hadn’t had any records, and by that time the Caddy had been long gone, but their safe had had enough money to fill the ever-growing hole inside. And Alaïs had been buried for good, right along with the memory of the old man. “You must think I’m a terrible person, Eddie.” This is why she can never be ordinary. Who else would ever understand, except another criminal?
She’s trembling and she doesn’t know why, but when she meets his gaze again, she’s surprised by the fierce tenderness she sees in his green eyes.
“Never.” He kisses her with surprising gentleness, contrasting with the roughness in his tone. Eddie cups her cheek, and she feels her trembling cease as he strokes the tears from her lashes with his thumb. “I’ve met many terrible people in my life, luv. You in’t one of them.”
Veronique closes her eyes, letting her body soften and yield as he deepens the kiss, shivering under his steady fingers on her clit as she breaks apart, again and again, her eyes flying wide open at last as she comes, shaking from head to toe. “Eddie,” she whimpers, and he kisses her shoulder, pulling her against his chest.
“I want to keep you in bed for a week, luv,” Eddie whispers. Something flickers behind his eyes, and is gone. “I’d take you to London, show you the sights.”
“And then we’d go to Avignon,” she whispers, continuing the dream. “We’d walk beside the Rhône, and I’d show you my garden.” The garden she’s never had, the one that lives in her imagination. In the house where Ysabeau lived, during university. before she fell in love with Fitch Lionheart.
“I’d kiss you in the garden, and tug your stockings down with my teeth.” He winks, a glint in his eyes, and then he pulls her atop him, the two of them moving in rhythm together, at first slowly, and then faster and faster, his gaze locked on hers, the two of them orgasming together and then collapsing back into the bedsheets, utterly spent.
“I’d never let anyone hurt you again, Alaïs.”
Instead of answering, Veronique kisses his chest, right where the heart beats, soft and steady, lulling her to sleep. A flimsy promise, and she knows it.
After all, we only have tonight.
•••
Niles Edison, alias Eddie Quick, wakes up to a dawning day, in the quiet hour before the city wakes. Careful not to disturb the sleeping woman next to him, he swings his legs over the side of the bed, feeling suddenly old. He walks on silent feet to collect his clothes, careful to be — Quiet as a thief. The thought makes the edges of his lips curl up. A year in the bin is nothing. You’ve still got it, old chap.
There’s something to be said, after all, for being able to pull a woman fifteen years or so his junior. He can still smell her scent on his skin, sugar and caramel, feathers and cream.
He remembers another woman for a moment, another morning like this one, nearly eighteen years ago. Cami. Another ordinary woman he left behind, who wanted Niles Edison, not the kind of law-abiding, upstanding man that Eddie Quick could never be.
But Alaïs would be worth it, a tiny voice whispers in his head. Another chance. It’s not too late, old man.
But it is. Edison pushes the thoughts away, sliding his signet ring back on, ready to go. His feet carry him to the bed, and he looks down upon her sleeping form, curled up on her side, thinking of the way she fit so perfectly into his arms, a reward for a life hard spent. If he kissed her now — She’s not for you. She deserves an ordinary life.
Edison knows how Henry II felt. Though he is a rogue and not a king, he understands about the kind of women a man loses his head over, though he’d thought himself too wise for it, a folly of youth. Such is a woman like Alaïs, the kind of woman who makes kings lose their heads and crooked rogues go straight.
As he turns to go, the gleam of something small and precious catches his eye. He crouches on the floor, stifling a wince as his knees crack. Thought you could shag all night like a young bloke, you daft old codger. He draws a silver chain out of Alaïs’s clutch purse, feeling a slight twinge of guilt. A malachite teardrop lays in his palm, the kind of artifact museums pay a million pounds for at auction.
He hears her stirring as he opens the door, and he looks back like a damned man, already too far gone to turn back the clock. Her golden tresses shine in the soft light, and she rolls over, smiling in her sleep. Eddie Quick closes his fist around the pendant, and with one last glance back, makes his his mind up.