by Serena Janes
In Paris, that had been the best she could do. But by the time she got back to Seattle she knew she’d have to have a better answer.
Now, twenty-four hours after tearfully kissing James goodbye at the Gare du Nord train station, Jo took a deep breath of country air and sneaked another peek at Luc.
I feel good. I feel really good.
In fact, she was beginning to feel better than she’d felt in months. And that, she knew, did not bode well for a future with James.
Lying on the soft riverbank after her meal, she closed her eyes and moved into the present moment. She concentrated on listening. She could hear the rushing water of the river. Intermittent birdsong. The bark of a dog in the distance. A murmured conversation from one of the married couples sitting close by. Then she focused on trying to discern different scents. The warm grass smelled earthy and alive. The air moving over her from the flowing river was heavy with sweet moisture.
Ah, it is indeed good to be alive in this wonderful place, full of beauty and promise.
Suddenly she picked up a new scent—the deep, musky smell of a male animal. Her eyes shot open and she saw Luc crouching near her on the grass. Her entire body quivered as she studied the muscles of his legs, then quickly looked up to his teasing eyes. He was smiling at her again.
“I hope I’m not disturbing you, Joanna, but some of us are going to take a little dip before getting back on the trail. Will you join us?”
Was that a challenge she saw in his eyes? Before she answered she made an effort to calm her voice. “Of course. I brought my suit. Let me get changed.” Self-consciously she rose to her feet and picked up her bag.
At breakfast Luc had reminded everyone to pack a swimsuit—or bathing costume, as the English called it. The part of the river they would visit today was suitable for bathing, or wading, he said, although it wasn’t deep enough for actual swimming.
Jo wasn’t keen to bathe, being a little self-conscious about strangers seeing her in a swimsuit. Although she knew she looked fabulous, she was a naturally modest person. But a dip would probably feel great after the morning’s walk so she’d thrown her suit into her daypack.
In the change room she pulled her shirt on over her swimsuit and walked back to the river. She saw that Luc was already in the water, sitting with Duncan and the Stewarts, the Australian couple. It seemed everyone watched as she threw off her shirt, blushing furiously, and waded into the surprisingly cold water as quickly as she could. She hoped her hat and the glare of the sun would hide her reddening complexion.
Immediately she felt Luc’s eyes moving over her nearly naked body. Her two-piece suit was conservative by most standards, but still she wanted to hide herself. Scuttling over the slippery rocks, she sat down in deep water far away from the others, letting the exhilarating eddies swirl around her. Safe, she decided to stay put. She wanted to be the watcher. Not the watchee.
From behind her sunglasses she could see Luc sitting submerged up to his neck. He was talking to the Stewarts and Jo heard a peal of laughter coming from the brassy wife, Carol. Then he turned away from them and scrambled to find his footing. When he stood up, what a sight she saw!
God help me!
She almost choked on her own saliva. Her eyes widened and her heart kicked.
There he was, wearing his walking shorts and nothing else but the red bandana around his neck. Now she could get a really good look at what she coveted.
He was magnificent. Absolutely magnificent.
Soaking wet, his light cotton shorts clinging to him, he was truly beautiful. Exquisitely proportioned. Square shoulders, flat stomach, well-defined muscles, perfect bronzed nipples.
And those arms! He must be as strong as a bull.
An adornment of dark hair ran in a line across his chest. Another one bisected it, rising from his wet shorts, creating a perfectly symmetrical pattern. Her stomach flipped over.
And he has a tattoo!
The bicep of his right arm was graced by a small Yin and Yang symbol, done in simple black.
The tattoo puzzled her.
Why the Chinese Yin and Yang? What could it mean?
She watched Carol watching Luc as he effortlessly waded to the shore and bent to pick up a towel. A loud, too-tanned woman of early middle age, Carol was trying desperately to regain his attention as she shrilled and splashed like a large wrinkled child at the beach.
While Carol squealed, her paunchy husband, Peter, stared at Joanna. And it was soon apparent to everyone that the lovely Ms. Clifford, even when she was almost completely under water, had the undivided attention of every man with a pair of eyes.
Jo caught Carol’s sage eye and forced herself to look away toward a sullen Iris, who hadn’t bothered to come in to the water. She was standing on the shore watching the antics of the bathers. Then Edward and Glenda came scrambling over the rocks to join Jo.
Edward Evans, a fit, graying man in his fifties, was a psychologist specializing in family practice. Glenda, short and dark with a wide, pleasant smile, taught history. Earlier that day they told Jo that they’d taken many walking trips together, and planned to visit western North America, including Jo’s hometown of Seattle. So they politely asked if they could talk to her as much as they could over the next week. Their company managed to distract her for a few moments, but soon she was back to thinking about Luc.
Ashamed of herself, she couldn’t help comparing Luc’s body to her lover’s. James, with his trim muscular frame, was sexy enough in his own way but he lacked the animal appeal of the larger man.
A shadow passed over Jo’s day. Her desire for another man—an unavailable man, no less—had escalated rapidly. Things were becoming more complicated, more dangerous.
The water was too cold to keep the bathers in for long, and after a change of clothes they were soon back on the path, headed towards toward their evening stop. Jo was quiet for the rest of the afternoon. She knew she should be delighted to have met such interesting people from different countries, but she was preoccupied. Her ears were attuned only to the French accent she could just make out as she followed the man who was quickly becoming the center of her world.
She learned many things about Luc as she strained to catch snatches of his conversations with other people. It turned out that he wasn’t entirely French.
“My father is half Scottish,” she heard him explain. “His mother was a dark-haired, blue-eyed Highlander who married a Frenchman. My French grandfather, a young doctor, met my grandmother on a visit to distant relatives in Edinburgh just before the beginning of the First World War.”
Luc had claimed his one-quarter Scots blood by doing graduate work in archaeology at the University of Edinburgh. When pressed, he admitted he’d had a few of his papers published in academic journals. Jo was impressed.
“My focus was on Roman fortifications. I spent two years studying and mapping the Antonine Wall, which not many people know about. It runs parallel to and north of Hadrian’s Wall.”
Jo knew of it. She’d traveled through that part of the country once.
While living in Scotland, Luc learned to mimic a passable Scots accent, and with encouragement from Duncan, practiced his burrs and gutturals as the two of them walked ahead of the pack. Intermittently throughout the afternoon they entertained the group by singing Scottish drinking songs.
So that’s why his English is so good. And why he seems both strange and familiar at the same time.
Jo’s own father was a Scot, and she credited her reserve and her wits to his side of the family. From her mother’s side, which was English, she got her clear, pale complexion, her love of nature, and even more reserve. Also from her mother’s side of the family, Jo inherited some nice Victorian jewelry and her beautiful breasts.
But when it came to affairs of the heart she’d often wondered which parent was responsible for her utter stupidity.
* * * *
Luc felt like a fool for reminding everyone to pack a swimsuit but forgetting to brin
g his own. It wasn’t like him to make that kind of mistake. As he suffered the irritating chafing of wet walking shorts, he was made even more uncomfortable at the thought of Joanna, walking behind him.
That maudite Americaine must have picked up my scent, or whatever it is that draws males and females together.
He knew she was ripe for it—certainly—but what thrilled him even more than her excitement was that she was in such denial. Watching her wrestle with her obvious attraction to him was as charming as anything he had ever enjoyed.
It was almost funny—the mixed messages she sent him. Her face showed every kind of emotion when she looked at him. Yes, it would have been amusing except for the fact that he wanted her so badly that he couldn’t imagine laughing at anything ever again.
And then there was her body. Nothing to laugh at there, either. When he saw her wade into the river his earlier suspicions were confirmed. She had a killer figure. Yet, oddly enough, she didn’t seem to know it. Rather than flaunt it, she seemed almost embarrassed by her beauty.
He, on the other hand, had no reservations about showing off his stuff. He knew Jo was watching him when he stood up and strode out of the water, when he leisurely walked along the riverbank, slowly and thoroughly toweling himself dry.
Even now, back on the trail, he was aware of her eyes on him. And after awhile he was actually glad he was forced to walk in wet shorts. He knew they showed off part of his body to advantage.
But since their swim he had the feeling she was avoiding him. He couldn’t guess why, and he didn’t like it. He wanted to break through her aloof exterior to get back to what he knew simmered underneath, what he’d seen in her eyes at the dinner table last night.
Oh man, stop it! Not cool. Not good.
N’y pense même pas. Don’t even think about it.
But, no. He couldn’t let it go.
He had to talk to her. Maybe she was dumb. Nothing turned him off faster than stupidity. If she wasn’t terribly bright, or just dull, even, he might stand a chance of getting through this trip without doing something very stupid.
* * * *
As she walked, Luc’s damp pants kept drawing Jo’s attention from the pretty scenery. Away from the brilliant blue and white skies, away from the golden fields of fresh cut hay, the rolling green hills covered in herbs and flowers, and the magnificent châteaux that dotted the landscape. Any of these scenes would have made a charming subject for a sketch, but during their frequent rest stops she kept her sketchbook firmly closed. She wasn’t interested anymore.
She only briefly noted the coolness and shadows of the walnut and oak groves as she passed through them. She could hear the birds singing, but their songs failed to enchant her, as they would have only the day before. She barely noticed the various species of wildflowers as she practically trod on them, although native flora had been one of the main reasons she wanted to walk through his part of France. She didn’t feel like stopping to take photos, even when someone drew her attention to a particularly interesting plant.
She was too distracted.
The quaint villages, their empty streets lined with fairy-tale conical-roofed houses, failed to capture her imagination. She ignored the murders of crows sitting on tree branches, watching the walkers carefully as they passed below. She wasn’t even charmed by the attentions of a friendly dog that decided to follow them for the last few miles into Lacave. Normally she would have made a big fuss about the dog. She loved dogs. And birds of all kinds.
At one point, Thomas and Ellen Arnold caught up to her and began a pleasant conversation. Professor Thomas was retired from thirty years of lecturing in medieval history at Christchurch College at Oxford, and Ellen was retired from her office job at the same college. Although white-haired and at least a decade older than the fifty-somethings in the group, they in no way, despite Ellen’s dirndl skirts, would ever slow the group down. They’d probably been born while their respective mothers were out walking the moors, Jo thought.
But right now she was grateful for their kindness as they encouraged her to talk about herself.
Eventually, though, it was her turn to walk alongside Luc. She hadn’t said a word to him since lunchtime and felt discomforted when he fell into step beside her. He turned his playfully inquisitive eyes to hers and in a cool, professional voice asked, “So you have spent a week in Paris? What did you see?”
Given what had already passed between them, Jo didn’t want to engage in meaningless chat. She knew he was just doing his job, but she resented it. Hiding behind her sunglasses, she gave terse, almost rude, answers, a minimum of information.
“Oh, you know. The usual.”
“The usual?” His smile showed that he was not put off.
“Yes. I’ve been to Paris before. This time I was with my boyfriend.”
Boyfriend? That sounds so dumb. She felt herself blushing. What else could I say? My lover? My partner? My fiance-to-be?
“So then I won’t ask you what you did,” he said quietly and changed the subject.
She was glad she could say she hadn’t been in Paris alone. She wanted Luc to know she had a lover. It might cause him to back off. Then she’d have a chance to behave normally again.
While she walked beside him she was careful to avoid those mesmerizing eyes, but instead she found she couldn’t stop looking at his body. At his still-damp pants, his crotch, as if she had absolutely no control over where her eyes rested. This was embarrassing and infuriating to her.
Oh Christ! Not only am I almost incapable of polite conversation, I can’t even control my eyes! Can he see where I’m looking? Are these glasses dark enough? He must be able to see that I can’t keep my eyes off him. Can anyone else see?
* * * *
Someone else did notice Jo’s nervousness. Glenda Evans, walking behind them, commented to her husband Edward in a low voice that Luc seemed to be having some difficulty with Jo.
Glenda said, “It’s the oddest thing. Everyone else warmed to Luc instantly, but Joanna seems twitchy around him. I wonder why.”
She liked Jo, and was concerned that she might be on the wrong vacation.
“Give her some time, dear,” her husband replied. “I think she’s running away from something, and probably hasn’t settled in with us yet.”
Glenda knew her psychologist husband was usually right about this sort of thing, and nodded silently.
* * * *
After a while Luc, too, began to sense Jo’s agitation, so he tried to pull her out by asking about her home. Once he learned she lived in Seattle, he grew animated.
“I know Seattle! I visited that beautiful city three years ago. I delivered a paper at an archaeological symposium at the University of Washington. It’s a most impressive city. I particularly enjoyed taking the ferry across to the Olympic Peninsula. Yes, it’s a beautiful city,” he repeated.
Some of Jo’s discomfort dissolved as she thought about Luc speaking at the university she’d attended as an undergraduate.
“Yes, I’m very fortunate to live in such a wonderful city. Did you see any other part of the state while you were there? Did you go into the interior?” she asked, gaze focused firmly on the path ahead of her.
“No, I didn’t make it inland, but I took a ferry north to Vancouver Island in Canada and spent a week on the West Coast Trail. I’d wanted to hike that trail for many years. It was spectacular.”
“Really?” Jo instantly warmed, in spite of herself. “I did that same hike, just last year. It’s an amazing part of the world, isn’t it?” She felt better now, excited to think that Luc had trudged the same paths and climbed over the same fallen logs that she’d stumbled over.
“Yes, amazingly wet.” He laughed. “It rained every single day. Our camping gear and all my clothes got soaked and remained that way for the whole week.”
Jo laughed too, having found her voice.
“The rain was a problem for us, too. But at least it didn’t rain every day. It rains a lot in Seattle, so
I guess I’m pretty much used to it.”
Luc turned to smile at her without missing a step, causing her heart to pick up its pace. He seemed impressed she’d completed the challenging trail.
“You carried all your own gear?”
“I did.” She made no attempt to hide the pride in her voice.
His blue gaze moved up and down her body appraisingly. “That’s quite a feat.”
“But I whined about it the whole way. You should have heard me.” She laughed again. It felt good to laugh, as if she’d been holding her breath for a long time.
She was pleased there was some common ground established between them now. He knew a bit about her world, and she was beginning to learn something of his. These snippets of information made him more real to her, less like a male animal and more like a human being. She was beginning to like him.
What would it have been like to have met him in some other time and place? Before he was attached. Before I knew James. When we were both still free to act on our mutual attraction. Would we have become lovers? Would we have been good together?
She glanced at the aquamarine on her finger and felt a wave of guilt for even considering these questions. A dull ache of loss, or regret, rose to the surface of her consciousness. Recognizing it, she quickly chastised herself for being a fool.
You idiot! Don’t even go there!
I should be celebrating my time here in France, not pining for something I was never meant to have.
After their conversation Luc fell behind to walk with Ron and Marcie, and Jo could hear him asking Ron about his job at Scotland Yard. Under normal circumstances, she too would have been interested in what Ron had to tell, but not today. She walked the rest of the way alone, lost in her thoughts.
Relief for Jo’s agitation came, finally, in the form of a one-hotel town—Lacave. Their accommodation was a modest guesthouse situated between the famous Grotte de Lacave and yellow fields of ripe grain. The fabulous Château de Belcastel looked down on them from its cliff-side, and the clear blue and gold air was full of the scent of freshly cut hay. The scene was completely enchanting. Her luggage was waiting for her in the lobby, and Jo was grateful to find a bathtub in her room. Soon, for the second time that day, she found herself all wet, thinking of Luc, all wet.
