When Stars Collide Read online

  She pushed him back and rose to her feet, putting his face eyelevel with her crotch. Then she moved to a wall and picked up a phone. By the time she hung it up he had repositioned himself beside her. Her eyes were tired when they met his.

  “I don’t know where you’re staying, or if you’ve even got a place. There will be a man out front, to take you to my place.” She dug in her pocket and handed him some keys. “Here you go. There’s food, shower, whatever. I’ll be back as soon as I can take care of this situation, so I can focus on the other one.”

  Her tone seeped frustration and worry. And he knew, no matter how thrilled he was to be going to her house, it was purely out of necessity to find her brother. She began muttering again and he gripped her shoulders in his hands and shook her lightly. Their gazes met and she lifted a brow.

  “I don’t speak French, Zémire.”

  “Just go. He’ll take you wherever you need to go. I…I…”

  He kissed her. Slanted his mouth over hers and his tongue skimmed along the seam of her mouth before seeking entrance. Lust slammed him immediately but he kept the exchange gentle. Her taste, the taste of crisp watermelon and snow, sank into him, reviving him, and he felt recharged. When she sighed into his mouth, he backed off and stared down into eyes stormy with emotion.

  “I’ll be at your place, Zémire. Go do what you need to here, then we’ll work out something with BB.” He plucked the letter from her grip. “I’ll see you soon.” Another brief kiss and he walked to the door before he forgot they were at her place of business. One final look back and he left.

  As promised, a man waited for him. Cort went to his hotel room, grabbed his bags and got back in the vehicle. There was no way he’d miss an opportunity to be with Zémire.

  “Thanks,” he said to the driver as he climbed out before a quaint cottage covered with flowering vines, the walkway itself lined with vibrant flowers as well. Hoisting the bag onto his shoulder, he cleared the three low, long steps and stopped at the door. Key in the lock, he swung the door open and stepped into the personal world of Zémire Gibson.

  Simple. Clean. Comforting. Those were the words that popped into his mind when he looked around. The place wasn’t very big but it had a homey feel to it. Numerous plants occupied places throughout, some flowering, some not. Warm colours blended seamlessly with cooler ones. The furniture was covered in coloured accent pillows and throw blankets.

  Magazines sat scattered on a coffee table, and he stared at them. They covered a variety of subjects. Environmental, botany, solar, and outdoor sports. The walls were covered in framed photographs of Pic du Midi and outer space, which he assumed had been taken from the observatory. Some colour, some black and white. Some older and some new. All spectacular.

  Dropping his bag by the edge of the sofa, he walked towards the back. The kitchen done in a leaf motif was neat, with a single glass overturned in the sink. He passed the bathroom and opened the final closed door. Zémire’s bedroom.

  Fingertips holding the door open, he gazed around her sanctuary. Plant photos and some of the cosmos lined these walls. Simple maple furniture sat placed about the room and pale orchid hued blankets covered the bed. Not a stitch out of place. On the bureau sat some images of Zémire and her family.

  Completely in the room, he trailed his fingers along the full bed and over one of two pillows tucked safely below the comforter. His mind flashed to laying her back and slowly removing each individual article of clothing, to staring at her naked body in the soft glow of light reflecting off the gentle shade of colour on the walls. He stiffened and his shaft hardened.

  He wanted her. He craved her. The sound of a door opening reached him, jolting him from the trance he’d been in. He turned just as her soft voice filtered down towards him.

  “Cort?”

  Zémire could feel the heavy burden of exhaustion bearing down on her shoulders. All she wanted to do was shower, crawl into bed, and cry until she slept. But she couldn’t. She’d handled the issue at work and had explained the situation about her brother being missing, so that left one thing.

  Two really.

  What to do to find her brother and get him home safe. And what to do about the handsome Texan who was somewhere in her small house. Her insides were a complete mess. It took a good deal of inner strength, helped along by the comfort of her home, to keep her erratic emotions in check. Even so, her control of them seriously teetered on the edge of falling into a large chasm and leaving her completely exposed.

  “Zémire.”

  She blinked and focussed on the large man who seemed to materialise in her short hallway. He moved towards her, each step fluid and virile, totally effortless, making it impossible not to notice how powerful of a male he truly appeared. The house felt smaller—intimately so—with him in it. His masculine scent curled around the familiar one—a light floral smell—of her home and, it seemed, endorsed it. Creating something more. Something soothing and comforting. Something permanent.

  She shook her head in a meagre attempt to rid herself of such nonsense and whimsical thoughts. Rubbing her palms on the material of her pants, a nervous habit she’d never outgrown from childhood, she gave him a shaky smile. “I just…just need to…”

  Whatever she’d been about to say vanished from memory at the first caress of his mouth on hers. Iron infused arms curved around her and held her flush against him as his lips moved seductively over her own. It was slow and exploratory, the way he glided through her mouth. Spirals of desire unfurled within her and flowed throughout, increasing in saturation until it felt as if livewires ran through her.

  With a sigh, Zémire sank into him, confident he would keep her from falling. She was right. Beneath her seeking hands, she could feel the easy ripple of steel muscles as they adjusted to support more of her. He did it all so smoothly, so seamlessly and without breaking off the kiss, one so intense she wondered if her brain had melted. Cort slowly ended the exchange when she didn’t think she could last another moment.

  “Zémire,” he murmured, his lips still touching hers in an intimate and tender gesture.

  A deep need blossomed in her gut. A need she’d discovered that one night two months ago that could only be created and assuaged by one man. The one currently holding her and whose scent permeated her skin and senses.

  “I don’t…can’t…won’t do this again with you, Cort.” She stepped back from him and worried her lower lip before sliding past him and grabbing a glass of water from the kitchen.

  “I’m not going away, Zémire.”

  He spoke from right behind her, his heat draping around her like a warmed velvet blanket. She didn’t answer for a few moments, allowing the refrigerated water to cool the high temperature being in close proximity to Cortland Kysenzki gave her traitorous body.

  “If it was distance, Cort, I wouldn’t have said you could come here.” She set the glass down, empty, and noted how badly her hand shook. “But this isn’t about anything that happened between us.”

  “Don’t lie to me, Zémire. Not now, not ever.” His timbre wielded a cold bite, which made her shiver despite the warmth his large form exuded.

  She bit back her instantaneous retort and took a deep breath, willing her emotions to remain checked.

  “Fine,” she forced through clenched teeth, acknowledging there lingered a bite in her own tone. “How about this? I am ignoring it and focussing on my brother. Is that better?”

  He pivoted her on her heels so they were once again facing one another. “For now.”

  Flames emblazoned the backs of his eyes and she fought off yet another shudder. What the hell is wrong with me? She wasn’t scared of Cort, not in the sense of him physically harming her, for she knew he never would. She was, however, scared of her feelings towards him, the depth of them and the growing strength of them. These were new to her—she’d never allowed herself to feel with such force for any man. And yet, despite all attempts to keep him at a distance, it seemed her future had been sealed tha
t fateful night she’d gone against all her common sense and allowed herself the indulgence of a man she’d fantasised about for years.

  Grinding her back teeth, she expelled a harsh breath. “Good.” A deep breath. “May I see the letter from BB?” she queried in a much softer tone.

  He immediately reached into his back pocket and withdrew the folded item, handing it to her. Worrying her lower lip, she opened it, withdrew the sheet and unfolded it to be faced with her brother’s neat print.

  Cort,

  Great to see you again, man. It’s been too long. Try not to be such a stranger.

  Sorry I forgot to tell you this information at the party. You know I had a lot on my mind given the upcoming trip and all. Anyway, since I have some downtime before we leave, thought I would get it done so you don’t try to hurt me.

  The toucan and the bird of paradise are some of my fave works and would look great along your north wall. Odette’s work along the south would be lovely especially if you put the crane with it. Put her stuff over the left shoulder of the hunter to complete the presentation. Also if you need help check with Radames, he works with some friends of mine, Odette included, and will help you find what you may need. Like I said, I’ll see you when I get back.

  Bon peut exister sans mal, tandis que le mal ne peut pas exister sans bon.

  Ne prenez rien sur ses regards; prenez tout sur l'évidence. Il n'y a aucune meilleure règle.

  -BB

  She frowned and read it all again. Her heart sank. Cort had been right, she did understand. She and her brother had always talked like this to one another; it was a way for them to keep secrets between just the two of them.

  “Well?”

  “He knew he was in trouble before he left.” Merely speaking those words created a ball of unease within her gut. “BB mentions constellations normally easiest seen in the southern hemisphere this time of year. And a few other mistakes like he knows someone was watching him, or was with him right there.”

  She pushed to her feet and strode to the large poster of the sky on her wall. Behind her, she felt Cort’s presence. It sat right there, not touching but she likened it to an anchor, there if she cared to or had to reach for it.

  That knowledge warmed her.

  “I’m not following,” he said, confusion lacing his words.

  “The bird of paradise or Apus and the toucan, Tucana, are more easily seen in the southern hemisphere this time of year. They’re here.” She pointed them out on the map. “Odette is the name of the princess from The Swan Princess. The Cygnus is the swan and is up here.”

  “Northern hemisphere,” he said after she’d indicated the constellation.

  “Yes.” She worried her lower lip. “And the crane isn’t even with the swan. Grus, the crane, is near the lower area of Cepheus. The hunter is Orion and the left shoulder, Betelgeuse, Alpha Orionis. The star makes up his left shoulder. It’s the second brightest star in the constellation so my guess is he’s with the second in command.”

  Adjusting so she could see his face she continued, “Add to that he mentioned Radames. He was captain of the guard in Aida. So I’m assuming he’s under guard. Perhaps by the second in command.”

  In the depths of Cort’s eyes she could see the wheels turning as he absorbed what she’d told him. He shoved a hand through his hair, causing it to fall in handsome disarray.

  “And what about the things at the bottom of the note?”

  “Quotes from,” she paused and reread them, “Dickens’ Great Expectations and Saint Thomas Aquinas.”

  Chapter Three

  Cort stared at the woman before him. Behind her, a brilliant display of the large expanse of the sky and its constellations. He glossed over it however and focussed more on the woman watching him with big, luminous eyes. Some days he totally forgot how smart she was.

  “Dickens? And who’s the other guy?”

  “Yes, Dickens. Saint Thomas Aquinas. He was a priest in the 13th century.”

  “And BB would quote that why?”

  “It’s how we grew up.”

  He recalled her dad had been a theologian and her mom had been a literary professor. “That’s right. And theology and literature take place in both your names.”

  It was her turn to nod. “Like Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet, the work that BB was partly named from. Benvolio was Romeo’s cousin.”

  “That’s right. And his middle name is Benedict, named for a Pope.” She nodded. “And your name?”

  “Me?” Her brows rose in surprise at the question. “Oh, umm, Zémire is from, Zémire et Azor, an 18th century opéra comique by Belgian composer André Grétry. It was based upon Beauty and the Beast.”

  He watched her gaze drift back down to the note in her hand. “What about your middle name?” Again he could tell he threw her.

  “Foy? She was a 4th century Christian martyr from Gaulle.”

  “Zémire Foy Gibson,” he murmured more for his pleasure than anything. Her response was a strained smile. Licking his lips, he inhaled deeply and allowed the soothing scent of the woman with him to pour over him.

  He had to focus on the task at hand. “What do the quotes mean?”

  Those heavily lashed eyes dropped, hiding her breath-robbing gaze from him for a second, then lifted. “‘Ne prenez rien sur ses regards; prenez tout sur l'évidence. Il n'y a aucune meilleure règle’ means ‘Take nothing on its looks; take everything on evidence. There’s no better rule’. That’s the quote from Dickens. ‘Bon peut exister sans le mal, tandis que le mal ne peut pas exister sans bon’ means ‘Good can exist without evil, whereas evil cannot exist without good’. That’s the one from Saint Thomas Aquinas.”

  He boxed her in, his arms near each ear, his blond hair partially obscuring his vision as he assessed the woman between him and the wall. An action he did with careful scrutiny.

  “Do those quotes mean something to you?” Her gaze shuttered for the briefest of seconds. Had he not been so vigilant in watching each and every reaction from her, Cort knew he would have missed it. He dipped his head in closer to hers, ensuring eye-to-eye contact. “Remember what I said about lying to me, Zémire.” The sentence rumbled through clenched teeth and he could see her shudder.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “What? What do they mean to you?”

  Her gaze shimmered with unshed tears. “Dad used to quote that all the time from Saint Thomas Aquinas. Granted he would say it in Latin, but it was the same quote.”

  The longing and pain of losing her parents could be felt in her words. He reached out with one hand and stroked it down the side of her face. A single tear spilled over and trailed down the curvature of her solemn face.

  “What about the other one?” he questioned, gently using his thumb to wipe it away.

  Her tongue sneaked out and moistened her lips, jerking his mind off her brother and onto something her sibling had no business being a part of. It took a few moments for him to pull his mind up from below his waist where his cock resided, hard and wanting, and regain his focus. When she spoke her voice was soft and almost uncertain.

  “Well, that one…BB is telling you he knows you slept with me.”

  That was unexpected. He blinked a few times and stared at her. How had BB found out?

  “You mean he knew? Since when? How?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know but this is the exact phrase he gave me when I lied to him about this boy in high school. So he knows.”

  Cort filed that away in the back of his mind for further review. There were more important things to focus on at the moment. When, and he did mean when, BB got back home, he was sure they’d have a discussion about it. Zémire trembled and this time he gathered her close, his hand on the back of her head, pressing it against his chest.

  “I have to catch a flight back to Texas,” she muttered. “I need to see his stuff and maybe I can figure out where he is.”

  “Okay,” he agreed. “What about things here?”

  �
��Jacques will look after everything I have a hand in.”

  An ugly cloud floated before his eyes at the name. Forcing his jaw to relax, he nuzzled the top of her head. “Who’s Jacques?”

  “Jacques De Sauveterre. A man on my team. He and I have worked very closely together since I got here.”

  “How close?” The question rumbled up from a dark and dangerous place within him.

  Zémire got free and looked up at him, a spark highlighting the exhaustion in her gaze. “That, Cortland Kysenzki, is none of your business.”

  The hell it wasn’t.

  Before he could dispute her claim, she turned and shuffled away. Suddenly he could see the fatigue prevalent in each movement she made. He followed and sat on her worn sofa as she made what he assumed to be flight arrangements. As she spoke into the phone, he seized the opportunity to observe her even more.

  She’d removed her hair from the ponytail it had been in and those black, silken strands fell freely about her face. He caught a glimpse of her necklace every now and again when she moved. Her pants rested low on her hips and when she shifted all her weight to one leg, he could see smooth skin below the shirt.

  The slight groan drew his gaze from the swell of her ass, which had his complete attention. She had both hands braced on the counter and her head hung down, hair falling about her, concealing her face.

  He pushed to his feet and drifted towards her. One hand settled against her hip, he asked, “When’s your flight?”

  “Tomorrow in the evening.” She rolled her neck and shoulders. “I have to pack and get some sleep.”

  Gently but firmly, he swivelled her to face him. Every cell in his body cried out to kiss her, make love to her and brand her as his own. He ignored all of them and stared into her eyes.

  “How can I help?”

  “You can’t really, not any more than you have for bringing the letter to me.” She tried for a smile. Tried and failed. “Thank you for that, for caring enough about my brother to go to this much trouble for him.”