Calvin became aware of the morning when he felt the heat of the sun beating down on his face. His eyes fluttered as he raised his hand to shield the blinding light enough for him to see. He vocalized his disapproval as a grunt that melted into a groan when he noticed how sheer the curtains were. He rolled over abruptly, yanking the thin linen sheet that had gathered at his waist over his shoulders.

Josephine stirred feeling Calvin beside her. The sudden absence of a cover across her nude frame left her shivering and very suddenly awake.

"Monsieur," she purred, voice raspy from sleep.

She slid her hand up from his hip to his shoulders to grab a handful of the sheet. She pulled it from him just as brusquely as he had from her, the gesture eliciting another groan from Calvin.

"This is my bed, goddamnit," he mumbled, rolling onto his back. "I will enjoy as much of the linens as I goddamn well please."

"That is where you are very mistaken," she warned. Her grip on the blanket remained tight as she covered herself.

"Madame Josephine," Calvin sat up finally. "A good woman of the evening, as I suspect you are after last night's activities, leaves a man before the sun has blossomed in the morning sky."

"A woman of the evening?"

Josephine pulled herself into a sitting position to slink an arm around his bare shoulders. Calvin leaned against the touch as a flower would to the sun, but instead of warm fingers caressing the side of his neck, he felt the sharp edge of a small knife.

"Now, now," Calvin looked at her. "Let's not do anything to spoil the morning."

"This would not spoil my morning," she said, pressing the blade harder against the bulging vein in Calvin's neck. "The linens, perhaps, but not my morning."

Calvin swallowed. The blue of his irises hardened black as his brows knitted together. His gaze flickered up and down Josephine's face excepting to see a flicker of playfulness, some indication that she was just flirting, but there was none to be found. Her eyes were bright and clear, like blazing emeralds framed between thick, black eyelashes darkened by the smudges of last night's makeup. He was bewitched for a moment until he felt Josephine slide the blade across his skin; not hard enough to cause damage, but with enough pressure to make Calvin sweat.

His hand felt anxiously at his neck for the hot wetness of blood, but it remained dry. He looked at Josephine, clearing his throat.

"Get out of bed," she gestured towards the door with the knife she had just been holding against his neck.

Calvin caught a glimpse of the dangerous object held tightly in her long fingers. A small knife, no larger than her hand, fingertip to wrist, with a pearl handle. He wondered what a woman like Josephine needed a knife like that for. She caught him staring and again gestured to the door.

"Please, go."

"I'd like to stay."

"I would like you to go," Josephine said firmly. "Now."

"I'd like to stay," he repeated.

Before she had the chance to raise her hand again, Calvin lunged over and seized her wrist to knock her hand against the headboard until she released the knife. The weapon bounced off her pillow and hit the floor with a thud after falling between between the headboard and the mattress. Calvin pressed her hand to the hard wood, his teeth gritting together loud enough for Josephine to hear.

Nose to nose, Josephine felt the waves of heat radiating from Calvin's skin. His cheeks flared red, his brow slick with tiny beads of sweat. Shifting on the bed so that Josephine's waist was between his knees, Calvin brought his other hand up to her neck and pushed her against the headboard, the wind escaping her lungs in a gasp of surprise.

"I am not well acquainted with the culture of the French at this present moment," he snarled from behind clenched teeth. "But please, Madame Josephine, explain to me what the significance of your li—"

Calvin yelped out when Josephine slammed her heel against the base of his spine. He crumbled atop her like a house of cards. Josephine rolled him off and leaned over him, a fistful of his thick hair clenched in her tight fist. She yanked his head up to bring his ear to her lips.

"Monsieur Candie," she murmured, voice as soft as a whisper. "This is my house. You are a guest. Act accordingly."