* * *

We would meet in the dead of night- share touches and smiles. It would always end with him sleeping in my bed for the night; nothing would happen except for the kissing and caressing. I had grown accustomed to waking up beside him and falling to sleep next to him. When we would see each other in public, it would be hard not to give in to the need to feel his fingers against my skin.

I woke up today in a better mood than usual. I was happy. The sun shone through the thick blinds, and I admired the white spillage of snow that gathered onto Paris. It was bright, and I could see a few people trudging through the ankle-deep cold. I needed to go to the market since I was low on tea and coffee. Scratch that- I didn't have anymore. My cupboard was empty.

I quickly undressed, glad I had taken my bath the night before- I would freeze now since the water heater decided to break last night after sitting in the tub. I placed a headband on my unruly curls and did the usual routine for my makeup. I opted for my favorite pair of trousers. They were soft and deep burgundy with two buttons that adorned my hip beautifully. I also slipped on a light brown knit sweater with a back, white and teal pattern across the bodice.

I slipped my feet into a pair of brown leather booties with thick wool socks. I grabbed a thick brown coat with a scarf, hat, and leather gloves. My purse hung on my arm as I held my coin purse and basket. With one last check, I was out the door. My back was turned to the wind as I locked the door. The minute I turned around, the cold chill slapped me hard in the face; it stung, and my eyes watered. I sucked in the cold air and gritted my teeth. God, that was cold. I need to hurry before I freeze.

The ground was slick with ice, and the snow permeated through my boots. I could feel wet with every step. Not many people were left on the streets of Paris; the cold may have run them home. I gritted my teeth as a chill slid between my legs. I was glad I wore trousers.

The market was barren. The vendor wasn't even there. How am I to pay for this? I wondered, casually glancing at the wool blankets and the bags of hot chocolate. The wind was picking up, and snow was beginning to fall. No one was out, except for the famous drunk Marty, who was swaying at the end of the table.

He was eying the thick wool blanket I now had in my hands. Marty was a lovely man; once, when I had too many bags of groceries, he helped me carry them in. I know I shouldn't have been, but I was amazed that he hadn't taken anything. He had ducked his head and turned to leave, but I grabbed the bag of extra's I had gathered and handed them to him.

He was surprised but gladly took them. I had learned his full name was Martin Shew, and he never liked being called Marty, said it reminded him of his father.

I held the wool out to him. He looked at me, his eyebrows lifting in surprise before dropping, "I can't pay for that," His voice was hoarse.

"It's alright, I insist,"

"I can't," He said.

"Martin? I'll pay for it. You can't be out with just that as a shield to this wind," I told him, pointing at his worn, stained coat.

Then his posture had changed, and he was bug-eyed.

"Sorry, I can't," He rasped quickly, trampling down across the street. I watched him go in confusion- he glanced back at me- no behind me. I turned to see Callan smiling, bundled up in scarves, gloves, and a wool hat.

"Callan," I breathed, smiling.

"How are you?" He asked, leaning against the wooden table.

"You scared him off," I said, furrowing my brow- still clutching the wool.

"I didn't do anything. I only stood there looking at the bag of tea," He said, holding his hands up as if to mock surrender.

"Callan, you hate tea," I said, placing the box he had in his hands in my basket.

"He doesn't know that," He smiled at me brightly.

"Imogen, there's this-," He was cut off by loud French.

The market vendor was an old man of maybe his late 70s. His frail body was wrapped in so many layers that he was waddling towards us. Earmuffs adorned his balding scalp, and a thick scarf covered his lips as he talked.

"What do you think you're doing? Stealing?" He barked. I saw Callan's jaw clench. Was he mad that the man was yelling at me or more upset that he couldn't understand him? I stepped up, digging into my coin purse.

"I was going to pay, but I didn't know where you were. My apologies Mr. Shreeve," I told him, kindly handing him the amount due. He eyed me before looking up at Callan. His eyes narrowed, and he scoffed.

"Have a nice day, Miss. Gallagher. Take your German lover with you- he's scaring all my customers," He tossed at me before waving his hand and turning to go inside.

"Come on," I said. Callan followed me back to the bakery where we passed Martin. He was leaning against the old brick of the embroidery shop a few shops away from mine. His lips were a light blue, and his eyes were scrunched. It seemed like he was trying to melt into the brick. I placed a gloved hand on Callan's arm, who looked down at me in wonder. Before he could say anything, I handed him the blanket.

"Give this to him,"

"Why?"

"So he knows he doesn't have to fear you," I told.

He furrowed his brow and shook his head, "What if I want to be feared?"

"By a homeless drunk who's going to freeze to death?" I questioned.

"Fine," Callan took the wool and looked down at it, "We could've used this,"

"Used it for what? We have heat,"

His eyebrows went up suggestively, and I hit his arm, "Go,"

"What do I say to him?" He asked.

"Tell him, Ici vous êtes amis. It means 'Here you are, friend." I told him. I listened to him repeat it back, but he completely botched it, so I made him repeat it.

"Close enough," I said, pushing him towards the now squatting Martin. I watched Martin tense when Callan stepped in front of him, and Callan looked back at me before kneeling beside Martin.

He placed a gloved hand on his shoulder and said the chosen words before laying the blanket in his lap. Martin eased just a bit and said thank you. He smiled, and Callan patted his back before standing. He walked back to me with a smug smile on his face.

"See, that wasn't so hard," I told him as we walked the short distance to the bakery.

"Not at all. I just hope none saw me," He told me. He seemed worried.

"No one was around," I told him as I opened the door. He closed it behind me as I set the food on the counter.

"Oh my God!" I gasped when I shrugged my coat off. It was freezing in here.

"My name is Callan, but that'll do," He said, laughing.

I gave him a pointed look, "It's freezing in here! The heater must have broken or something..."

"Still say we didn't need that blanket?" He accused, jokingly pulling me into his arms.

"He needed it more; besides, he doesn't have someone to sleep with," I told him, snuggling into his warm chest. I could feel the vibrations in his chest as he chuckled.

"Is that what we're doing?"

"Yeah, and that's all we're doing. Sleeping. Oh, you were going to tell me something earlier at the market?" I asked, moving away from him to set the kettle. I grabbed two cups and poured the hot chocolate mix into each.

Callan had taken off his coat and laid it across the couch. I watched him walk over to my record player. He glanced at me, and I just gave him a small smile. He squatted down, examining the small collection I had collected over the years. My father loved records and would play them day and night.

The kettle screamed aloud behind me, almost making me jump. I was too engrossed in Callan to expect it. I turned the gas stove off, poured the hot water into the cups, set the kettle back on the eye, and mixed the liquid. It smelled amazing. I added a few marshmallows that Callan had brought to me a few days ago from his room, and I plopped four in each.

He had found a song to play. He stood up smiling, and I walked over to him as it began to play.

"Night and Day?" I asked, handing him the cup, "It's hot," I warned.

"Yeah, I love Fred Astaire," Callan told me, setting the cup on the coffee table. He then turned to me, holding out his hand.

"You want to dance to this?" I asked as he took the steaming mug from my hands, placing it beside his own.

"No, I want to hold you to this song," He told me, pulling me close. His hand went to my hip while the other held mine in a light grasp. I smiled at him as we swayed to the soft music. My head rested against his shoulder, and I listened to him whisper the words in my ear.

"So a voice within me keeps repeating you, you, you

Night and day, you are the one

Only you beneath the moon or under the sun

Whether near to me or far

It's no matter darling where you are

I think of you," his voice was sweet and light.

"On Wednesday, they are showing La Main du Diable at the Cinema," He told me.

"A horror film?"

"Yes, do you not like horror films?" He asked, scared that he had said the wrong thing.

"I'm not a fan, but I will go with you," I told him. He smiled and leaned in to capture my lips. We swayed and kissed until the record reached its last song. Pulling apart, he went to secure another record while I sipped my cooling drink. I patted the empty couch beside me, and he sat down, taking his cup in his hands. He swallowed the warm liquid and marveled at the taste.

"Wow, this is amazing, Imogen," He said.

"I didn't make it, Callan. You were there when I bought the mix," I told him, narrowing my eyes. He was making fun of me.

"All the reason why I like it more," he said, nudging my elbow causing my drink to spill on my sweater.

"Callan!" I gasped as the hot chocolate seeped into the fabric. I had stood up in shock, setting my cup on the counter as I reached for a rag.

"Oh, looks like this should come off," He told me. His voice was low, and I noticed the look in his eye when he came up to me.

"You did that on purpose? This is going to stain if I don't wash it soon," I scolded him as I rubbed a damp cloth to my shirt. His hands linked around my wrists, ceasing them. I shuddered as he pulled them away, taking the wet rag and setting it on the counter. He had planned this- that sneaky man.

"That wet spot on your chest must be freezing," he told me.

And it was. I had forgotten that the hot water was off, and so was the heat. I bit my lip to stop my teeth from chattering. Callan's cool fingers lifted my chin and my eyes locked with cool blues.

He smiled before his gaze dropped to my lips. He leaned in, and my eyes fluttered shut, waiting for the kiss. It never came, but I felt his fingers grip the hem of my shirt, and before I could protest, he pulled it over my head, throwing it across the room.

"Callan!" I exclaimed.

He laughed and kissed my neck. His hot tongue twirled in circles as his lips nipped my sensitive flesh.

"Callan," I whimpered, running my hands through his blonde locks. I was breathing hard as his lips ravaged my neck. One hand was cupping my breast while the other kept a firm hold on my hips. He was keeping me against the counter, his body pressed to mine. My hips began to squirm and move, and I hadn't even realized I could do that- or knew how-to for that matter.

My mind was going in circles as I felt him move against me, and I gasped at the sudden feeling that swam through me. Then his lips detached from my neck and moved to my chest, kissing along the lace camisole I had underneath the sweater before pulling it over my head.

"Wait," I said; he froze and looked up at me. I smiled and placed my hands on the buttons of his shirt, "It is not fair that you are still in this,"

My fingers quickly undid his shirt, and he tossed it aside. I pulled his undershirt over his head and ran my hands down his chest. He stiffened when my fingers brushed against the hem of his black pants. But I only tugged him closer. His hands braced himself on the counter behind me. A shocked chuckle escaped his perfect mouth.

"Rough, I see?" He said.

I peered up at him, "Shut up and continue," I smiled.

And he did. His fingers slid down my back, coming back up to un-clip my bra. He slid it off with ease, and my body shook as the cold hit flesh usually covered. I cried out as his mouth skillfully made me squirm and bucked against him, throwing my head back. His spare hand reached to knead at the sensitive bud as his mouth moved to the other.

The feelings of pleasure were made know by my moans and gasps. My hold tightened onto Callan's shoulder- nails digging in. His mouth crashed against mine, nose pressed against my glasses while my tongue wrestled with his as he ground his hips against me, and I moaned in delight. He was so skilled at this. He knew just what to do to get me riled- knew just where to touch to spring me to life. My legs were shaking against him as he pressed his forehead to mine.

Our breathing was heavy and stiff. I swallowed, letting my eyes shut as my body burned in heat. Callan's lips kissed mine hungrily, but it was different, almost a distraction- his hands ran down my stomach, slowly closing the distance to my pulsing core.

My eyes shot open as his fingers slipped into the waistband of my trousers. They hesitated, and I heard him whisper my name. I looked up at him, and he searched my eyes for 'No.' I just stared into his blue orbs. I lost myself in the arch of his nose, the sensual curve of his lips.

Then they disappeared behind the soft fabric, and I gasped. He pressed softly at first, watching me closely before he moved harder against me. I couldn't contain the moan any longer, and it was light and airy and cut off by his lips.

Then he moved in small circles, keeping pressure. His lips latched onto my neck as I writhed underneath him. I was gasping as my body reacted to his touch. My hands were clutching his shoulders as my hips moved in unison to his fingers. He grunted when my nails dug into his shoulders. I was moaning loudly now. It felt like someone was pouring warm water between my legs and letting it pool into my stomach. It was as if I was going to explode.

"Callan," I whimpered. His fingers slid from their spot, and he kissed me hard. I was trying to figure why he had pulled away as he hoisted me onto the counter, but the second I felt him through his pants- against me, I knew.

In the back of my mind, as he kissed me senselessly and shifted against me again and again, I wondered if this was a good idea. If we were moving too fast.

We've only known each other less than three months. I didn't know when he would be leaving. This war could end tomorrow for all we knew, and he could be taken from me any moment. Any night.

KNOCK! KNOCK!

Startled, my heartbeat fast as I clamped my mouth shut. Callan pulled away, watching the door as he clutched me closer to him. We were breathing so loudly I was worried whoever was on the opposite side of that door would hear us.

"Ms. Gallagher?" The voice of a Frenchman sounded, and I looked at Callan; his hands were still on my hips. I jumped down from the counter and quickly reached for my camisole.

"Who is it?" Callan hissed as he looked for his shirt.

"I don't know, and I don't recognize the voice," I said, spotting his shirt hanging off the end of the counter. He slipped it on and fixed his pants as I led him upstairs.

"Hide in here, for now, I'll be back," I told him. He pressed his lips to mine and nodded. I grabbed a sweater and threw it on before shutting my bedroom door. As quickly as my quivering legs could take me, I made my way to the front of the bakery. I snatched up my bra from behind the counter and shoved it into a box of fabric I used to use for knitting.

I stopped knitting after the Occupation months back. I composed myself before I swung the door open. My smile faded as I took in who stood before me. Three men clad in winter clothing and stern faces. They were whispers of them, all over Paris. I swallowed as I took in their steely gazes.

"Ms. Gallagher?" The tallest asked.

I nodded my head.

"May we come in? It's a bit nippy out here," The short one with the long nose asked. I blinked but stepped aside as they all clambered in, blowing hot breath into their hands. I walked towards the front of the store so I could hear Callan.

"How may I help you?" I asked as I watched them closely. They were examining my store. Looking around with narrowed eyes.

My eyes gazed at the two mugs on my coffee table, and I stiffened. One of the three noticed it and smirked. He then looked at me, taking in my disheveled hair, and grinned.

"Company, Ms. Gallagher?" His voice was deep and raspy.

The one with the long nose seemed more interested in tea because he asked for it.

"Of course! I can serve you at the counter," I told them politely, and they followed me to the front. I gathered three mugs and turned on the stove once again. I was glad I had filled the kettle to its fullest. The three men watched me as I set the tea on the table.

"It shouldn't take long," I told them.

They nodded.

The one who had noticed the two cups brushed still cold snow off of the shoulder of his coat, and my eyes landed on the couch behind him.

The couch where Callan had laid his uniforms coat.

I had let the French resistance into my home and store with his coat plain as day on the couch. He noticed my gaze was fixated behind him, and he turned curious. He took in the coat, I know he saw because when he turned around, his face was taut and rigid. But his lip turned up in an evil smile.