Page 28 of Dagger’s Shield

She came on my fingers, hard, with her forehead pressed to my shoulder, my name on her lips, and her fist twisted in my shirt.

I held her until she stopped shaking and rolled away from me.

I picked the pillow up off the floor and put it between us. Then I lay awake with my hand still wet from her. As much as I wanted to bring my fingers to my mouth to taste her, I didn’t. If I had, I knew I wouldn’t be able to resist spreading her legs and devouring her.

She fell asleep before I did.

When we’d finished breakfast, Rémy invited us to tour the grounds with him.

He walked us through the vines, gesticulating the entire time, and switching between French and English mid sentence. As we passed different parcels, he’d tell stories about when each had been acquired, what had originally been planted there, and what was there now. He went on to say that the pruning was early this year and he had opinions about it, and about the neighbor’s pruning, and about the neighbor.

“That’s where Maëlle fell asleep when she was six, setting off a search conducted by every worker on the property.”

She shook her head. “That didn’t happen.”

Rémy chuckled. “That’s not what your father says.”

“He tells many lies. Try not to follow in his footsteps.”

The two teased each other endlessly but kindly, laughing freely and often, like Alena and I had done when we were younger and our parents were still alive.

In my line of work, trust was earned, never given, which meant I’d have to get to know Rémy a helluva lot better before I decided whether I could or not. One thing going for him was how much he loved Maëlle. Nobody could’ve faked that for an entire morning. However, it told me nothing about him outside of that relationship.

At the top of the hill, he sent Maëlle ahead to look at something in the next vineyard, and it was so smoothly done I nearly missed it.

“She’s never brought anyone here,” he said, watching her go. “Not once, in all these years. So.” He looked up at me, and for the first time all morning, he challenged me. “Whatever you are, tread carefully.”

“Understood.”

“Bien.” He squeezed my shoulder, and his grin returned. We continued on as though he’d been explaining the principles of growing grapes to me.

I liked him better for it, and I hated that his warning was something I worried about myself. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt Maëlle.

Her father caught up with us at the cuverie and took over the tour.

He talked about the vats, the vintages, and the domaine’s history. He told it like a man who’d built all of it with his own hands, rather than having inherited it. Rémy let him, and within ten minutes, I understood their arrangement.

I listened the way I’d been trained, to what was said and to what wasn’t. In an hour of talk about Valais, its future, and its legacy, he hadn’t mentioned his daughter once. Everything was about his nephew. Through all of it, she stood beside me and didn’t react once. I gave her my support by leaning closer and brushing her fingers with mine.

“I like him,” Bertrand said at one point, motioning to me. “You’ve finally shown some sense in choosing him.”

Maëlle drew in a sharp breath but recovered quickly. It was more difficult for me to keep my mouth shut than to defend her, but I did, reminding myself this was about the mission.

“Where are you from?” he asked.

“The UK.”

“Have you been to France before?”

“I have, but not as often as I’d like,” I said. “Most of my contracts keep me in Geneva or Zurich. What about you?”

“I’m only away from Valais when it’s necessary. There’s too much work to be done for me to take a holiday.”

“What about business travel?”

“Again, only when necessary.” He looked over at Maëlle, noticing her scowl like I had. “She has always been contrary, this one,” he said, gripping my shoulder.

Her fists clenched at her sides.