Covenant (Paris Mob Book 1) by Michelle St. James Page B

determined not to think too hard about the end result. She twisted her hair into a loose knot at the back of her head and walked into the bedroom where she slid the slip dress over her head, letting the silky fabric caress her skin on its way down her body.
    She finished the outfit with simple diamond drop earrings and strappy heels, then transferred her ID and money to the one small bag she’d brought. She finished by sliding her perfume roller down her neck, ending at the hollow of her throat. She had a sudden flash of Christophe again, this time his head bent to her throat, inhaling the perfume, slipping the straps of her dress off her shoulders, the fabric pooling at her feet.
    The fates lead the willing.
    She shook her head to clear her mind of the words. She was tired, her mind mixing and matching details about the ring and the man who had entered her life as quietly as a mountain lion on the prowl.

17
    H e found her standing in front of the big windows overlooking the city. The room was dark, her silhouette lit only by the twinkling lights beyond the glass. He leaned against the door frame, watching her, letting his eyes travel unhurried over the hint of her body under the fabric of her dress. It skimmed her shape in all the right places, subtly hinting at the slim back, the narrow waist, the full ass tapering to shapely legs. The urge to go to her was overwhelming.
    He wanted to slip the narrow straps off her arms, let the dress fall to the floor, bend his lips to her beautiful shoulders.
    He wanted to cup her breasts in his hands as he lowered his mouth to hers, lingering against the fullness of her lips in the moment before he explored her with his tongue.
    He wanted to kneel at her feet, taste the sweetness he knew would be found between her legs.
    His cock lurched in his trousers at the images in his mind, and he forced himself to draw in a deep, quiet breath. Forced his body to bend to his will. He was almost there when she turned to face him, as if she sensed him standing in the shadows.
    She didn’t speak for a moment, and he could feel her eyes on him in the darkness.
    “How long have you been waiting?” she asked. The sound of her voice, raw and smoky, threatened to get him hard again.
    “Not long,” he said, keeping his voice crisp. He was a man used to beautiful things. It was something of an embarrassment to be so affected, the way he felt when he became tongue-tied standing in front of a Renoir or a Monet.
    “I forget how beautiful Vienna is,” she said, turning briefly back to the window.
    I forget how beautiful you are.
    He tried to banish the words from his mind, even though they were true. Each time they were apart he managed to convince himself he’d overstated her loveliness, only to be breathless all over again at the sight of her.
    “Are you hungry?” he asked.
    He sensed her smile more than he saw it. “I’m starving actually.”
    “Well, we can’t have that, now can we?”
    He crossed the room slowly, held out his arm. She took it easily, as if they’d repeated the maneuver a thousand times. As if her arm belonged in his.
    “We should probably make it an early night,” she said as they headed for the elevator. “That way we can pay a visit to Baeder’s house early tomorrow.”
    “We’ll see,” he said.
    But he already knew he would keep her with him as long as he could justify it.

18
    V ienna was bustling despite the fact that it was mid-week. The streets were crowded with people making their way to and from the city’s bars and restaurants, many of them housed in buildings dating before the second world war. Here it was commonplace to have drinks in an old university building, dinner in a palace that might have belonged to a Habsburg. The storied architecture together with the cobblestone streets and crowds moving leisurely through the city gave the night an air of celebration, and Charlotte had to work not to sink against Christophe’s side with a sigh. She wanted to