Three Weeks in Paris (2 page)

He stopped in the middle of the room, and taking hold of her shoulders, turned her to face him, staring into her eyes, his own questioning. “You went missing for a bit,” he said, sounding more English than ever.

She stared back at him, said nothing.

He tilted her chin, leaned down, and kissed her lightly on the mouth. “But I have the distinct feeling you’re suddenly back.”

“I think so.”

“I’m glad, Lexi.”

“So am I,” she answered.

He smiled at her knowingly and led her toward the bed without another word. They sat down together side by side, and he began to unbutton her shirt; she tugged at his tweed jacket, and within seconds they were both undressed, stretched out on the bed.

Leaning over her, he asked, “And where was it that you went?”

“Not sure. Fell into a deep pit with my work, I suppose.”

He nodded, fully understanding, since he was an artist and tended to do the same at times when he was painting. But he had really missed her, and her withdrawal, her remoteness, had worried him. Now he brought his mouth down to her, his kisses tender.

Alexandra felt that frisson once more, and she began to shiver slightly under his touching and kissing, which was becoming provocative. He continued to kiss her as he stroked her thigh, and she experienced a sudden rush of heat, a tingling between her legs.

Unexpectedly, she stiffened. Swiftly, he brought his mouth to her mouth; his tongue sought hers, slid alongside hers, and they shared a moment of complete intimacy.

And all the while he did not stop stroking her inner thigh and the center of her womanhood, his fingers working gently but expertly. To him it soon seemed as though she was opening like a lush flower bursting forth under a warm sun.

When she began to gasp a little, he increased his pressure and speed, wanting her to reach a point of ecstasy. He loved this woman, and he wanted to bind her to him, and he wanted to make love to her now, be joined with her.

With great speed, he entered her immediately, thrusting into her so forcefully, she cried out. Sliding his hands under her buttocks, he lifted her up, drew her closer to him, calling out her name as he did. “Come to me again, come with me, come where I’m going, Lexi!” he exclaimed, his voice harsh, rasping.

And so she did as he demanded, wrapped her legs around his back, let her hands rest lightly on his shoulders. Together they soared, and as he began to shudder against her, he told her over and over again how much he loved making love to her.

————

AFTERWARD, WHEN THEY FINALLY
lay still, relaxed and depleted, he lifted the duvet up and covered them with it, then took her in his arms. He said against her hair, “Isn’t this as good as it gets?”

When she remained silent, he added, “You know how good we are together …”

“Yes.”

“You’re not going to go away from me again, are you?”

“No … it
was
the work, the pressure.”

“I’m relieved it wasn’t me. That you weren’t having second thoughts about me.”

She smiled to herself. “You’re the best, Jack, the very best. Special … 
unique
, actually.”

“Ah, flattery will get you everywhere.”

“I’ve just been there, haven’t I?”

“Where?”

“
Everywhere
. With you … to some wonderful place.”

Pushing himself up on one elbow, he peered down at her in the dim light of the fading day, wondering if she was teasing him. Then he saw the intensity in her light green eyes, and he said softly, “Let’s make it permanent.”

Those lucid green eyes he loved widened. “Jack … I don’t know what to say …”

“Say yes.”

“Okay. Yes.”

“I’m talking marriage,” he muttered, a sudden edge to his voice. He focused all his attention on her, his eyes probing.

“I
know
that.”

“Will you?”

“Will I what?” Now she was teasing him and enjoying doing so, as she usually did.

“Will you marry me?”

“Yes, I will.”

A slow, warm smile spread itself across his lean face, and he bent into her, kissed her forehead, her nose, her lips. Resting his head next to hers on the pillow, he continued. “I’m glad. Really so
bloody
glad, Lexi, that you’re going to be mine, all mine. Wow, this is great! And we’ll have a baby or two, won’t we?”

She laughed, happy that he was so obviously delirious with joy. “Of course. You know what, maybe we just made one.”

“It’s a possibility. But to be really sure, shall we try again?”

“You mean right now?”

“I do.”

“Can you?”

“Don’t be so ridiculous, of course I can. Feel this.” Taking hold of her hand, he put it on him under the duvet. “See what you do to me. And I’ll always be ready to make babies with you, darling.”

“Then stop boasting and let’s do it!” she exclaimed, sliding a leg over him, kissing him on the mouth. “Let’s do it all night, in fact. It’s one of the things I love to do with you, Jack.”

“Don’t you want dinner?” He raised a brow.

“Oh, who cares about food when we’ve something so important and crucial to do.”

He started to laugh. “I care. But we don’t have to venture out, my sweet. I brought dinner with me. In the shopping bag.”

“Oh, so you planned all this, did you? Very devious, you are, Jack Wilton. You wicked, sexy man. I might have known you came here to seduce me. To impregnate me.”

“Seduce you! What bloody cheek! You’ve just displayed the most incredible example of splendid cooperation I’ve ever come across. As for impregnating you, you can bet your sweet ass I’m going to do that.”

They began to roar with laughter, hugging each other and rolling around on the bed, filled with hilarity and pleasure in each other, and the sheer happiness of being young and alive. But after a moment or two of this gentle horseplay, Jack’s face turned serious, and he held Alexandra still. “You’re not going to change your mind, are you, Lexi?”

“ ’Course not, silly.” She touched his cheek lightly, smiled seductively. “Shall we get to it then … making babies, I mean.”

“Try and stop me—” he began, but paused when the intercom buzzed.

The shrilling startled Alexandra, and nonplussed, she stared at Jack. Then she scrambled off the bed, took a woolen robe out of the closet, and struggled into it as she ran to the foyer. Lifting the intercom phone, she said, “Hello?”

“FedEx delivery for Ms. Gordon.”

“Thanks. I’ll buzz you in. I’m on the fourteenth floor.”

————

THE CARBON COPY
of the original label on the front of the FedEx envelope was so faint she could barely make out the name and address of the sender. In fact, the only part she could read was
Paris, France
.

She stood holding the envelope, a small furrow crinkling the bridge of her nose. And then her heart missed a beat.

From the doorway of the bedroom Jack said, “Who’s it from? You look puzzled.”

“I can’t make out the name. Best thing to do is open it, I suppose,” she replied, forcing a laugh.

“That might be a good idea.” Jack’s voice was touched with acerbity.

She glanced across at him swiftly, detecting at once a hint of impatience … as if it were her fault their lovemaking had been interrupted by the FedEx delivery. But wishing to keep things on an even keel, to placate him, she exclaimed, “Oh, it can wait!” Dropping the envelope on the small table in the foyer, she added, “Let’s go back to bed.”

“Naw, the mood’s gone, ducks. I’m gonna take a quick shower, make a cuppa rosy lee, then start on dinner,” he answered her in a bogus Cockney accent.

She stood staring at him, biting her lip.

Observing the crestfallen expression in her eyes, Jack Wilton instantly regretted his attitude. He softened, pulled
her toward him, embraced her. “I’m sorry, I
was
a bit snotty, Lexi.
Sorry, sorry, sorry
. Okay?” His eyes held hers, a brow lifted quizzically. “Don’t you see, I was put out … and you
know
why. I was all ready to make babies.” He grinned, kissed the tip of her nose. “So …” He shrugged nonchalantly. “Let’s go and take a shower together.”

“I guess I ought to open—”

He cut her off. “It’ll wait.” Taking hold of her hand, he led her across to the bathroom and into the shower stall, turned on the taps, adjusted the temperature, held her close again as the water sluiced over their bodies.

Alexandra leaned against him, closed her eyes, thinking of the envelope she had left on the table. She was beginning to worry about it, anxiety-ridden and tense inside. She could well imagine who it was from. It could be only one person, and the thought terrified her.

————

BUT SHE WAS WRONG
.

A short while later, when she finally opened the envelope, it was not a letter inside as she had believed, but an invitation. Her relief was enormous.

She sat on the sofa in her living room, staring at it, and a smile broke through, lighting up her face. Leaping to her feet, she ran across the room to the kitchen, where Jack was cooking, exclaiming, “Jack, it’s an invitation. To a party. In Paris.”

Jack glanced up from the bowl of fresh tomatoes he was stirring, took a sip of his tea, and asked, “Who’s the party for, then?”

“Anya. My wonderful Anya Sedgwick.”

“The woman who owns the school you went to … what’s it called again? Ah, yes, the Anya Sedgwick School of Decorative Arts.”

“That’s right.”

“And what’s the occasion?”

“Her birthday.” Leaning against the doorjamb, she began to read from the engraved invitation. “The pleasure of your company is requested at a celebration in honor of Anya Sedgwick on the occasion of her eighty-fifth birthday. On Saturday, June the second, 2001. At Ledoyen, Carré Champs-Elysées, Paris. Cocktails at eight o’clock. Supper at nine o’clock. Dancing from ten o’clock on. Hey, isn’t that great, Jack, it’s a supper dance. Oh, how wonderful.”

“Sounds like it’s going to be a super bash. Can you take a friend, do you think?”

Alexandra glanced at the invitation again. Her name had been written across the top in the most elegant calligraphy she had ever seen. But it was only
her
name. The words
and guest
were missing. “I don’t think I can. It has only my name on it. I’m sure it’s just for her family and former pupils.… ” Alexandra’s voice trailed off.

He was silent for a moment, concentrating as he finely chopped an onion. When he at last looked up, he asked, “Are you going to go?”

“I’m not sure. I don’t know. It all depends on work, I guess. I’ve only one small set to finish for
Winter Weekend
, and then that’s it. I’ll be out of work if something doesn’t pop up.”

“I’m sure it will, Lexi,” he reassured her, glancing at her, smiling. “Now scoot, and let me finish the pasta pomidoro, and before you can say Jack Robinson I’ll have dinner for my lady.”

She laughed, said “Okay,” and went back to the sofa, still holding the invitation in her hand. Sitting down, she stared at it for a moment longer, her mind on Anya Sedgwick, the woman who had been her teacher, mentor,
and friend. She had not seen her for a year. It would be lovely to be in her company again, to celebrate this important milestone in her life … Paris in the spring. How truly glorious it would be …

But Tom Conners was in Paris.

When she thought of him she found it hard to breathe.

ALEXANDRA AWAKENED WITH A START, AND AFTER A MO
ment she sat up, blinking, adjusting her eyes in the darkness. The room was quiet, bathed in silence, but for a moment she felt a presence, as if someone stood nearby, hovered close to the bed.

She remained still, breathing deeply, pushing the feeling away, knowing this was all it was … just a
feeling
, the sensation that he was with her in the room because her dream had been so very real.

But then, it always was whenever she dreamed it. Everything that happened had a validity to it, was vivid, lifelike; even now, as she rested against the pillows, she could smell him, smell his body, his hair, the cologne he used. Jicky by Guerlain. It seemed to her that even the taste of him lingered on her mouth, as if he had kissed her deeply.

Except that he had not been here tonight … only in the dream, one so extraordinarily alive in her mind that after awakening she had believed he truly was in the bedroom. But, of course, she was alone.

Suddenly knowing that sleep would be elusive, at least
for the moment, Alexa sat up, switched on the bedside lamp, and slid her long legs out of bed. As she glided across the floor, she realized she was bathed in sweat, as she usually was after this oft-recurring dream.

Wrapping herself in her pale blue woolen dressing gown, she hurried through the small front foyer and went into the kitchen, snapping on lights as she did.

What she needed was a cup of tea. Chamomile tea. It would soothe her, encourage sleep. After filling the kettle with water and putting it on the gas ring, she sat down on the stool, contemplating the dream she had with such unusual regularity.

The odd thing was, the dream was always exactly the same. Nothing ever changed. He was suddenly there with her, either coming through the door or standing by the bed looking down at her. And inevitably he slid into bed, made love to her, cradling her in his arms, telling her he missed her, wanted her, needed her. And always he reminded her that she was the love of his life. His one true love.

And the dream was rooted in such uncanny reality, she was invariably shaken; even her body felt as if it had been invaded by a sensual and virile man. It was, she muttered under her breath as she filled the mug with boiling water. At least it was this afternoon. Jack Wilton made love to me when he arrived here today … in the gloaming he loved me well.

Yes, a small voice said in her head, but in the dream you just had it was Tom Conners loving you. It’s never anybody else but Tom Conners in the dream, and that’s your basic problem.

Sighing to herself, Alexa turned on a lamp and sat down in the comfortable overstuffed chair near the fireplace, sipped the chamomile tea, and stared into the dying embers of the log fire.