Barbara McMahon - French Escape

“Maybe I’ll extend my stay another few days,” he said.

She tried to remember future reservations. “I think I’m booked,” she said finally, feeling disappointed. This seesaw of emotions confused her. Did she want to see where a relationship between them could lead or not?

She did. She’d have to double-check reservations. If there was a way to keep a room for Matt, she would find it.

“Ah, I hadn’t thought about that. Maybe I’ll have to look for something elsewhere in the village.”

“I can double-check.” She made a move to stand, but his hand caught hers and tugged her back down. The tingling that shot through her arm was pleasant, tantalizing. She looked at him, feeling his hand imprinted as if she’d never forget.

“Time enough in the morning. Let’s just enjoy the evening. If the rooms are all booked, so be it. I’ll take you to dinner and then head for home.”

“That would be so late.”

“Or we could get rooms in Marseilles and I’ll drive you back in the morning and then head for home.”

That raised all sorts of concerns. Jeanne-Marie took a deep breath and shook her head, much as she was tempted. Not that he was suggesting a single room. She caught her breath at the thought. His kiss had knocked her off her senses; what would making love be like?

She grew warm thinking about it, glad for the darkness to hide her face. She was probably beet-red by now.

“No, I have to prepare breakfast for my guests. I have to return home Monday night, no matter how late.”

“Of course.”

It was a beautiful evening with a soft breeze blowing from the sea and she was sitting with a gorgeous man. His hand had slid down her arm and now held her hand loosely in his. The focal point of her existence was on their linked hands. She couldn’t think about anything else except Matt and the wild feelings that exploded in her when he touched her. A million women would trade places with her in a heartbeat. How had she been so lucky?

In a desperate attempt to stop thinking about unlikely possibilities, she asked, “What was your favorite part of today?” Her entire body seemed attuned to Matt. She could stay here forever. The darkness sheltered them. The gaiety in the town was a sweet background melody that mingled with the soft sighing of the sea as it brushed the sand. For a time, cares seemed forgotten. The past faded away, the future was unknown. She had only this moment.

“The food. I bet we sampled two dozen different dishes. How that boy of yours kept eating is amazing to me.”

“He has his moments. I hope it all goes to making him a tall man. My father isn’t very tall. I want Alexandre to be tall like his father.”

“Tell me about Phillipe,” Matt invited.

She hesitated. She disliked the way people tiptoed around the subject, but now that it was broached, what could she say? She didn’t want to talk about him to Matt. Yet, he was such an important part of her life. “He was tall, with brown hair, looked a bit like his father, whom you met. He had the most amazing vitality. He was always on the go. I used to wonder how he had the patience to scale the sheer cliffs he did. It takes careful study and patience to pick out the best route. He always seemed antsy, always looking for things to do. He didn’t sit still very often.” She didn’t bother to reveal he had also been a bit of a show-off, talking about exploits he’d done, bragging about future climbs he planned. The more daring, the more he liked talking about them.

“Did you two have a house?”

“No, a large flat near the water in Marseilles. He made a good living and supported us well. The place seemed so empty after he died. I sold it when we moved here.”

“What was your favorite holiday?”

Jeanne-Marie thought about it for a moment. Did none stand out? “We usually went wherever he was going to climb. I don’t climb, as you saw the other day, so I found things to do in the towns or villages where we stayed. I liked Italy. He climbed in the Italian Alps one time and I enjoyed the village he used as base. He never wanted to spend the time sightseeing when he could be climbing.”

“And that suited you?”

“Well, a real dream holiday would be pampering, breakfast in bed, then a day of shopping, maybe a play in the evening or a fabulous dinner somewhere with dancing,” she said dreamily. “But for the time being, I think Alexandre and I will be content to stay here. You have to admit, it’s beautiful right on the sea. I do love living by the water.”

“You should come visit the Loire Valley sometime. Especially in spring. It’s beautiful, as well.”

Matt hoped when she checked the reservations tomorrow that he’d be able to stay. Paul would be returning home soon. Not that it mattered much to him. The one climb they’d done together hadn’t been as relaxing or challenging as the others this week. Paul’s idea of recreation was more clubbing and less climbing.

He thought about Jeanne-Marie’s husband. Granted, he understood the appeal of taking vacations to climb. But surely at one point in their marriage he would have wanted to go where she wanted. Not that Matt was going to pass an opinion on their marriage. Jeanne-Marie had loved the man and grieved his death.

Not liking the trend of his thoughts, he glanced at her. She seemed so serene. He liked that the most about her, he thought. Not that her laughter wasn’t infectious. Or the special way she looked at a person when he talked, like he was the only other person in the world. Her hand was smaller than his, felt delicate and warm in his. Contentment seeped in. It was comfortable sitting on the veranda in the dark.

Then the thought of kissing her rose and wouldn’t be pushed away. Would she be willing? One way to find out.

He gave her hand a gentle squeeze and released it. “I’m heading for bed. I’m making another climb tomorrow. You can let me know when I get back if I can stay another few days.”

She jumped up, almost pressing against him she was so close. “I’d better get some sleep myself. Dawn comes early and breakfast doesn’t make itself.”

“Before we go in …” he said, drawing her into his arms, slowly so as to give her time to back out if she wanted. She didn’t.

When his mouth found hers, her kiss was sweet. Her lips were warm, opening to his without hesitation. Deepening his kiss he felt her response, passion with passion, pressing against him with her body as if wanting to get as close to him as he wanted to get to her. Desire spiraled, senses went into overload. Her curves inflamed him. Her softness made him that much harder. Matt could only feel the hunger increase. He wanted her. She was all he wanted right now. The rest of the world faded until only the two of them existed in the darkness. Would she come to his room with him?

The thought shocked him. He pulled back, trying to see her in the faint light. She gazed up at him, her expression impossible to read. Kissing her on her cheek, trailing down to her neck and back up the other side to that cheek, he breathed in the scent of her, tasted that soft skin, heard her ragged breathing as she held him tightly in her embrace.

Reluctantly he rested his forehead against hers. He didn’t know what he wanted. Making love with her would take him in a direction he never thought to go. Was it too soon for him? For her?

He’d vowed never to be a hostage to fate again. The solo path was safer. If he could only clamp down on the roiling desire that rose.

“I need to go in,” she said softly, her fingers brushing against his cheek. “I had a wonderful time today.” When she pulled away, he let her go. And watched her walk into the inn.

He stared after her long moments after she left. His own breathing slowed.