by Serena Janes
He leaned closer to Jo over the table, holding her even gaze. She’d been resting her own elbows on the table, but now she backed off and began to fiddle with the end of her braid.
“And that was the least of her slurs against all things French. She would drink only rum and Coke—wouldn’t even try the wines—and refused to eat anything she didn’t recognize. This included veined cheese, artichokes, any kind of organ meats and wild mushrooms. She claimed French food was unhealthy and fattening.”
Jo laughed in the semi-darkness—partly because she was entertained by Luc’s story, but mostly because she was so happy. She was excited by the nearness of his body across the table from her, and the way his eyes sparkled at her.
He drained his glass, reached for the wine bottle and offered to refill Jo’s glass first.
“No, no thanks,” she said as she covered her glass with her hand. “I think I’m done.”
She saw that his eyes held a new intensity—she felt them burning into her, through her dress, through her skin. She knew he was looking at her breasts, for her dress was fairly revealing. She grew warm, and, despite sitting with other people, excited. It was not just the nearness of his body, but the expression on his face aroused her too.
“And what about you, Joanna?” he asked as he leaned in even closer. “You’re an American who seems to be enjoying our cuisine, our wines, our culture? All things French seem to agree with you.”
He was making love to her with his eyes. With his sly smiles.
“Um, er, yes. You’re right,” she said, momentarily flustered. “I am enjoying everything about this trip. What’s not to like?” she asked as she looked around the room, trying to break his hold on her. She was grateful the darkness hid her flaming face.
“And I’ll be sure to recommend French Escapes to everyone back home,” Jo added lamely, not knowing what else to say. Her mouth was suddenly so dry she could barely swallow.
Ohmygod! Can’t the others see what he’s doing to me?
* * * *
Luc’s smug smile lasted longer than it should have, Jo thought, as his dancing eyes reflected candlelight back at her.
People’s voices began to run together in her head and she began to muse—If only everyone else would go away and leave the two of us alone here, overlooking the dark abyss on this perfect French night, after our perfect French meal. Then I could play out my fantasy with this perfect French man. Move onto his perfect French lap, put my arms around him, smell his hair, touch his face, kiss his perfectly beautiful mouth. Place my tongue between his lips. And then…
Her tiny cotton thong and the thin fabric of her dress were no match for the warm gush she felt between her legs. She knew the back of her dress would show a wet spot if she didn’t leave immediately. Abruptly, she stood up.
“Good night everyone. I have to phone home before it gets too late. And then I’ll be calling it a night.”
Luc was leaning back in his chair, one arm behind him, smiling very broadly. She shot him a look as he and everyone else wished her a good night. Her heart kicked her—he’d never looked sexier to her than he did at that moment. She wanted to leap over the table and knock him backwards onto the floor.
Instead she turned away, blinking back tears of frustration, and made her escape.
Just outside the door of the Hotel Christina, a stone turret had been converted into a public telephone booth. It was delightful, Jo thought, even if it was almost Disneyesque and probably fake. She pushed into the tight space to make a call to her sister, Julie. She wanted to ask about their father, who had been having some heart trouble. He’d brushed it off when she asked him about it on Father’s Day. Still, she loved her father deeply, and was worried.
One small light bulb dangled from high inside the turret, casting a feeble light on the phone. She keyed her sister’s number in Seattle.
Julie answered, and after discussing their father’s health, Jo told her about the wonderful time she was having. Apologizing for her tipsiness, she babbled about how much she loved the countryside, the food and wine, and how glad she was to have chosen this particular part of France for her private mini-holiday. Julie already knew the reasons Jo had decided to stay on in France, and didn’t press her to talk about James.
Near the end of their conversation, Jo sensed a shadow out of the corner of her eye. Startled, she turned around and saw Luc near the doorway of the turret.
She self-consciously made her goodbyes and hung up, turning to him in confusion.
“Luc! What are you doing here? Do you need to use the phone?”
“But of course. Why else do you think I would be waiting here?” His eyebrow arched and a playful smile flit across his face. He moved towards her.
She grew flustered, for in her silliness she assumed he’d followed her for some secret purpose of his own. It was embarrassing to have been caught off guard, projecting her own desires, although he couldn’t have known what they were.
“Oh. Well, then. L-let me get out of your way.”
As she tried to leave the small tower, not daring to meet his eyes, he moved towards her again, effectively blocking her exit. Then he slowly raised his arms and grabbed the sides of the stone doorway, trapping her inside.
“Um,” she said, “what are you…?”
She knew very well what he was doing. He was playing with her. She didn’t know if she found it juvenile or fun.
Until she smelled him.
Now he was literally looming over her, his long body pushing closer still, almost touching her own. The smell of his sweat aroused her instantly, intensely. Her nipples sprang to attention, rubbing against the rough lace of her bra. She became afraid, backing up a little.
Oh oh oh. If there’s a God in heaven I need Him to help me now.
Jo wasn’t sure if she believed in God. But she knew the devil was real. She could feel him deep inside her, warming and weakening her body.
She backed up some more and flattened herself against the cool stone wall of the little tower.
He spoke softly, confidently. “I wanted to tell you how much I like your dress, Joanna. You look exceptionally beautiful tonight.”
For a moment she thought he must be drunk to be so bold. But she had to admit he was also respectful in his play. He was aggressive, yes, but not too aggressive.
Just aggressive enough.
“Uh, thank you.” Now her thong was thoroughly soaked.
His smile was seductive but what she saw in his eyes was serious. He seemed perfectly aware of what he was doing. All of a sudden her fear grew sharper as she realized how much she wanted him to take her in his arms and kiss her. To push her to the ground…to lie down on top of her…
She tried to hide this fear by looking bravely into his face and forcing a smile. “I have to go now.”
“Wait,” he said, a serious tone creeping into his voice. “There’s something I have to tell you.” He lowered his arms and backed away a little so he could judge her expression more clearly.
“Although you think I’m married, I’m not. Anymore, I mean. I’ve been divorced for more than a year.”
She was numb with this new information. This new tactic.
“You lied about being married?” It seemed so improbable. She couldn’t believe anyone would do such a thing.
“No. I never said I was married. I implied it, though. I know what you’re thinking. I still wear my wedding ring and you don’t believe me. But it’s true. I have my reasons for misleading people. Maybe in the future I can tell you what they are. Or maybe you won’t want to know. But this is what I want you to know right now—I am a single man. And you are a single woman. This, I think, can change everything.”
He was right.
This would change everything. If it was true.
But she didn’t dare believe him. The mistrust on her face must have been obvious because a troubled look stole over his as she said, “All right. Thank you for sharing that bit of information. I want to leave
now. Goodnight.” Her voice was cold. Sarcastic.
But he didn’t move. His large body blocked her exit, seeming as solid as a door made of oak. Looking up into eyes that had grown almost black with intensity, she felt a tingle of fear creep up her spine.
With deliberation she put the palms of her hands up in front of her to gently but firmly push against his chest, to move him away from her. The feeling of the warm hard flesh under her hands pierced her with a longing that surprised her so much she almost stopped pushing. But he obliged her by stepping back to give her enough room to pass. Never once did his black gaze leave her face, and as she walked by he said only, “Please think about what I’ve told you. Sleep well, my sweet Joanna.”
She stumbled into the hotel and somehow found her room, head pounding, body tingling from the sound of his voice, the smell of his body, and the feeling of his hard chest under her hands. His animal attraction to her was enormous. But what he’d said to her filled her with disgust. He wasn’t the man of integrity she’d hoped him to be. He was like so many others—men who would say anything to get her into bed.
Now she was frightened on two levels. She’d never, ever wanted a man the way she wanted Luc. And while it seemed all right to indulge in fantasy as long as she thought he was safely married, now she was faced with a far worse scenario. He was a married man who was denying his attachment to another woman so he could have his fun with her.
Then a revelation hit her—hard.
Just like I’m denying my attachment to James. So I can have my own fun.
Locking her door, she stripped and crawled naked under the sheet, trembling, trying hard to think.
Her body still wanted him. There was no way she could deny that. And he’d just handed her permission.
Permission to help myself. To his lips. To his long, hard body. To whatever he has tucked away in his pants. He’s offering himself up to me like a gift. A prize.
Then, with a cold logic that didn’t even surprise her, she found herself calmly contemplating the sacrifice of her integrity—even if it was just once. Yes—a chance meeting had offered her a prize worth compromising herself for.
How could she ignore such an offer?
Would I really consider sacrificing everything I believe in for a fling with someone who was already married? And a liar to boot?
Yes—even the briefest encounter with Luc might be worth wrecking her peace of mind.
Nothing in her life had ever moved her to consider such an immoral act. This was new and dangerous information she’d uncovered about herself. The marriage bond, even other people’s, was more sacred to her than anything. If she compromised her beliefs for an indiscretion with Luc, what would that say about her? Her morals? Did she hold nothing sacred? Or was the sacred an anachronism in the twenty-first century?
Her boundaries, her own moral code, the strength of which she’d always taken for granted before tonight, were beginning to weaken like a rotten fence. In fact, she couldn’t wait for the fence to fall on its own. She was beginning to look for a gate, one that could be easily opened, so she could sneak through to the man she wanted for a lover.
“Oh God—what am I going to do?” she whispered to the open windows, and to the bats careening outside through the darkness.
Chapter Four
Jo awoke with a start from a strange and powerfully erotic dream.
She dreamed she was a medieval princess—young, virginal—betrothed to a young prince. It was a political alliance of crucial importance to the families involved, and all parties required her to conceive and produce an heir as soon as possible. An air of great urgency enveloped her. What she remembered the most clearly was a scene in which she was standing in a large stone room in a palace, waiting to meet her groom.
The galleries around the top of the room were filled with dozens of interested parties—family, political allies, and so forth. The consummation was to be public. As she waited, an innocent sacrifice, she trembled in anticipation of the union to come. She fully realized the seriousness of her role, and she longed to fulfill it properly. She knew she would be deflowered, she knew she must conceive a child. And she wanted it so. Truly longed for it—so much that her belly was literally aching to be filled. Splinters of sharp pain, like shards of glass piercing the sides of her womb, caused her to tremble in her terrible anxiety to do what she had to do. Waiting was intolerable. This was the point at which Jo woke up, her insides contracting in sharp little spasms of pleasure.
Wow! That was incredible! Sex without guilt. Pleasure without consequence. I wish I could dream like this every night. She grinned as she rolled out of bed.
She knew that the source of the dream was probably the many volumes of biography and historical fiction she’d been reading about Mary Queen of Scots and the kings and queens of England and France. But she was amazed at the intensity of its sexual imagery and the sensations she felt while asleep.
It has to be Luc.
But why a dream about urgency to marry and become pregnant? Even though she loved James deeply, and had in fact been in love several times before, she’d never felt a great desire to marry and have a child. She’d always assumed these things would become more important to her as she got older. What was her dream trying to tell her?
On the way back from the bathroom she looked at her travel clock. Six fifteen—too early to get up. Breakfast wasn’t until eight. But she was too excited to go back to bed. It was more than obvious that Luc had aroused her deeply. Her body flooded with pleasure as she remembered the events of the night before. But soon her joy was overcome by feelings of shame and horror. Shame for her immodest behavior around Luc, and horror for even thinking about accepting his not-so-veiled invitation.
But then a wave of intense happiness overruled her self-disgust, and she couldn’t help notice the beautiful light and sounds in the room. The swallows were back, circling with joy in the fresh morning air. Life was sweet and the day was full of promise. She fell into a reverie.
What would it be like to be Luc’s lover? To feel his large, beautiful naked body?
He aroused all of her senses completely. He was not only a joy to look at, his voice excited her, too. And yesterday’s close encounters in the caves and at the phone booth told her that she loved the way he smelled. Then there was the way his body felt under her fingers—she remembered the thrill she’d experienced when she put her hands against his chest.
What would he taste like?
She licked her lips. Her stomach quivered and her vaginal muscles began to contract slightly in anticipation. She was wet. Outside of her dream, she hadn’t had sex for almost a week, and that wasn’t helping her resolve.
Stop it! Don’t be such a fool! You can’t have him. Learn to live with it.
She forced herself to get busy—do anything at all—so she would stop thinking about him. She certainly didn’t want to set herself up for playing the fool at breakfast. So she opened her journal and began to write.
Then she remembered she had the afternoon free. Although Luc had invited her on another caving trip, she knew she shouldn’t go underground with him again. It was too dangerous. Instead, she should do some serious thinking—some soul-searching. Perhaps damage control would be an item on her afternoon’s things to think about list.
As she dressed she thought about what she’d be missing if she passed on the afternoon trip Luc had planned. Yesterday he’d been excitedly talking about a cave recently discovered near Lascaux.
“It’s really a remarkable find,” he’d told the group. “And of particular interest to anthropologists because of a painting of a bison found on one of the stalactites.
“My good friend, Armand, is an amateur spelunker, and he’s convinced that prehistoric artists used a spitting technique to paint this image. Some people think these artists didn’t paint with a brush but actually sucked pigment into their mouths and then spat it onto the rock. They might have used reeds or leaves to control the shape of the image.”
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Jo found the idea interesting, but had other things on her mind.
He continued. “You should all come and have a look for yourselves. Then you can decide whether or not the spitting theory is valid.”
So far only Duncan, Edward and Sarah had signed up. They planned to drive out to the cave after lunch with Marc and Luc. Everyone else would have the afternoon to themselves.
But before that, they were going to walk the Chemin de la Croix, the Stations of the Cross. It was a pilgrims’ path that zigzagged up through Rocamadour to a small church, the Chapelle Notre Dame, home of the famous Black Madonna. Then they would visit the grounds of the fourteenth century château at the top of the village. After that, Jo would be on her own.
Jo willed herself to relax and give nothing away as she went down to breakfast on the patio, and to her relief she learned Luc was out jogging. She chatted comfortably with a few of the others before he came in, late, throwing his dazzling smile around the room. He quickly ate a small meal, paying no special attention to her. She didn’t know if she felt disappointment or not.
She wondered if he was embarrassed for the way he’d behaved in the turret last night. He didn’t look embarrassed—he and the rest of the spelunkers seemed in high spirits, and most of the conversation was about caves visited, past and present, and those to be explored in the future.
After eating, Luc excused himself to leave, but stopped beside Jo on his way out.
“Good morning, Joanna. I trust you had sweet dreams?” Although there was a subtle smile on his lips, he could never know how sweet her dream had been. She felt herself blushing, and nodded.
“Thank you. I did.” She took a beep breath, wondering if she could smell him. But he wasn’t close enough.
“And have you decided to accompany us to the caves this afternoon?”
He was all professionalism, now. But those beautiful eyes sparkled.
