Although he did not say anything she knew he had noticed. How could he not have?
Hakim came and cleared the table, returned with the omelettes and departed yet again. She tried to eat without much success, and after a few seconds she realized that Jean-Claude was not eating either.
Becoming aware of her rather fixed scrutiny, he said, ‘I’m not hungry.’
‘Neither am I.’
‘I think we’d better get it out of the way, deal with it.’
‘What?’
‘The physical aspects…of this situation. Come, Tessa, come with me.’ He stood up and so did she and together they left the garden.
In the entrance foyer he turned to her and said, ‘I told you I would show you my office. It’s up there.’ He indicated the staircase and led the way to the second floor.
After opening the door for Tessa, Jean-Claude followed her into his office, and just as he was about to take her in his arms the phone rang. ‘Merde,’ he muttered to himself, pushed the door closed with his foot and hurried down the room to his desk. Picking up the receiver, he discovered it was his sister Marie-Laure on the other end of the phone.
Speaking to her warmly, listening for a moment or two, his eyes came to settle on Tessa, who was looking at the photographs hanging on one of the walls: photographs of himself with other writers, politicians, actors, philosophers, painters, friends, the beau monde of Paris, of the world. Endeavouring to make the conversation with his sister very fast, he explained he was in a meeting and couldn’t talk long; he had been on the phone for only a few seconds yet it seemed like a lifetime to him. At last he managed to hang up, and as he did so Tessa turned, stared at him. At once he saw the pent-up longing on her face, the yearning for him in her eyes, and he recognized she was as overwhelmed by desire and sexual tension as he himself was.
He came around the desk very quickly, found himself rushing towards her, and she fell, almost stumbled into his arms. A small cry escaped her as she clung to him, and then a second later she buried her face in his shoulder. She was trembling so much Jean-Claude was alarmed, and he tried to calm her, stroking her back, holding her tightly, very close to him, murmuring gently to her. ‘Tessa, it’s all right, relax, chérie, relax,’ he whispered against her silver-gilt hair.
Finally, she looked up at him, raised her face to gaze into his face. He felt swamped by those unique silvery eyes. Looking down at her, being so close to her like this made him catch his breath, and yet again he was thunderstruck by her heart-stopping ethereal beauty. She parted her lips ever so slightly, then licked her lips with the tip of her tongue.
Inflamed by this, no longer able to resist her, he brought his mouth down on hers, crushing it, and then his tongue went into her mouth, and they savoured each other. This intense moment of absolute intimacy sent a thrill running through him, and he held her closer than before. They went on kissing, standing in the middle of the floor, lost in each other, lost to the world, oblivious to everything except themselves and their feelings.
A moment later, still clinging together, they sank onto the sofa, and he continued to kiss her passionately, just as he had wanted to the previous evening and every minute since then. At last she was exactly where he wanted her to be, in his arms, about to become part of him as he would make himself part of her. To be possessed by her, to possess her in return, that was what he craved.
After a short while he got up impatiently, began to unbutton his white shirt as he strode to the door and locked it. When he came back to her she was waiting on the sofa, having undressed, her long, lithe body stretched out for him. How beautiful she was, he thought.
A second later he, too, was undressed, his clothes thrown carelessly on the floor. He lay down next to her, overwhelmed by desire, and took her in his arms. He held her as close to him as possible, listening to his heart slamming against his ribcage in unison with hers.
Eventually, pushing himself up on one elbow, he looked into those extraordinary eyes again, and she returned his intense gaze, touched his face.
‘Jean-Claude,’ she said in a low voice.
‘Yes, darling?’
‘I want you so much.’
‘No more than I want you.’ He kissed her brow, her eyes, her small firm breasts, stroked her long body, and her stomach, caressed her languidly, taking his time. His hands fluttered over every part of her until she was moaning softly, her pleasure apparent as she responded to his touch, and touched him in return.
When his hands and mouth came to rest in the silky hair between her legs she could no longer restrain herself, and she cried out in pleasure. It was with tenderness and expertise that he brought her to a climax, felt her cresting on wave after wave. Moving onto her, positioning himself between her legs, he entered her swiftly, murmuring against her hair, ‘Chérie. Ah my Tessa, my love…’
‘Jean-Claude, Jean-Claude,’ she sighed, and put her arms around him. She held onto him tightly, wanting all of him.
It seemed to him that they were rising and falling together in slow motion. Their bodies fit perfectly, and they moved in perfect rhythm, as though they were one entity. Passion spiralled upward and they began to move faster and faster, panting, gasping as they crested and came together in an explosive climax. He felt as though he were falling down into some silvery, light-filled space, taking her with him, knowing he could never ever let her go.
They lay together on the sofa in a soft haze of pleasure, both of them slightly dazed. Pent-up desire and longing for each other had been assuaged, all tension had fled, and there was only joy and fulfilment between them.
Against her hair, Jean-Claude said, ‘Are you all right?’
‘Very all right. Except I’m thirsty.’
He kissed the tip of her nose, pushed himself up off the sofa and crossed the room.
She watched him, thinking how well he moved, and in such a positive, determined way. At one moment last night Lorne had called him a man of action, because he was always rushing off on assignments, covering wars, taking on foreign projects, and she noted how fit he was, what good shape he was in.
He had gone through a door into another room, and when he came back out carrying a bottle of water and two glasses, she asked, ‘Do you have a kitchen up here?’
He laughed. ‘No, it’s the bathroom. But I put in a refrigerator for water and soft drinks, and there’s a coffee pot.’ Placing the glasses on his desk, he fiddled with the bottle, poured the water and carried the two glasses over to the sofa.
Tessa sat up, swung her long legs to the floor and took the glass from him. ‘Thank you. I’m very dry, it must be all that champagne you gave me.’
Sitting down next to her, glancing at her quickly, he exclaimed, ‘I suppose you’re now going to say I got you drunk and seduced you.’
‘No, I’m not. You did that last night, in Marie-Hélène’s foyer. In front of half of Paris.’
He laughed out loud, enjoying her. ‘Touché.’
‘Do you have a robe or a shirt I can put on? Oh look, I can wear this,’ she said, reaching for his white shirt on the floor.
‘Let me get you something else, that shirt’s not clean, I’ve worn it.’
‘That’s why I want to wear it.’ She buried her face in the shirt. ‘It smells of your cologne.’ Standing up, she slipped the shirt on, fastened a couple of buttons, added, ‘And it smells of you.’
He chuckled as he went back to the bathroom and returned a moment later wearing a navy-blue silk robe. ‘Are you hungry?’
‘A little bit. But I don’t think those omelettes will still be hot.’
Laughter tugged at his mouth again, and walking over to her he put his arms around her, held her close. ‘I think I can rustle up some sandwiches. However, I want to talk to you first.’
‘What about?’ she asked, pulling away slightly as the seriousness of his tone registered. Staring up at him, she hesitated for a moment, then said quickly, ‘Is there something the matter?’
‘Sit there,?
?? he said, sounding a little imperious, indicating the sofa. She promptly did as he said, knowing he was serious.
He turned around, pulled a chair closer to the sofa, and sat down opposite her.
For a moment he remained silent, sat in the chair pondering, looking contemplative.
She studied him surreptitiously, thinking what a good-looking man he was. No wonder women fell at his feet. Well, hadn’t she also? He was handsome, with a strong hard body, long legs and broad shoulders. His dark-brown eyes were soulful, and at times brooding as well as mesmeric, while his gaze could be piercing. There was a sensuality to his fine mouth and yet it was kind as well. Yes, that was it. That elusive thing about him was the kindness reflected in his face. But now, as he stared back at her and very intently so, she saw a graveness settling over him, and once more she asked rather worriedly, ‘Is there something wrong?’
‘No.’ He took a long swallow of the water, put the glass on a nearby side table, settled himself in the chair. ‘I’m a fifty-three-year-old man, a grownup man. This–’ he paused, waved his hand between them airily–‘is not a sport for me. This is not a game I’m playing.’
‘I think I know that, Jean-Claude.’
‘I’ve seen too much, done too much, lived too hard in many different ways. Pain, heartache…they’re old familiars. I have grappled with disillusionment and despair, I have borne many sorrows and I suppose you could say I’ve experienced most things. There are those in Paris who think I am weary, jaded even, and in some ways perhaps I am.’ He reached for the water again, obviously as thirsty as she had been.
‘And so now, at my age,’ he went on, ‘I cannot afford to squander my time because I still have much to write, to study, to achieve, and to do. Do you understand what I’m saying, Tessa?’
‘I think so, yes.’
‘Last night when I came home after dinner I felt bludgeoned. That’s the only word I can think of…bludgeoned. And by you. By our meeting. You had an enormous impact on me. And I believe I had the same impact on you. Am I not right?’
‘You are. And I feel exactly the same way you do. Haven’t we just proved that to each other, Jean-Claude? But–’ she cut herself off.
‘But what?’
‘I’m a bit frightened.’
He smiled at her. ‘And I am terrified.’
Clearing her throat, she said, ‘What you meant a moment ago is that you don’t want me to waste your time, isn’t it?’
‘That is correct. I’ve managed to waste a lot of my time over the years, and quite often with women who turned out not to be the women I thought they were.’
‘What about me then? What do you think I am?’
‘The woman I’ve been searching for all of my life.’
‘In your book, the one you inscribed for me, you wrote, “Je suis là.” What did you mean when you wrote I am here? It’s enigmatic’
‘What do you think I meant?’
‘I am here for you…waiting for you.’
‘That’s very perceptive of you, Tessa.’
‘Lorne said he’d never seen me behave like that. He told me I was swooning at your feet, and I was. At least that’s how I felt.’
He nodded, but made no comment.
She went on, ‘He said he’d never witnessed you behaving like that either.’
‘Lorne is right, I don’t think I ever have.’ He suddenly chuckled as if amused by his behaviour of the night before. ‘I just wanted to grab you, bring you here and take you in my arms, hold you close to me forever. And it was such an overwhelming feeling I was stunned.’
‘You said you didn’t want me to waste your time…What is it you expect of me?’
‘A fair shake, as my American friends would say. At this moment, right now, I would like to know if you are ready to embark on a relationship with me? But there is one other thing…I must know that you will always be honest with me, always truthful.’
‘I would never lie to you,’ she exclaimed, and then said in a softer voice, ‘As for a relationship with you, of course I want that. Haven’t we just started one?’
‘There are some who might consider it…a one-night stand.’
‘A one-afternoon stand,’ she corrected and began to laugh.
He had the good grace to laugh with her, shaking his head, amused.
Tessa adopted a very low voice, when she pointed out, ‘We live in different cities. I have a three-year-old child. And I also have a career, responsibilities.’
‘I know all of those things, Tessa. But let us try, shall we?’
When she did not answer, he pressed. ‘Are you willing?’
‘I’m willing,’ she answered.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Brushing the hair away from her face with her hand, Tessa remained seated on the sofa, staring at the door. Jean-Claude had gone downstairs to get sandwiches. She was wondering why she felt suddenly out of sorts. Within the space of a few seconds it hit her…she missed Jean-Claude’s presence most acutely. His absence made her feel deprived. And he had only been gone for a few moments.
This knowledge amazed her, and then instantly she remembered last night, how she had not been able to sleep, how thoughts of him had crowded out everything else in her head. And because she had been restless she had finally turned on the light, picked up his book and begun to read it. Apart from making her feel closer to him, it told her a great deal about him, gave her an insight into his mind; the brilliance of his writing had amazed her. He was a remarkable thinker, philosopher and writer, and she had been bowled over by the first few chapters she had read.
Last night she had silently thanked her mother for insisting she learn to speak French and making her stick at it. Once again she felt a sense of gratitude to Paula, because if she couldn’t understand his language she wouldn’t be able to read his books, and that, it seemed to her, was imperative.
He’s larger than life, she thought, clever and accomplished, not to mention charismatic. It struck her that when he was in a room he dominated it with his physical presence and personality, and that was why she missed him now. His office was quiet, lifeless without him in it.
It was the same in a public place; she had noticed that last night. He took over the space when he walked in, and without doing anything spectacular. Of course, he was spectacular. He displaced the air around him, made gigantic waves.
He also made love in a way she was not accustomed to, had never experienced before. There had only been one other man before she had married Mark, and he had been a disaster in bed. As for Mark, he was a bit rough, always in a hurry: never considering her, never satisfying her. And then he had turned violent, had actually hurt her during sex, and had finally raped her in such an ugly and violent manner she had left him, lucky to have escaped with her life.
Don’t think about Mark, she instructed herself, and immediately blocked him out. Think about Jean-Claude Deléon instead. She lay back on the sofa and closed her eyes, relived their lovemaking…an hour of such bliss…and he was bliss…
She knew how serious he was about her, he had made that perfectly clear, had spoken to her in the most open and honest way, and with enormous clarity. Well, he was a communicator, wasn’t he? He wanted a long-term relationship. And so did she, she understood that already. Did that mean marriage? She wasn’t sure. How could they make it work? He lived in Paris; this was his domain where he was one of the philosopher kings. He rushed off to cover wars and uprisings, to interview politicians and presidents all over the world…he put himself in danger. Could she handle that? His being in constant danger?
And then there was her life…and her darling sweet Adele. Wherever she went, Adele came too, but that did not present a problem. Jean-Claude would immediately fall in love with Adele, everyone did. Her child was irresistible.
But there was her career to consider, her job at Harte’s, her responsibilities. How could she work in London and live in Paris? And she would have to live here if their love affair progressed the way he wanted
–no, actually expected it to. Certainly he would never move to London, at least not on a permanent basis.
After Mark had abducted Adele a couple of weeks ago she had suffered so much pain she had truly understood that her daughter came before everything else in her life. And she still felt the same way. Her career had been moved to second place in her own mind. Might it now take third place because of Jean-Claude?
She sat up.
She had fallen in love with him.
Instantly, last night.
She had looked into that face, so handsome yet full of character and kindness and gravity, and she had fallen heavily. Just like India fell for Dusty Rhodes, she suddenly thought, and with a rush of clarity she understood about her cousin and the artist.
Jean-Claude said he had felt bludgeoned; she had been dumbstruck. And the emotions he had aroused in her were manifold. There was no question that she had never felt like this before, and she acknowledged that this was because of Jean-Claude and all the things he was as a man.
Once again needing to understand more about him, she got up and began to wander around his office, looking at a selection of photographs on another wall, finding a long line of books on a shelf, books bearing his name as the author. Twenty-five in all. Then she noticed that some of them had been translated into English, and other languages as well, and this pleased her. She laughed to herself. Why had she felt that sudden stab of pride? After all, she had only met him last night. It didn’t seem possible…only last night. Yet her life had been turned upside down, changed irrevocably. It would never be the same, nor would she.
Unexpectedly, Tessa experienced a rush of panic. What was she going to do? How was she going to handle all of this? For a moment she felt overwhelmed, and then she took a deep breath and forced herself to relax. The only possible thing she could do was to let it happen and deal with everything one day at a time.