"Oh," She rose up slightly on her toes and pushed back into his chest as his hand cupped her warm, naked flesh.
"Bastien?" Uncertainty and pleading were both in that one word, and Terri said his name with an excited catch that did unbelievable things to him.
He
was having this effect on her.
He
was the reason her nipple was pebble hard beneath his fingers.
He
was why her breathing was suddenly coming in short, fast gasps.
"Terri." Bastien groaned, then withdrew his left hand to catch her under the chin and turn her head so that he could reach her mouth. Her response was gratifying if startling. This time it was
she
who slid her tongue out to run along his, and she who thrust her tongue into his mouth when his lips parted. She was kissing him with a passion that spoke eloquently of the effect he was having on her. Terri wanted him.
Slipping his other hand out from beneath her shirt, Bastien turned her to face him without breaking the kiss; then he took control, his own tongue lashing hers and thrusting with an answering passion. He had never wanted anyone as much in his life as he did Terri at that moment. He wanted to devour her. In fact, there was nothing else in the world that he thought he would rather do.
Moving her sideways and back, Bastien urged Terri down onto the sofa along the office wall. He lay down half on top of her, his elbow resting on the armrest by her head and one knee settled between her legs, helping to keep the worst of his weight supported, and the kiss turned frantic. Bastien's body was urging him to touch her everywhere at once, to rip her clothes off and explore her with the greed and want he was feeling, but he forced himself to remain in check, afraid that he would shock and terrify her with such an action.
It was hard to resist. It had been so terribly long since he had lain with a woman. It seemed forever since he had even had the urge to do so; yet now the hunger in him was worse than any he'd ever experienced. Even his need for blood had never surpassed this yearning he was currently feeling.
Terri groaned and shifted against him, arching upward when his hand found her breast again through the soft fabric of her sweater. Bastien was, at first, frustrated that it wasn't a shirt he could unbutton and open, but his brain started working again and he broke their kiss to lean slightly away. Grabbing the hem of the top, he pushed it upward to reveal the pink lace bra she wore beneath.
The words
color-coordinated
and
feminine
ran through his mind, and Bastien nearly laughed at the inane thought. Then he noticed the darker cinnamon of her nipples visible through the pink bra, and a shudder of anticipation ran through him. Before he even realized what he intended, Bastien had lowered his mouth to cover that still erect and excited nipple through the lace of the bra.
Terri cried out and trembled. Her hands caught violently in his hair, clasping him tightly to her, and urging him on. His tongue moved over the textured material of her bra, dampening it and the hard nipple beneath.
"Bastien!" She gasped his name on a cry of pure need, and began to tug at his hair. He gave in to her demand and lifted his head, allowing her to pull him back up to cover her mouth with his.
"Ahhhhh!"
Terri stiffened beneath him. That shout had come from outside, and reached them in the office. Both of them went still, waiting. When silence followed, Bastien relaxed and began to kiss Terri again, only to pause when a second shout followed.
Heaving a sigh, he lifted his head and met Terri's gaze.
"Maybe if we leave it alone, whatever it is will go away," she murmured hopefully.
"Maybe," he agreed, then glanced worriedly around at the sound of shattering glass. It was followed by a warning shout from Vincent, which helped Bastien identify that the first two shouts had been Chris Keyes's. It didn't look as if the situation were going away, whatever
it
was. Turning, he pressed a kiss to Terri's nose.
"I'm afraid I have to go see what the kids are doing," he said with grimace.
Terri released a sigh, but nodded and even managed a smile. She withdrew her arms from around him so they could both sit up.
Bastien helped her straighten her clothes, then stood, pulling her up with him, and led the way into the living room. What they found was like a scene from some insane, drug-induced dream. When they walked out, it was to find Chris hopping madly about the coffee table on his good leg, waving one crutch wildly in the air as he alternately sneezed and squawked. His second crutch lay forgotten on the floor between the couch and table.
As for Vincent, Bastien's cousin had removed his cape and was following the editor, snapping it in the air about the man's head in a half-crazed fashion that hit Chris in the head every second or third snap. Bastien couldn't decide if it was some new dance he was witnessing, or his cousin was attacking C.K.
He glanced at Terri uncertainly. "Is this another scene from the play?"
"I don't know," she admitted. Her expression was torn between concern and bewilderment. "It could be, I guess."
"Hmmm." Bastien turned back to the dancing duo, wondering if he should interfere. Or if he even really wanted to. Then he stiffened. Chris had made almost a full circle around the coffee table, and was now hopping toward where his abandoned crutch lay. Unfortunately, he was too busy swinging wildly with the other crutch to notice.
Bastien opened his mouth in warning, but Terri had also seen the trouble too and beat him to it.
"Chris! Look out! Your—" She winced as he stumbled over the crutch, flailed madly for a minute in an effort to regain his balance, then cried out as an equally unobservant Vincent slammed into him from behind. The two went down, crashing to the floor in a tangle of flailing limbs.
"—crutch," Terri finished on a sigh.
"You tried," Bastien said, patting her shoulder comfortingly. Then they both rushed forward as Vincent struggled to disentangle himself from a moaning C.K.
"What were you two doing?" Bastien asked. Grasping his cousin's hand, he tugged upward, helping Vinny get to his feet and off the editor, who was definitely suffering the worse of the struggle.
"There was a bee," Vincent explained.
"A bee?" Bastien gaped at him in disbelief. "All this nonsense over a little bee?"
"That
bee?" Terri gestured to a small insect now buzzing in circles over the editor's head.
Chris had been lying, eyes closed, trying to catch his breath. Those eyes now popped open, round with terror. "What? Where is it?"
"It's just a bee, man," Bastien said bracingly. He was almost embarrassed for the fellow—hopping around, screaming like a girl, and all over a little insect. The editor would wet his pants at this rate. "You're a thousand times bigger than it. Get a hold of yourself."
"He's allergic to bees," Vincent explained in a hush.
"Oh." Bastien grunted, understanding a little better. "Well, hell," he added as the bee decided to settle on the editor's nose. "This can't be good."
"Oh, God," C.K. whimpered.
"How allergic are you?" Terri sounded concerned. Her expression turned to outright panic, however, when rather than answer, Chris stuck his lower lip out to blow upward at his nose in an effort to encourage the bee to leave. "Don't blow at it! I read somewhere that blowing at them annoys them and makes them—"
"Ow!" C.K. cried.
"—sting," Terri finished in horror. Apparently, the bee had decided it had finally had enough, and had done just that. She turned sharply on Vincent. "How allergic is he?"
"How should I know?"
"Well, you
knew
he was allergic!"
"Well, he
said
he was, when the bee came flying out of one of the arrangements," the actor explained. "But he was busy hopping around at the time, trying to get away from it. He didn't stop to go into detail."
"Oh, dear."
When Terri turned to him, Bastien raised an eyebrow.
"I think we'd better call an ambulance," she said.
"Maybe he has one of those shot things," Vincent suggested, drawing Terri's attention back to him. "I worked with a gal once who was allergic to peanuts, and she carried a shot of adrenaline or something."
Bastien ignored the two as they continued to debate what to do. He had been watching the editor for reactions, and was alarmed at the speed with which the man's nose was swelling and his color changing. The man needed care right away, and an ambulance wouldn't do. It wouldn't be quick enough. Unless Chris had one of those shots Vincent mentioned, getting him in the car and to the hospital at once was top priority.
"Do you have a shot?" he asked, kneeling beside the editor. When C.K. shook his head, Bastien nodded and scooped him up in his arms. "Can someone grab my car keys off the coffee table?" he asked as he strode out of the living room.
There was silence for a minute, then a sudden rush of sound and movement behind Bastien. By the time he had pushed the elevator button and the doors slid open, Vincent and a breathless Terri were at his side.
"I got your keys," Vincent assured him. They all crowded onto the elevator, pushing Bastien and his bundle ahead of them.
"And I grabbed a pen," Terri added.
"A pen?" Vincent turned from pushing the button for the parking garage to peer at her.
"Yes. You know. In case we have to do one of those throat thingies," she explained.
"Throat thingies?" When Vincent glanced to Bastien in bewilderment, Bastien merely shook his head. He hadn't a clue what she was talking about.
"You know. If his throat closes up and he can't breathe, you have to slice a hole in his windpipe and stick the tube of the pen in for him to breathe through."
A stifled moan drew Bastien's gaze to the editor's now gray face. The man was looking pretty ghastly. He was almost a green color. Bastien couldn't decide if that was because he was having trouble breathing, or because Terri had just unintentionally scared the spit right out of him.
"Oh. A tracheotomy." Vincent nodded. "That could be necessary."
"Don't worry, Chris." Terri patted the editor's arm in an effort to soothe him. "We won't let you die. We'll do whatever it takes to keep you alive."
Though the man didn't say anything, Bastien got the impression that Terri's reassurance was more terrifying to Chris than the fact that he was starting to have definite difficulty breathing.
As the elevator doors opened onto the parking garage, Bastien raced to his Mercedes.
"How are you feeling?" Terri asked as Bastien set Chris back on the couch several hours later.
"Let me die in peace," he said. At least that's what Terri thought he said. It was difficult to tell with his voice as garbled as it was. The editor's face was swollen and an angry red. It looked as if he'd been in a bad fight—and lost. She simply could not believe that the hospital had released him. He looked like they should have kept him at least a week. And his labored efforts at breathing were not reassuring. Yet the doctor had pumped him full of something, made them all sit about for hours so they could "observe" C.K., then assured them he would be fine; he'd got to the hospital in time to save his life.
Well, if C.K. died, his family should sue and Terri would be willing to testify for them. She was positive the place really should have kept him at least overnight for observation. Since they hadn't, she'd keep a close eye on him herself.
"Terri?"
"Hmmm?" She straightened away from Chris to glance at Vincent, who dropped wearily into a chair.
"The next time we have an emergency and you want to drive, remind me to say no."
Terri grimaced. She had insisted on driving when they'd got down to the parking garage. Bastien had set Chris in the backseat of his car and climbed in, saying, "One of you get in on his other side in case I need help."
That had been all she'd had to hear; Terri had snatched the keys from a startled Vincent, handed him the pen, and jumped in the driver seat. Then she'd had to slide across to the other side, because she'd forgotten that the driver side was on the left in America, while it was on the right in England.
"Speaking of which," Bastien said idly, moving to the bar to fix a drink. "Do you have an international driver's license, Terri?"
"Er… no." She shifted uncomfortably, knowing that she really shouldn't have driven. But when faced with the choice of driving, or possibly having to help Bastien cut open the editor's throat, driving had been her choice. Terri wasn't very good with blood and stuff. That was why she'd grabbed the keys and hopped in the car, leaving Vincent no option but to climb in the back with Bastien.
Noting the exchange of glances between the two cousins, Terri felt it behooved her to point out, "But I got us there pretty fast."
"And even in one piece," Vincent added dryly. "I feel I should point out to you that the speed limits in England are higher than here."
Terri bit her lip to keep from smiling. She would never forget glancing into the rearview mirror to see Vincent's blanching face, and the way he clutched the backseat in horror as she swerved in and out of traffic at breakneck speeds, trying to get to the hospital as quickly as possible. All while Bastien had shouted directions to her from the back seat. "Right at the next corner! Left here!" She'd been going so fast, she would swear she had taken a couple corners on two wheels.
"You did a fine job," Bastien said reassuringly, pouring whiskey into a glass. Then he ruined the effect by downing the glass in one toss.
"I could use one of those, too," Vincent decided as Bastien poured another.
"Well…" Terri glanced at Chris. The poor man was sound asleep, which made her hesitate. She'd been about to ask him if he needed anything to make him more comfortable. That wasn't necessary.
"I suppose I should call the publisher he and Kate work for," Bastien said, walking back from around the bar with two glasses. "I'll have to call and leave a message on the answering machine, informing them that Chris won't be in any shape to go into the office tomorrow as he'd planned."