A passing automobile, the muffler sputtering discordant notes, interrupted their momentary intimacy. Frost watched the vehicle chug down the narrow street. Despite the warmth of his embrace, Marie shivered.
Frost took off his jacket and settled it around her shoulders. “Better?”
“Yes, thank you.”
The vehicle chugged down the narrow street and turned at the next corner.
“Come on,” he said, taking her hand and heading off in a different direction.
As they walked, Marie tried to sort out the powerful, unruly feelings the impromptu dance had awakened within her. She had danced with better partners, but never had she experienced the alluring magic of such perfect union. Holding onto the moment’s warmth, she pressed the sweet memory of Frost’s arm around her waist, the intensity of his gaze, into herself.
“Are we going to London?” she asked, once the moment was safely guarded.
“We’re going wherever the first train leaving the station is going.”
“What if the SD agents are waiting for us?”
“They’re waiting for Twist’s courier. Not for you.”
“How can you be sure of that?”
“Just be yourself, and remember your role.” He laughed at the contradiction. “You know what I mean.”
“I’m me, playing your girlfriend.”
“Do you mind so much?” He squeezed her hand. “Or do you still doubt me?”
Before Marie could answer, he led her across another street. She sensed he found it difficult keeping to a casual pace. They turned another corner and heard the whistle of a train.
“We should keep talking.” She suggested. “It’s what couples do.”
“Yes.” He nodded. “We can practice our accents.”
“You’re the only one who needs practice.” Marie tried to make her voice light and teasing, but she didn’t quite succeed. “How are you at French?”
A flicker of surprise swept over Frost’s features. “Je parle un petit Francais. Que pensez-vous a mon accent?”
Marie tilted her head in mock seriousness. “Une amelioration sur votre Anglais.”
Frost laughed. “Translation, please.”
Heat burned her cheeks. “I said your French is an improvement over your English.”
“Oh, is that what you said?” He laughed again. “I would wager dinner at the most exclusive restaurant in Paris that my German-tainted English is more convincing than your American-tainted French.”
An exaggerated sigh escaped her lips. “Dinner in Paris. That sounds so wonderful.”
“So you accept my wager?”
Marie shook her head. “I already lost.”
Christian Fiction Friday is a weekly blog hop where authors post snippets from their current works in progress. It is hosted by Alana Terry and Hallee Bridgeman. Click here for a full list of rules and suggestions.