Biarritz Passion: A French Summer Novel (20 page)

‘Ki
ss me. Kiss me a lot.’

She scarcely heard his words, his lips were brushing
her shoulder, he spun her round in a dizzying turn then bent her low to the ground as the song finished.

‘
Besame mucho, que tengo miedo a perderte después
. Kiss me a lot, I’m so afraid of losing you afterwards.’

The dancers were clapping and whistling and calling for more.
Caroline’s hair was almost touching the ground, Edward’s face was close to hers as he leaned over her, supporting her in the cradle of his arms. Then, as if she weighed no more than a feather, he swung her upright, as with an equally abrupt change in mood, the band struck up a familiar series of notes followed by a staccato rhythm. The crowd howled with delight. Through her dizziness, Caroline recognised the Basque folk tune she had heard during the procession. Before she had time to gather her wits or steady her racing heart she found herself in a circle of dancers. Edward was on one side of her, a merry-faced youth with a mop of black curls on the other. As if an invisible puppeteer had suddenly pulled the strings everyone simultaneously clasped hands and raised their arms into the air. Then, in response to another theme from the musicians, the dancers moved to the left, springing from one foot to the other, and giving a series of kicks. Caroline stumbled, lost at first, but between Edward and the merry youth shouting out instructions and pulling her along, she gradually got the hang of it. The tempo speeded up, the circle whirled round and round and she found herself dancing and leaping as wildly as the rest. Faster it went, then faster, nearing the finale. Then it stopped with the same abruptness it had started. The exhausted dancers reeled about, laughing hysterically and clutching each other for support.

‘I think I’m going to die!’

Caroline was gasping for breath, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her sides were aching, her head was spinning and she hadn’t laughed as much in ages. She staggered against Edward, who produced a large, very English handkerchief like a rabbit out of a hat.

‘Here.’

He was grinning at her, the indulgent, adoring sort of grin of a parent collecting a child from a spin on the roundabouts. For one minute Caroline thought he was going to offer to blow her nose for her.

‘Why...why aren’t you out of breath?’

He must have had lots of practice. Probably the dance was something they all learnt in kindergarten. He lounged at ease, breathing a little faster than normal but otherwise unaffected.

Caroline
, fanning her burning cheeks, gulped down deep breaths of air.

‘Not fair.’

Edward looked down at her flushed face and tousled hair.

‘You know who you remind me of? Claudie at the fair when she was
thirteen. When she thought Jules was the most handsome man on earth. We’d taken her and group of her friends and the entire gaggle didn’t stop screaming and laughing and guzzling candyfloss all night. We got the Legion of Honour for that.’

‘
Thirteen!’

She still hadn’t got her breath back sufficiently to argue with him. She felt more like
a hundred and thirteen. She bent forward and put her head between her legs.

‘It can’t be that bad!’

Now he was sounding worried.

She straightened up and started to laugh.

‘The last time I moved that fast was when I was in the relay race, at school. And we lost all the same. But it wasn’t my fault. We had a bad start, nearly dropped the baton.’

She turned to face him
.

‘That was great, really Edward, I can’t remember when I laughed as much, my
ribs are killing me. The sight of all those people leaping up and down, it was hysterical, they were going so fast it was a blur! I kid you not, there were moments when I actually took off, both feet left the ground. I’ve always wanted to fly. Now I have.’

She was
talking rapidly, on a high. The atmosphere, the balmy weather, the crowd of excited people all laughing and dancing together, grabbing hands with strangers. She lifted her head and sniffed the air. Somewhere someone was grilling spicy sausages. She felt hungry, happy, as though she was floating on a cloud.

Edward seemed to read her thoughts.

‘You’d like a
merguez
. No, don’t deny it. I saw you sniff.’

‘I didn’t! I don’t!’

‘Or a
beignet
. Or a waffle. Your’re drooling.’

‘Oh!’ she gave him a little push. He grabbed her hand and pressed it against his heart. He was staring at her with a half smile, and that same intent look,
the hunter’s look, that she had first seen in Margaret’s garden.

‘Caroline.’

Something in the tone of his voice sent chills along her skin. She dimly heard the band begin a soft romantic tune, felt Edward’s heartbeat pick up under her hand, had the sensation of swooning, falling, down down down, like a shooting star. If he hadn’t reached out to hold her she would have dropped. Then she was in his arms, enfolded in a warm private world. They moved slowly, circling beneath the plane trees which flung leaf patterns over them like a magic net. She was a prisoner. Her blood tingled, inflamed by the fever coming from that hard body pressing its length against hers. She closed her eyes and danced, seeing nothing, letting herself be guided like a blind woman, Edward’s arms encircling her, protecting her, the infection in her blood mounting as his throbbing flesh pressed against hers. Just the touch of the hairs on his arm, feather-light against her bare skin, was enough to send electric pulses racing through her veins.

She gradually became aware that they had stopped. The music was still playing. Opening her eyes she saw that the other dancers continued to revolve around them like figures in a dream. Her eyes sought his face, but it was in shadow, there was only the gleam of his teeth, white against the dark skin.

Without a word he led her from the dance floor, beyond the tables, towards the trees. She realised they were going away from the square and into the shadows of the adjoining streets.

They stopped beside a low wall which enclosed a public garden. She could make out the vague shapes of benches dotted here and there among the bushes. Edward leaned back against a tree and drew her close. It was uncannily dark and quiet after the bright lights and music. A breeze rustled the leaves overhead. She started to shake.

‘You’re cold.’

His voice came out of the shadows and he
held her more tightly against him.

‘No, not cold.’

Was that her voice?

‘Do you want to go back?’

His voice sounded different too, low, charged.

Her stomach churned. The teasing ambivalence of their former relations had
vanished, replaced by something urgent, dangerous, a force she was incapable of resisting. A barrier had broken.

‘No.’

She felt his muscles tense, felt the pulse of his body beating against hers, felt her heart thudding so loudly she was sure he could hear it. He reached out, tilted her head upwards. His eyes were searching for hers in the dark. His fingers caressed her face, lightly, delicately and she shivered more violently. He traced the contours of her cheekbones, moved down to her lips, then her neck, subtle delicate movements setting her skin on fire.

In the half light she sensed rather than saw his face move closer and responding to some irresistible instinct she pressed herself even harder against him, throwing her head back in anticipation of his kiss. The violence of it made her moan. The shock of his lips, his teeth, against hers was almost painful. He swung her round so that she was leaning against the tree, she felt the rough bark graze her bare shoulders. One of his hands was twisted in her hair, she was unable to move her head. For a brief second terror raced through her, she had an impulse to struggle, to escape from that violent embrace. Then the feeling vanished and she yielded herself fully, submitting her face, her body to the power of that dark force which wrapped them together, to those arms which crushed her, that weight which pushed her harder and harder against the tree. She wanted to blend into him, merge, become one.
This was what she had been waiting for.

Her heart was pounding, her blood aflame. Another moan came from her throat, a sound of mingled pleasure and supplication. He surrendered her mouth,
dropped his lips to her neck, her bare shoulder, butterfly kisses everywhere, sending shiver after shiver through her. She gasped as his teeth suddenly bit into the skin, arched her back. One hand slid under her T-shirt, leaving trails of goose bumps as he moved higher. He found her nipple under the thin silk of her bra, began to rub, slowly at first, then faster so that she wanted to scream. She grabbed his polo shirt, tugging it up so that their bare flesh came together, causing them both to gasp. He muttered something low, rough. She was wet, her underwear
soaked through, her one desire for him to tear off her clothes, to meet her, join her, carry her away. They were both panting as though they were in a race. His hand left her breast, found the waistband of her jeans, ripped at the button and the zip. She raised her hips to help him as he pushed them down, then her hands were on him, unbuttoning unzipping, both possessed by one single thought. Now.

Suddenly he froze. Somewhere, a long way away, through the wild singing of blood in her ears
, she became aware of raised voices and her eyes flew open. A group of revellers was coming down the street, singing and shouting. He let go of her, pulled her jeans up swiftly, adjusting his own jeans with equal speed. Then he fell against her like a stone, his breath coming in rasping bursts, one arm braced against the tree trunk above her head.

They remained in silence beneath the tree as the laughing chattering group passed them by, calling out ribald comments, whistling and applauding. Caroline’s body was still moving, little spasmodic jerks she was unable to control. It was like being dropped from a plane.

They waited till the group had passed, the voices disappeared. Then he pushed himself away. He exhaled, gave a short laugh.

‘Was that the hand of destiny again?’

Her body was on fire. She had blushed from the soles of her feet to the roots of her hair.

‘Caro.’

Very gently his arms came round her again, helped her to stand, steadied her. With infinite care he smoothed her tangled hair, brushed her shoulders. She winced as his fingers touched her skin.

‘I’ve hurt you!’

He turned her round, exclaiming as his fingers examined the indentations left in her bare skin by the rough tree bark.

‘I’m OK, it’s nothing.’

Her voice wobbled.

He turned her round to face him again, looked at her. She avoided meeting his eyes.

They stood there, awkwardly.

He passed both hands over his face
, rubbed his hair.

‘We’d better go back.’

Silently they began to walk towards the square. After a moment, he reached for her hand. Caroline’s mind was blank and seething by turns. Her body still felt flushed. She could have given herself to him, right there, in a public park, next to the street. Anybody could have seen them. She had never done anything like that in her whole life. What was happening? Was he having the same thoughts? He came to an abrupt stop at the end of the street, as if coming to a decision. Putting his hands on her shoulders he turned her towards him. His expression was strange, almost brooding.

‘Caroline.
I’m sorry. I got carried away.’ He gave another one of those short hard laughs. ‘That’s a cliché, isn’t it? Carried away. But I did, I was. I’m so sorry. Though I never meant to force you, to hurt you, I swear.’

No, she wanted to say, no that’s not what happened. You didn’t force me. I wanted to. I wanted you to take me, strip me naked right there and then, to hold me, to posses me, to never let me go. I’ve gone mad.

She would never be able to say that, not in a thousand years, so she said nothing.

‘You’re angry. I don’t blame you.’

‘No, I’m not, I—’

She turned her head away in case he could read her thoughts.

‘Look at me then.’

Reluctantly she raised her eyes. The planes of his face, the blue eyes glittering strangely, the half-parted lips. She was drowning.

He examined every inch of her face with that intent gaze, his eyes moving from her eyes, to her mouth, back to her eyes again.

Letting his hands fall from her shoulders he shook his head.

She was pierced with a feeling of loss, followed by a rush of shame. What must he think of her? They had a reputation for being easy, the English girls. Especially after a drink. She would never be able to look him in the eyes again. She made herself move, made herself put one foot in front of the other automatically. At the edge of the square he caught up with her.

In front of them
there was light and music. He took her hand in his, turned it over, kissed her palm gently.

‘They’re just over there.
The others. You’ll be alright?’

Then he was gone, and she made her way back to the table on her own, stammering excuses
as she sat down, unable to meet anyone’s eyes.