Page 49 of French Escapade

Élodie

Iwalk out of the hospital on my own two feet. The medical intern who took care of me confirmed what I suspected; I only have superficial cuts. Still, being carried like a princess in Ken’s arms wasn’t unpleasant at all. Quite the opposite—but enough already, I can’t take advantage of his kindness. I must manage on my own.

And honestly, despite the fact that this man is a force a nature, I fear he’s at the end of his rope. So am I. It’s already the crack of dawn. The night was long.

After I insisted, Christophe and Ted didn’t accompany us to the hospital. They offered, though. I thought they should get all the shuteye they could. The days to come will probably be just as intense.

Ken walks me to a black SUV, provided by Ted, I suppose. This man is the king of logistics. My knight in shining armor rushes to open the door, and I tease him. “You know, you don’t have to act as if we were going to the Prom.”

He smiles. “I may be rough around the edges, but I still have some manners. I thought French women appreciated that.”

“They sure do, but I’m not fragile, and I can open my own door. I won’t be offended if you don’t walk around the car to do it for me.”

I lean to grab the handle, but Ken gets in my way. I look up at him. There’s determination in his eyes.

“Maybe I just want to do it,” he says very seriously.

The intensity of his gaze makes me shiver. I do not look away, and suddenly I’m not so tired or stressed anymore. Right now, I feel a crazy urge to fall into this man’s arms and make them my shelter, like a cocoon protecting me from the rest of the world. And I want to protect him as well.

My hand rests on his strong arm. He jumps but doesn’t move back. Staring into his eyes, I whisper, “We’ll find her again. Soon. I promise.”

He smiles sadly, and as I wait for him to tell me not to make such a promise, he takes me in his arms.

He holds me tight against him and runs his fingers through my hair. He’s still wearing his tuxedo, or what’s left of it. He’s lost the tie. His shirt collar is open on a tanned skin triangle. The smell of his cologne tickles my nose. How does he manage to smell so good after all we’ve been through?

I wrap my arms around his waist. His body is firm under my fingers, yet I sense his vulnerability. Anyone walking past us in this parking lot would think that he’s comforting me. The truth is that we’re drawing strength from each other.

In my head, I replay the scene that made me feel so powerless—watching Arkady slip away. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper against his neck.

“I’m sorry to have dragged you into this,” he answers, his lips brushing my hair. We remain like that for a few seconds and then, slowly, reluctantly, we part.

“We should go.”

He agrees with a nod, and while I climb into the car, he walks around to the driver’s side.

It’s a quick ride at this time of night. It’s way too early for traffic. Ken parks close to my home. I don’t really pay attention, since I live two streets away from where he’s staying. But when I notice him following me, I say, “Chez Josetteis the other way.”

“First, I’ll walk you to your door,” he answers, with a tone that doesn’t leave room for discussion.

If any other man talked to me like that, I would send him packing. I can take care of myself. I’m a cop. I have a weapon. Even without it, I’m in better shape than 99% of the people who live in this town.

But strangely, coming from Ken, the protective attitude doesn’t bother me. Quite the opposite. I think it’s cute.

What the heck is wrong with me?

I’m falling under the spell of the handsome American.

And it’s such a bad idea.

The timing is wrong. We’re searching heaven and earth to find his sister, who’s fallen into the hands of human traffickers. This is the worst possible time to act impulsively. And as soon as he’s found Madison, Ken will hurry back to Uncle Sam’s country.

We reach my building, and I take out my keys. I’m tempted to invite him up and then I remember that, despite the way we’re dressed, he’s not walking me home after a date. Offering him a nightcap would be wrong.

I feel him hesitating, too, and try to sweep away our unease by saying, “Well, so, I wish you a good night.”

My sentence sounds weird now that the first rays of the sun light up the narrow street.

“I doubt I’ll be able to get any rest. Sleeping like a log with a thousand things bouncing in my head—that’s Jimmy’s superpower, not mine.”

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