Read Online Hard Target by Marquita Valentine - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Marquita Valentine
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you.”
*
It’s clear from the look on his face that he’s done with the conversation, so I lean my head back and close my eyes. If my day is anything like yesterday and the day before, then I will have very little opportunity to get any sleep.
I wake up twice, both times because we have to show our passports to border guards. I don’t panic, at least outwardly, the first time because I’m sure that Benjamin thought of everything. His casual ease with the border guard relaxes me. While they speak in a mixture of French and English that is hard for me to follow, I smile and nod when it seems appropriate.
“You were brilliant,” he says as we pick up speed once more.
“I didn’t get a chance to see where my passport said I’m from.”
“Canada.”
“But they speak French in some parts.”
He grins. “ Some parts. I made sure you were from the non-French speaking part.”
Well, isn’t he prepared? My eyes drift shut as I murmur, “Let me know if I can drive for you.”
“ Mmm-hmm ,” is all he says.
I crack open one eye. “I know you won’t let me.”
“They drive on the same side as Americans in France, love.”
Opening both eyes, I perk up a little. “Really?”
“Still not driving this.”
Frowning, I close my eyes once more. “Don’t wake me up unless we’re in Paris. Or about to die. Whichever comes first.”
Laughing, he turns on the radio. Classical music fills the air and I fall asleep in minutes.
*
“Morgan,” Ben’s voice drifts into my consciousness says as he gently shakes me. “We’re here.”
Yawning, I stretch and rub my eyes. “We’re in Paris already?”
“No, we’ve stopped in Amiens for the night. I’ve a room at Hotel du Fleurs.” Once more, he steps out before I can ask any questions, but I suppose he’s answered as many as he can.
A valet dressed in a blue and white suit opens my car door.
I swing my legs out first, then allow him to help me to my feet. Since I don’t have a purse, I wait for Ben to join me curbside.
“ Bonjour, mademoiselle .”
“Sorry, I don’t speak—”
“Allow me, my love.” Ben hands the valet some money, rattling off something in French as if he were a native speaker. They both laugh and then Ben gives the man even more money.
I guess money talks in any language.
Finally, Ben grabs my hand, lacing our fingers as he leans in to whisper, “I told him we were on our honeymoon and that you were a lovely American visiting for the first time.”
“Is that why he’s smiling so big?”
“No, it’s because I told him that you were anxious to go to bed.”
My face heats.
The valet’s grin widens when he catches my eye.
“I can’t believe you told him that. Not to mention that I don’t have a ring.” I feel something cool slip onto my ring finger. Glancing down I find a wedding band made of diamonds. “Never mind then.” Who in the heck keeps spare rings? Oh, that’s right, he does.
“So glad it fits.”
“You think of everything, sugar,” I coo.
He barely suppresses a smile, but I get a glimpse of his dimples. “There’s a tracking device in the largest diamond. Should we ever be parted, I will be able to find you.”
“As long as I don’t pawn it,” I warn him.
“There is that.”
I drag my gaze from the sparkling diamonds on my finger to look up at him. “Mind telling me how this fit into your plan?”
He gives me a confident smile. “An assassin is always prepared.”
We pass through an enormous arch made of stone into the fairy tale of hotel dreams. The place drips with elegance, from the understated marble floors to the discreet lighting that gives the cavernous room a warm glow.
“I’ve already checked us in.”
A bellman appears with one bag and a Louis Vuitton suitcase on a cart. “Right this way, Mr. and Mrs. Jones.”
How original. “Is that my wedding present?” I ask, nodding at the blue and white piece of luggage.
“The ring’s not enough?” He lets go of my hand
*
It’s clear from the look on his face that he’s done with the conversation, so I lean my head back and close my eyes. If my day is anything like yesterday and the day before, then I will have very little opportunity to get any sleep.
I wake up twice, both times because we have to show our passports to border guards. I don’t panic, at least outwardly, the first time because I’m sure that Benjamin thought of everything. His casual ease with the border guard relaxes me. While they speak in a mixture of French and English that is hard for me to follow, I smile and nod when it seems appropriate.
“You were brilliant,” he says as we pick up speed once more.
“I didn’t get a chance to see where my passport said I’m from.”
“Canada.”
“But they speak French in some parts.”
He grins. “ Some parts. I made sure you were from the non-French speaking part.”
Well, isn’t he prepared? My eyes drift shut as I murmur, “Let me know if I can drive for you.”
“ Mmm-hmm ,” is all he says.
I crack open one eye. “I know you won’t let me.”
“They drive on the same side as Americans in France, love.”
Opening both eyes, I perk up a little. “Really?”
“Still not driving this.”
Frowning, I close my eyes once more. “Don’t wake me up unless we’re in Paris. Or about to die. Whichever comes first.”
Laughing, he turns on the radio. Classical music fills the air and I fall asleep in minutes.
*
“Morgan,” Ben’s voice drifts into my consciousness says as he gently shakes me. “We’re here.”
Yawning, I stretch and rub my eyes. “We’re in Paris already?”
“No, we’ve stopped in Amiens for the night. I’ve a room at Hotel du Fleurs.” Once more, he steps out before I can ask any questions, but I suppose he’s answered as many as he can.
A valet dressed in a blue and white suit opens my car door.
I swing my legs out first, then allow him to help me to my feet. Since I don’t have a purse, I wait for Ben to join me curbside.
“ Bonjour, mademoiselle .”
“Sorry, I don’t speak—”
“Allow me, my love.” Ben hands the valet some money, rattling off something in French as if he were a native speaker. They both laugh and then Ben gives the man even more money.
I guess money talks in any language.
Finally, Ben grabs my hand, lacing our fingers as he leans in to whisper, “I told him we were on our honeymoon and that you were a lovely American visiting for the first time.”
“Is that why he’s smiling so big?”
“No, it’s because I told him that you were anxious to go to bed.”
My face heats.
The valet’s grin widens when he catches my eye.
“I can’t believe you told him that. Not to mention that I don’t have a ring.” I feel something cool slip onto my ring finger. Glancing down I find a wedding band made of diamonds. “Never mind then.” Who in the heck keeps spare rings? Oh, that’s right, he does.
“So glad it fits.”
“You think of everything, sugar,” I coo.
He barely suppresses a smile, but I get a glimpse of his dimples. “There’s a tracking device in the largest diamond. Should we ever be parted, I will be able to find you.”
“As long as I don’t pawn it,” I warn him.
“There is that.”
I drag my gaze from the sparkling diamonds on my finger to look up at him. “Mind telling me how this fit into your plan?”
He gives me a confident smile. “An assassin is always prepared.”
We pass through an enormous arch made of stone into the fairy tale of hotel dreams. The place drips with elegance, from the understated marble floors to the discreet lighting that gives the cavernous room a warm glow.
“I’ve already checked us in.”
A bellman appears with one bag and a Louis Vuitton suitcase on a cart. “Right this way, Mr. and Mrs. Jones.”
How original. “Is that my wedding present?” I ask, nodding at the blue and white piece of luggage.
“The ring’s not enough?” He lets go of my hand
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