All for You (Paris Nights #1)(40)

“Umm …” Célie’s blush deepened. “Foreign Legion.”

Her two friends turned as one to stare at her. The blonde’s jaw had dropped. “Foreign Legion? Are you kidding me?”

The black-haired friend’s eyes narrowed. If her golden skin came from any of France’s former colonies, then her parents and grandparents might have adamant opinions about the Foreign Legion.

“He just got out,” Célie said.

“Are you sure it was the Foreign Legion he just got out of?” the black-haired young woman asked dryly. “It would be easy for a man to claim that instead of prison, say. Or just running off for five years.”

Joss sighed.

“He wouldn’t lie to me,” Célie said firmly, and some tension in his chest relaxed. He wouldn’t, actually. He was glad she still knew that. Glad she still believed in him.

Her friends both gave her pitying looks.

“He got my cards there! The Legion couldn’t have passed them on to him if he wasn’t a Legionnaire.”

Her friends looked disappointed at having their cynicism dashed. Then the black-haired one brightened. “Aren’t they psychopaths in the Foreign Legion?”

“Lina!”

Psychopaths now. Great. He went over to Célie before this conversation could get any worse, and also just because he couldn’t stand lounging on the blanket anymore and needed to move.

Her gossiping friends grew quiet, their eyes widening as he approached, checking him out. “Damn, Célie,” he heard the blonde mutter, with a nudge into Célie’s ribs, just before he reached them, and he worked valiantly not to let himself smile, as he took Célie’s hand.


Certain looks from women just did a man good.

Célie was bursting at the seams with smugness, too, and that did his heart even better. He smiled down at her, tugging her into him, enjoying immeasurably that he could do that now, flirt with her with these little invitations of his body to come in closer, rather than always, always, be the good guy maintaining barriers between them.

“Joss, this is Vi. Violette.” She indicated the blonde. “And Lina.” The black-haired woman. “We met when we were the junior team for France, in the International Chocolate and Pastry Competition.”

“Nice to mee—hell, Célie.” Joss stared at her. “You represented France?”

She nodded, her pride radiating out through all the cracks in the shell of her effort to contain it.

Damn, and he’d missed it. He hadn’t even known. “Sweetheart.” He grabbed her before he even thought about it, squeezing her so hard he lifted her off her feet. “Good for you.”

“We won,” Célie said, that shell of attempted modesty bursting wide open, her pride in herself like a sunburst. She reached past his shoulder to give a fist-bump to Vi and Lina. “We won, Joss. First place. First all-female team ever. For France.”

His arms tightened on her, and he lifted her up, spinning her around once to try to express all his frustration at missing it and all his pride. “Damn, I wish I’d been there.”

“Yeah.” A shadow across Célie’s bragging.

“Good for you.” Joss lowered her down his body. “Good for you.” He nodded to the other two women, who were trying not to look smug but who had angled their chins at a proud, of-course-we-take-this-level-of-success-for-granted angle. “And good for you. Congratulations.”

“It was three years ago,” Vi said.

Ah.

Three years.

And he hadn’t even known.

She hadn’t sent him a little card to tell him, for example. But then, why would she?

“Vi’s about to take over her first starred kitchen now,” Célie said. “We’ll never see her again.”

“Yeah, after I’m jailed for murder over all the male chauvinist crap I’m going to have to squash, it’s going to really cut down on my social life,” Vi said darkly.

She and Lina both gave him dark looks, too. Possibly having spent the last five years as part of a military service that was so notoriously macho it didn’t even allow women to join might put him on bad ground here. “Do you need help?” he asked Vi.

“No,” Vi said calmly. “I need to do it myself.”

Yeah, and she probably did at that. Women had it crappy. They had to handle men his size, and they had to do it with half his physical strength. “Still,” he said, “if you need backup …”

Vi gave a sweet smile. “I’m really good with knives.”

Nice to know he wasn’t the only pseudo-psychopath on Célie’s side. “I like your friends,” he told Célie.

“You relieve our minds,” said Vi dryly.

“Infinitely,” Lina ageed, in a tone that clearly communicated: You can kiss up all you want, but we’re still reserving judgment about you.

He smiled. Yes, Célie definitely picked out better friends for herself these days. He looked down at her, his fingers flexing into the curve of her hip, enjoying that possession. Enjoying his arm around her, and the fact that she hadn’t pulled away.

“Want to dance?” He bent to whisper in her ear. “I’ll try not to act too psychopathic.”