"You have fine taste, Monsieur du Vallon," Rene tells him as he kicks the motorcycle to life. It roars once and fades to a pleasant rumble beneath them, and Rene guides it into the street, slipping easily into the flow of traffic. There is not much opportunity to speak, but Rene is glad of the crush of wind that silences them, giving him more time to appreciate the flush of Isaac's body against his back.

He pulls up in front of the hotel and lets the engine idle. "I got into a bit of trouble here," he admits. "The good kind."