The Frenchman's Slow Seduction (17 page)

When our time together
comes to an end, Jean Paul walks with me outdoors.

“We should make some
plans,” he says.

It’s going to be a busy
week for us both, so we decide to meet on Wednesday.

Hugging me, he says, “I
miss you already.”

When I get back to the
hotel, Lou Ann is already there. I have to insist that she not help
me with my luggage.

The instant I hop into
her truck, she says, “So how’d that Jean Paul thing work out?”

I laugh. “We’re going
to give it a go.”

“Just what I wanted to
hear. Of course, my nephew will be crushed.”

Tuesday and Wednesday
turn into a blur of clinic visits, farm calls, surgeries, and a
couple of late night calls. I’m either out of shape or having a
delayed jet lag reaction because it’s all I can do to finish my
shifts. I’m beginning to feel like a wimpy city vet. During a break
on Wednesday, I call Jean Paul.

“Unless you want to
watch me sleep,” I tell him, “I think we’d better push our plans to
Saturday.”

“As nice as that would
be, I think I should wait until the weekend to see you.”

It’s a different life
in Texas than I’m used to. More outdoorsy. On Saturday, Jean Paul
drives us to Huntsville State Park, an hour away, and we go on a
long hike. On Sunday, he drives us to the same park, bringing along
two bikes. On the return part of our bike ride, I get my first
taste of a Texas downpour. The sky suddenly darkens, several bolts
of lightning light up the sky, and ominous rumbles of thunder
reverberate all around us. In minutes, we’re surrounded by
torrential rain and huge puddles.

“Will you be okay?”
Jean Paul asks, pulling up beside me.

“I’m way more than
okay,” I tell him. “I love thunderstorms.” They are my only happy
family memory; my singular inheritance. My mother passed down her
love of thunderstorms to her children, ignoring criticism and
threats from neighbors for doing so. When there was a thunder and
lightning storm, she would dress us in our bathing suits and send
us running outside.

Filled with happiness,
I drop my bike and start running through the rain and puddles,
waving my arms in the air and screaming like a crazy person. After
a few moments, Jean Paul joins me.

Later, as we’re
strapping our bikes to the car in the pouring rain, Jean Paul turns
to me. “Thank you, Rachel.”

“For what?”

“For showing me how to
live.”

As Jean Paul drives me
to Lou Ann’s place, strong wind gusts jostle the car and huge drops
of rain ricochet off the hood.

Jean Paul laughs. “Do
you not think storms are one of life’s last great adventures?”

When we get to Lou
Ann’s place, it’s almost impossible to run the short distance from
Jean Paul’s car to my apartment. The wind gusts are impressive, and
the pounding rain makes it hard to see. The only illumination comes
from lightning. When we finally make it inside, I find the sudden
quiet unsettling.

Standing in the
entryway, Jean Paul takes my hands. “I’m worried about something,
Rachel. I have been unable to postpone a business trip to
California. It means that I will be gone for eleven days. I’ll be
leaving in eight days, on a Monday.”

His words make me feel
a sharp loneliness. “I’ll miss you,” I tell him.

Gently, he kisses me.
Pulling away, he says, “I’d better go.”

Before leaving, he
makes plans to see me on Wednesday night.

At lunchtime on
Wednesday, as I’m in my apartment eating lunch, someone knocks on
my door. It’s Lou Ann.

“
Rachel, I’m in
pain.”

A person would have to
know Lou Ann to realize the seriousness of what she’s just
said.

“I’ll take you to the hospital,” I tell her.

“Take me to St.
Joseph’s, Rach.”

Before we leave, I
phone Joe at a farm an hour away.

At the hospital, Lou
Ann is seen to right away. By the time Joe show up, she’s lying on
a bed in the emergency ward. Knowing how Lou Ann hates a fuss, he
saunters over and casually asks, “What’s up, Lou?”

“A bloody nuisance.
Kinked ureter. They want me to try bed rest, warm baths, and some
meds to see if it’ll get better on its own. If it doesn’t, there
are a couple of things we can try.” She rolls her eyes. “I’ve got
to stick around here for a bit to see how it goes. There’s no sense
in you guys hanging around. You might as well take off for the
clinic. I’ll call when I have news.”

Joe smiles at his wife
and shakes his head. “Not this time, Lou. You don’t get your way
this time. I’m staying.”

“But there’s clinic
tonight,” she says.

I stand up. “That’s
what I’m here for.”

“But it’s supposed to
be your night off,” she says.

“Geez, Lou Ann, I’m not
that shallow. I’ll just call Jean Paul to change our plans; then
I’ll take off for the clinic.”

When Jean Paul hears
what’s happened, he offers to help.

“Pardon?” I ask.

“I
am
a
qualified vet, Rachel,” he says, his voice filled with
amusement.

How strange. I’ve never
thought of him that way.

“I’ll meet you at the
clinic around six o’clock,” he says.

The night is crazy, but
Jean Paul and I have a lot of fun. When the last client has gone
and the cleaning is done, we drop onto the clinic sofa.

“I’m one hell of a
date,” I tell him.

He turns to me. “Yes,
you are.”

The moment his lips
touch mine, a rush of sensation passes through me that is so
overpowering it robs me of breath. Drowning in the most blissful
feelings, I hold on to Jean Paul as his lips explore mine. Wanting
more, I lean into him, but freeze when I hear a car pull into the
driveway. Laughing, Jean Paul pulls away. Seconds later, Joe walks
in, and we get to our feet.

“Hi,” Joe says,
smiling. “You must be Jean Paul.” He crosses the room to shake
hands. “Can’t thank you guys enough for helping us out.”

“A pleasure,” Jean Paul
says.

“What’s up, Joe?” I
ask.

“Well, Lou Ann started
feeling better, but they want her to stay overnight. I’d like to go
back in the morning. Are you still okay for the morning shift,
Rachel?”

“Of course.”

“Thanks. I really
appreciate it. I’m pretty whacked, so I think I’ll go home and
crash.”

After Joe leaves, Jean
Paul and I get ready to go. Before taking off, Jean Paul says,
“Will you call me when you get some news?”

“As soon as I hear
anything.”

In the morning, Lou Ann
is a lot better. By lunchtime, she’s back home in her own bed doing
just as the doctor ordered, which doesn’t bother her half as much
as I thought it would.

Thursday and Friday fly
by. Joe is relieved when I offer to take the Saturday morning
shift. Although Lou Ann continues to improve, worry has tired him
out. Jean Paul has said that he’ll help.

After Saturday clinic,
when Jean Paul and I are having lunch at a restaurant near the
clinic, he asks me how I like working at a country practice.

“Well, I’m not all that
confident with the farm work yet, but I think I could really like
it. I’m probably more suited to small animal work.”

“Have you ever thought
about doing research?”

“Yeah, but I don’t
think I’d have the patience for it.”

He laughs. “Yes, at
times it can be tedious. And you would probably miss the animals
and the people.”

“I probably would.”

Since we both need a
nap, Jean Paul goes to his place. Dropping me off at my place, he
makes plans to pick me up after dinner to see a French film about a
modern-day Jesus born in Montreal.

Later that night, when
Jean Paul arrives to pick me up, I have the feeling that I’ve never
known any person as well as I know him.

The movie is a real
mind bender. Walking out of the theatre, Jean Paul falls silent. As
we make our way to his car, he says, “I’m not very religious,
Rachel.”

Smiling, I say, “I’m a
recovering Catholic myself, so I’m pretty bitter about the whole
religion thing.”

My answer seems to mean
a lot to him.

“I have read much about
religion,” he says, “and I do believe in an energy source that has
created us, that people have a soul, and that there were real
people called Muhammad, Jesus, and Buddha, but I do not believe in
a religion written and created by man.”

He opens the car door
for me, and I slip inside. When we’re on the road, I say, “I read a
lot about religion when I was trying to find out why any god would
let bad things happen.”

“Did you find an
answer?”

“I did. I read a book
by a rabbi who explained the Jewish faith’s reasoning for why bad
things happen to good people. He said that Jewish people don’t
think it’s because a person has sinned, like the Catholics, or that
they’re being punished for a bad deed in a previous life, or that
it’s karma, they just think it’s bloody bad luck. I really like
that.”

Jean Paul laughs. “So
do I.”

Both tired, we decide
to call it an early night, and Jean Paul drives me back to my
place.

In the morning, when I
phone Jean Paul, he’s packing for his trip. His flight leaves at
seven the following morning. He makes plans to pick me up after
lunch to take me sightseeing.

After an afternoon
spent lazily driving along country roads, Jean Paul and I end up at
Le Provençal for dinner. As we walk in, I find myself slipping back
in time to the first day Jean Paul and I met. Martin, who is
standing in the exact same spot as he was that first day, adds to
the effect.

“
Allô, Jean Paul.
Allô, Rachelle,”
he says, kissing our cheeks.
“Venez.
Venez.”

Since Jean Paul and I
are both feeling nostalgic, we eat dinner abstractedly. Martin is
the one who keeps the evening going. A lifetime has gone by since
Jean Paul and I met, and I can’t imagine my life ever returning to
the way it was before I met him.

In the middle of
telling me about his California plans, Jean Paul reaches across the
table for my hands and says, “I’m going to miss you, Rachel. I’m
going to miss you very much.”

I smile. “I guess
that’s the only nice thing about people going away.”

Chapter 23

Since Jean Paul has
been away, he has taken to calling me every night. Every few days,
I’ve been going to his apartment to water his plants and to check
that everything is okay. Work remains hectic. Thankfully, Lou Ann
is almost back to her old self. Joe and I have convinced her to cut
down on her workload and to do the less strenuous jobs.

The night before Jean
Paul is due home, he phones me. “Rachel, would you mind waiting for
me at my apartment instead of the airport?” he asks, sounding a
little ragged.

“Sure. Are you feeling
okay?”

“I haven’t been able to
sleep.”

Jean Paul’s flight was
due to arrive at nine but it has been delayed by two hours. I’ve
spent the night in his living room sitting in the dark looking out
into the night. At midnight, as I’m in the kitchen getting
something to eat, I hear noises at the door. Going to investigate,
I nearly collide with Jean Paul as he rounds the kitchen door.

“It’s so dark, I
thought you weren’t here,” he says, and then kisses me desperately.
Sliding his hands to my waist, he says, “Rachel, I do not think I
could endure it if you leave me tonight.”

“I don’t want to leave
you,” I tell him.

Taking my hand, he
leads me through the darkness to his bedroom. Standing by his bed,
he skims his lips along my cheeks ... the angle of my chin. Slowly,
he lifts my blouse and gently kisses my neck. I feel the faintest
breeze as my blouse falls to the floor.

Kissing him, I
disappear. Drunk on the nectar of his sweet lips, I have to drag
myself away. Needing to touch him, I skim my hands along his
shoulders, his chest, and get lost in the sound of his breathing,
which is harsh and rapid. With ease, I slip his shirt over his
head.

Groaning, Jean Paul
grabs me and presses his heated lips against mine with such hunger
that I find it hard to breathe. As his tongue intimately,
thoroughly,
relentlessly
, explores me, I cry out. Moaning
harshly, he pulls away. “I need to go slowly, Rachel. I want to
remember every moment.”

With gentle fingers, he
slides the thin satin straps from my shoulders. Reaching behind, he
undoes the clasp on my lacy bra. As the lace slips to the floor,
Jean Paul closes his eyes and rasps,
“Rachelle, ta beauté
m’accable.”
Your beauty overwhelms me.

His words rob me of
breath.

Skimming his hands down
to my hips, Jean Paul pulls me to him. Feeling how much he needs
me, my whole body bursts into flames. As my heart races, I feel
pulse points everywhere: my lips, hands, mouth. Aching for Jean
Paul, I press open-mouthed, moist kisses over his face, neck,
chest, and abdomen. As I skim my lips lower, Jean Paul groans and
pulls me back up to him. Nuzzling my neck, he says,
“Tu es une
merveille de douceur, ma belle.”
You are a wonder of sweetness,
my beautiful one. As he slips his tongue past my lips, his fingers
lower the zipper on my pants, and the soft fabric slides to the
floor.

Wanting to taste him, I
kiss his chest, running my tongue over skin as I undo his belt ...
the button of his pants ... his zipper. Kneeling, I lower his pants
... pausing to kiss the swollen ridge bulging through his briefs.
Jean Paul arches back, grabbing my shoulders to steady himself.
“Rachelle…tu vas me detruire,”
he groans. You will destroy
me.

In a quick move, he
lifts me up, and tips me onto the bed. Coming down over me, he
kneels between my legs, and a deep clawing need swells up inside
me. Looking at Jean Paul, I see his chest rise and fall … his
nostrils flare … his skin flush. Taking his time, he slides my silk
briefs down my legs.