Drawing Lessons

by Julia Gabriel

  “I think that might be our ride over there,” she said quietly to Luc.

  She heard cameras clicking away as they pushed through the crowd.

  “You really don’t want to cross your friend, hmm?” Luc said. “If she can call out that much of the Washington press corps on a holiday night.”

  “Best to have Nishi on your side,” Marie agreed.

  The man in the suit approached them and extended his hand. “Hello, Ms. Witherspoon, Mr. Marchand. I’m George Brown. Bit of theater back there, eh? I’ve been told to get you on board as soon as you arrive and close the doors. I have my marching orders.” He smiled at Marie, acknowledging a shared fear of Nishi Bhat.

  George Brown. CEO of a major technology firm. Even Marie had heard of him. Nasty divorce a few years back. She vaguely remembered something about their computer systems being hacked into, exposing sensitive client data—including some from a particularly sensitive government agency. Maybe that was what Nishi had been referring to when she said she had saved his company. There must have been a ton of bad press over that. In a crisis, Nishi was your best friend. Marie had learned that over and over.

  They followed George Brown and his pilot out onto the tarmac. There were a half dozen smaller planes parked and one large, airliner-style jet. Surely that wasn’t ... but George Brown and the pilot were indeed headed toward the jet. She poked Luc in the ribs.

  “This is how the other half lives,” he said.

  “Wow,” was all Marie could say. “This is beyond first class. Not that I’ve ever flown first class.” She’d been expecting something like a Cessna or a commuter jet, though now that she thought about it, those probably weren’t suitable for flying across the ocean.

  Inside, they settled into the buttery leather seats. She fingered the soft cashmere blanket draped over the armrest. No worries about leg room on this flight. She could see Luc’s thigh muscles flex beneath his jeans as he stretched out his legs. Maybe in Paris she would attempt drawing him again. All of him. Maybe Paris would magically transform her into a better artist, too! She allowed herself a tiny smile at her silly, insane thought. That was probably asking too much of a city. Then again, Paris wasn’t just any city, right?

  George Brown emerged from the cockpit, told them to help themselves to anything in the galley once they were airborne, and then disappeared into the back of the plane. A door shut behind him. Apparently, they were to have this part of the cabin to themselves.

  “I’m going to Paris.” She squeezed Luc’s hand.

  He slung his arm around her shoulders and pulled her into his chest. “Yes, you are. You’re going to love it, too.”

  “Will you kiss me at the top of the Eiffel Tower?” Marie snuggled closer into his chest, imagining a cinema-worthy shot of herself and Luc silhouetted against the Paris skyline.

  “I’ll kiss you anywhere you like,” Luc replied, in a tone of voice that said he did indeed mean anywhere. He nuzzled a kiss into her hair.

  Marie was just turning to accept a kiss on the lips when her phone buzzed with a text.

  “Let me guess,” he said.

  Marie pulled the phone from her pocket and swiped the screen. Only thing more embarrassing than your wife posing nude and going into rehab is your wife running away to Paris with sexy French artist the night before Christmas. Bonne courage!

  Marie handed the phone to Luc, then gave into the giddy laughter bubbling up from her chest.

  “Wait ... I’m more embarrassing than rehab? Not sure that’s a compliment.”

  “Oh, it’s a compliment. Trust me.” She gave him a wicked smile. “He will resume the divorce now.” An idea popped into her head, a deliciously wicked idea. “Especially if we send Maya photos.”

  Marie held up the phone in front of them, stretching her arm as far as it would go. “Say cheese.”

  “We look terrible,” he said afterward, looking at the photo.

  Her hair was tousled and unstyled. Dark circles shadowed his eyes. They looked like two people who had stayed up until dawn making love. She hoped they looked this terrible every morning in Paris.

  “It’ll do,” she said, typing in a message for Nishi—Pls forward to J Street Chronicle—and hit send.

  Chapter 31

  Marie pressed her nose to the window of the taxi. In the early morning light, the city looked like a black and white photo. Or a charcoal drawing. At this hour, no one was out but still it was hard not to expect to turn a corner and see lovers strolling hand-in-hand over a lovely bridge or impeccably-dressed women sitting in a café window, sipping espresso. It was December, too, meaning she and Luc weren’t exactly going to be sitting outside at cute sidewalk cafés. She tucked that fact back into the recesses of her mind. None of that mattered now.

  “I’m in Paris,” she whispered to the window. Who cared about the weather?

  Luc squeezed her hand. He’d been holding it almost continuously since lift-off at Dulles, even as they dozed during the flight. It was comforting to her, the warmth of his skin, his strong fingers laced between hers. They were en route to a hotel, where Luc had booked a room for a week. Just the two of them.

  “I want you to myself for a few days, before we go visit my family. We’ve been apart for weeks, Marie. I am a starving man here.”

  A week, just the two of them. That was fine with Marie. She was starved for him, too. She had tried not to think of it too much during those interminable weeks, but now that they were together again she wondered how she had ever believed she could simply leave and live without him. She knew now that she couldn’t. Just lying next to him on the plane had filled her with such a sense of contentment, a feeling that she was in the right place, with the right person. At last.

  She had no idea how long they would stay in Paris, or how long she could stay, even. But it didn’t matter for now. She wanted to be with Luc. That’s all that mattered.

  “Are you hungry, love?” he asked, rubbing his thumb over her wrist, a wrist that was bonier than the last time they’d been together.

  Surely, with all the French food she’d be eating, she’d gain that weight back soon enough.

  “A little.” She wouldn’t have to be afraid to eat in Paris. Well, except for snails maybe. Luc would never drug her. How had she ended up married to such a man? Why hadn’t she said no earlier and more often? Why did she wait for Richard to file for divorce? She shook her head. That didn’t matter either, now.

  Luc pulled her hand up to his lips and covered it with kisses. “What is that for? You’re not having second thoughts, are you?”

  “No. Of course not.” She looked at him, her eyes blazing with passion and certitude. “No, I was just thinking of my life ... and how stupid I was for so many years. To put up with all that.”

  He pressed a finger to her lips. “Shh. You’re not stupid, Marie. You’re just seeing your life, finally.”

  “I owe that to you.”

  He shook his head. “You don’t owe me anything. Well, except for that kiss. I’m not sure that was ever consummated last night.” He smiled. “You asked me to help you see as an artist does. Sometimes we don’t like what we see. But seeing is always better than not seeing.”

  That night at the Pancake Palace, when she had finally come up with a reason for wanting drawing lessons, seemed light years away now. So much had happened since then.

  She reached into her purse to turn off her phone, then climbed onto his lap. She caressed his face. He closed his eyes and let himself enjoy the touch of her hands on his skin.

  “What if I had never come up with a reason for taking lessons with you?” she asked.

  A wry smile twisted his lips, his eyes still shut. “I would have come to your apartment and begged you to take lessons with me. I can be a complete idiot sometimes. You’ll have to remember that, Marie.”

  She ran her thumb along his lower lip and something beneath her thighs stirred. She brushed her fingers over his eyelids, gently closing them. “Keep them shut,” she said
.

  Her kiss was slow and soft, but definitely not sweet. She teased him, her tongue running along his lips, then slipping inside to find his tongue. His hands pushed up under her coat and sweater, stroking her stomach, cupping her breasts. He was hard beneath her now, but his eyes remained closed as she had asked.

  She let her spine unfurl, pressing her breasts more fully into his hands. Her body always responded this way to him, wild and needful. She felt his lips curl into a smile beneath her kiss. Her desire for him was no secret. If it ever had been.

  “How far to the hotel?” she groaned, not caring whether the cab driver heard.

  * * *

  “If we stay in here much longer, you’re going to fall asleep, I think,” Luc observed from his side of the hotel’s deep tub.

  From her side, the view was spectacular. Luc leaned back against the ceramic, his long arms stretched along the rim. The lavender-scented water lapped at his nipples and the steam was causing the ends of his dark hair to gently curl.

  Just then she felt a mischievous foot exploring her calf beneath the water. She couldn’t hide the chill that rippled down her spine.

  “The coffee will keep me awake,” she asserted.

  As soon as they arrived at the hotel, Luc had called room service for a pot of coffee and they were now drinking it in the tub, which felt oddly decadent to Marie. Lots of things felt decadent around Luc, of course. Especially taking a bath. The heat and gentle movement of the water relaxed her completely. For the past month, she hadn’t felt comfortable letting down her guard even for a minute or two, so now the idea of just sitting here with a man she trusted absolutely was comforting ... and seductive.

  “Just a few more minutes,” she begged. “This is the first time I’ve been able to relax in ages.”

  “I have some ideas for helping you relax.” Luc’s voice was low and husky as he ran his foot along the outside of her leg.

  “What’s on the agenda for today?” she asked.

  “Whatever you like.” His foot was pushing apart her legs. “But I’ve never made love to you in Paris, so that’s at the top of my agenda.”

  He opened the drain and stood up, his body rising from the water like some ocean god. He did it slowly enough, too, for her to watch every inch of skin emerge. Nothing like a glistening wet Luc with rivulets of water running off his chest and stomach and thighs to change her mind. He held out his hand and she let herself be pulled up.

  He toweled her off, then dried himself and pulled her into his arms. His body was warm and hard against hers, particularly a certain part of his body.

  “Just a quick one,” he said, “then we’ll take a nap.”

  Marie wasn’t sleepy, though, even considering how few hours she had slept on the plane. Plus ...

  “If I fall asleep, this might all be over. When I wake up, I’ll be back in Virginia.”

  He cupped her bottom with his palms and pulled her hips in tighter against his hard length. “Ah ma chérie, you’re afraid this is just a dream? What if I promise that you’ll be in Paris when you wake? And if you’re not, then you have my permission to do whatever you want to me.”

  Her body needed sleep, no doubt about that. But it needed him more. Already her legs were unsteady with desire and he was making it worse, trailing kisses down her neck and nibbling at her shoulder.

  “Do I have permission today? To do whatever I want?”

  He chuckled roughly against her cheek, searching for her lips. “As long as it involves orgasms and me inside of you, then yes. Whatever you want.”

  He caught her lips in a kiss, and she nearly gave in right there. But no. She didn’t want a quickie and a nap. Not their first time making love in Paris. It had to be special ... it had to be more.

  “You used to tell me,” she said between his kisses, which were growing more determined and more heated, “that not all seeing is done with the eyes.”

  “Mmm ... true.”

  He slipped his hands between them and rolled her nipples between his fingers. She reached up and stopped him. She didn’t want fast, and fast was where he was headed.

  “And when we started lessons, you blindfolded me to help me see things better.”

  “Yes.” There was a tightness in his voice now, a forced patience, like he was holding his breath. Which he probably was.

  “I want to see you make love to me.” She took a deep breath. “See it without my eyes.”

  He lifted his head and cocked an eyebrow at her. “You want to use a blindfold?”

  She nodded, watching his face as he considered the idea.

  “Hmm. But I left mine in the studio, packed up.”

  Her face fell. He probably hadn’t brought a necktie either. They had packed so quickly last night, throwing things pell mell into suitcases.

  “But maybe ...” he mused.

  He stepped away from her and immediately she regretted her request. The loss of his skin against her was cold and nearly painful. She followed him out to the main room, where he began pulling on clean pants and a shirt.

  “I’ll be right back. Wait for me in bed.”

  He glanced back at the pristine bed with its fluffy covers and pillows. It wouldn’t be pristine for long. She crawled beneath the covers and waited for his return. Her body was so charged with desire—with lust, let’s call a spade a spade, she thought—she could practically feel the individual threads of the cool sheets against her skin.

  Ten minutes later—the ten longest minutes of her life—Luc returned, a gift bag from the hotel shop swinging from his hand. He pulled out the yellow tissue paper and tossed it aside. Then he unfolded a gorgeous scarf. It was silk and intricately patterned in deep reds and golds.

  “It reminded me of our first date, at the ballet.”

  A rush of heat flooded her body. She wanted him now, and yet she had requested something he would take slow. Excruciatingly slow. God, she was an idiot.

  He pulled another scarf out of the bag, this one in muted tones of grey and cream. “For me,” he said. “But another time.” He smiled. “I do want to see you with my eyes today.”

  He stripped out of his clothes and then tied the blindfold around her eyes. “Are you sure you want to do this?” He tugged at the silk.

  “Yes. I just want to feel this.”

  “D’accord. But you have to let me know if it becomes too much.”

  And then Luc’s body was against hers, his hands warm on the bare skin of her back, pressing her into him. When his lips closed over hers, it was no simple kiss. Blindfolded, Marie had only taste and touch to interpret it. It was like tasting a wine for the first time and trying to identify its notes. The first taste was a rush of desire, overwhelming and uncomplicated. Then came the dark smokiness of desperation, teeth against teeth, bruised lips, and a faint hint of earthy sorrow.

  When Marie tasted the final note, the distant sweetness of long-aged hope, she gasped at the intensity of it.

  “Déesse,” he murmured against her lips.

  She parted her lips to take in the word. She would accept his compliments from now on, every one of them. His breath was hot with the scent of coffee and she pulled his mouth harder against hers. She wanted to disappear inside him, wanted him to swallow her whole.

  Luc kissed her back. He was trying to give her what she was asking for, she could tell, but she needed more. Every inch of skin on her body was clamoring for his touch. Touch me touch me touch me. Every nerve ending competed for his attention. Touch me first.

  “Slowly, love.” He pulled his lips away from hers.

  “I’m sorry,” she panted. “It’s so ... was it this way for you, when ...” She struggled to get words out.

  “When I was blindfolded with you? Yes. When you take away one sense, the others become more concentrated, pure. We rely too much on sight when we’re trying to see.”

  “It’s more intense than I realized.”

  Luc’s lips were at her ear now, the softness of his tongue like the finest v
elvet on her lobe. “Just relax into it.”

  “It’s the anticipation ... I don’t know where—”

  “Shhh.” He curled his tongue around her ear. “Don’t talk. Just feel it.”

  She felt fingers working their way into her hair, a light tugging against her scalp, then his hands cupped beneath her head. She sensed Luc’s lips in the instant before they found hers again. This time, she lay there and let him kiss her, let his mouth explore hers. She felt his nose rub gently against the tiny dip above her lips.

  “The philtrum,” she said. “I remember.”

  She felt Luc’s groan vibrate against her chest before the sound drifted into her ears, then his hands pulled out of her hair, the way water retreats before a tidal wave. His chest lifted from hers and her nipples hardened at the sudden rush of cooler air. His hips settled lightly over her own, straddling her.

  She felt nothing for awhile, for what seemed like an eternity.

  “Are you looking at me?” she asked.

  “I am, Marie.”

  “Good.” She smiled.

  Just like that, his body was on hers again, heavier this time, his erection hard against her. Her lips were crushed beneath his, her mouth filled with his tongue searching for hers. Heat spread like liquid fire through her body and she ground her hips against him. He ground his back.

  “Marie,” he moaned.

  She reached between their bodies and tried to pull him into her, but he lifted his hips away.

  “Non. Not yet. You haven’t seen everything.”

  She gasped when his mouth closed over her left breast and he began to suck, gently, patiently, as if he had all the time in the world. Not being able to see what he was going to do next made every touch a surprise—and almost unbearably intense. She was simply waiting for whatever would come next.

  “Can I change my mind?” She forced the words out.

  “I’d rather you didn’t.”

  Luc moved to her other breast and dropped soft kisses on every swell and curve, pausing only to nip at the hard bud of her nipple. The contrast sent shivers of desire rolling through her spine. When he kissed his way down her stomach, tracing a lazy circle around her navel with his tongue, she was certain her body was about to disintegrate from sensory overload.