African Enchantment

by Andrea Barry

"I don't know…" Patricia was hardly able to speak as she reveled in the ecstasy of his kisses, forgetting everything outside of the reality that was his embrace.

  "You're an angel, chérie." His fingers picked up a strand of her hair and brought it to his lips. "Your hair glows like red gold in the moonlight." He moved his hand to caress her cheek. Patricia's own fingers stroked his neck, responding to his caresses, moving to touch his curly hair and his forehead.

  His mouth was again on her lips, stirring within her body a flame that reached depths she hadn't known existed. It was as though liquid heat poured from him, filling every crevice of her body. Patricia felt weak-kneed as the heat seemed to explode in her. She thought she would faint.

  Her eyes stayed closed, as Armand lifted her in his arms to carry her over the stone balustrade. The starry tropical sky was above her, the roaring sea below. Her whole being responded to Armand's mounting ardor.

  The bright moonlight forced Patricia's eyes to open; suddenly she became aware of her situation. Caught in the vortex of ecstasy, she had lost all sense of propriety, all awareness of modesty that had always been an integral part of her.

  "No, you mustn't," she cried. Her hands flailed at Armand's chest, her fingers clutching the thin fabric of his shirt, which tore in her hands.

  "Such passion, Patrice!" Gone was the gentle; there was only mockery in his voice. "Did you think I was about to make love to you here, in the open country, like a schoolboy who has to get his fill whenever he can?"

  "What do you call what you've been doing then?!" Patricia was indignant. "And why did you put me down on the ground?"

  She realized, to her horror, that she had not indicated any unwillingness when Armand had picked her up in his arms. Until now she had totally responded to his embrace.

  "What have I been doing, Patrice?" He broke into a derisive laugh. "I've been kissing you, my dear. Kissing you very passionately, I might add. As to why I've put you down on the ground—you almost fainted, you know… it seemed you would be safer lying down. And you did not object, ma chère ."

  She was filled with anger—he was making fun of her. Her hands curled into fists, but she wasn't going to use them. He caught them easily in a steely grip.

  "Let me go," she hissed.

  "Oh, I shall." His laugh was full of uncontrolled merriment. "As soon as I'm sure you won't attack me again."

  In the bright moonlight Patricia could see the shreds of his white shirt where she had torn it.

  She relaxed her hands and looked away from him. She was too confused to say anything at all.

  He released her hands. "When I make love to you," he said with deliberation, "it will be on a comfortable bed in a comfortable room and because you will want me as much as I want you."

  "That will be never," Patricia spat out vehemently in a desperate effort to cover up the disturbing feeling of excitement his words had produced within her.

  "What do you want, Patrice?" Armand now said more kindly. "Do you know yourself what it is that you want?"

  Patricia didn't answer. Armand didn't press her for an answer, as they walked back to the car, bathed in silvery moonlight.

  Armand had again confused her, Patricia realized. She sat quietly in the car next to him as he drove through the tropical night, the car's motor almost silent. But she wasn't confused enough to ignore the new and exquisite sensation that Armand's lovemaking had brought on—a sensation she couldn't quite put into words, only feel its tremendous impact. She had been kissed before, but no one had ever elicited from her the response Armand had.

  The moon was low in the western sky when Armand pulled up in front of the villa and took Patricia inside.

  "Sleep well," he said formally. But Patricia detected no derision in his tone of voice.

  He remained standing at the bottom of the circular stairway and waited for Patricia to enter her room. He was again her thoughtful host and protector.

  "You too," Patricia called, as she opened the door to her room.

  In minutes she was undressed and in bed, but she slept only fitfully.

  Chapter Six

  Patricia woke early, her room bathed in the tropical sunlight. Today she would, at long last, meet her Aunt Pat, who had graciously paid her way half-way around the world, so that Patricia could visit her.

  Suddenly a sinking feeling overtook Patricia. She would be leaving Armand—a man whom only a few days ago she had despised—a pleasure-seeking playboy who dallied with women's hearts and bodies; and yet… Patricia shivered as she recalled how he held her in his powerful arms only the night before. She closed her eyes, recalling the feel of his body against her, his passionate kisses… The very thoughts set her whole body afire. She felt no shame, only an ecstatic pleasure.

  However, it was that very feeling of overwhelming pleasure which had almost caused her downfall, as Armand whispered words of love in her ear. Should she have believed him?

  Patricia realized she would never get up if she continued to speculate on her relationship with Armand. She got out of bed and took a shower. Remembering that she had promised to practice ballet with Armand's little niece Claudine, she put on her tights and a leotard which she always carried with her. She topped the outfit with a white long-sleeved shirt that she knotted at the waist, and went downstairs.

  Armand's sister Marinette and the children were already at the breakfast table. With a pang of disappointment Patricia noticed Armand's absence.

  "I'm so happy you didn't forget our dance lesson." Claudine, also wearing a leotard, was all ready for the ballet session. "I hope you will teach me some new steps, Patricia," she cried with anticipation.

  "I'll try, Claudine." Patricia smiled pleasantly. She liked Armand's pretty little niece, whose sparkling eyes held a family resemblance. They were shaped like Armand's, but they were a soft brown, like her mother's, rather than the penetrating violet-blue Patricia found so irresistibly attractive.

  Patricia had a glass of orange juice and a cup of tea. She asked that the freshly baked croissants be kept for later, after her ballet session with Claudine.

  The little girl led the way to a large mirrored ballroom in the back of the spacious house.

  "Grandpapa used to have dances here," she told Patricia. "We sometimes give a formal ball also, but not so often. Here we have a ballet barre." She walked to the far end of the room with Patricia following her. The elaborate parquet floor, Patricia noticed, was kept highly polished—just right for practicing ballet.

  There was a stereo system in a rosewood bookcase. Decks of tapes lined many shelves. Patricia picked out the score to Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake, and placed the tape in the machine. Soon music filled the room.

  "You will first have to show me what you already know, Claudine," she said to the little girl.

  Claudine executed the five basic ballet dancer's positions in rhythm with the music, and Patricia nodded her head in approval. But when it came to more complicated steps, she encountered difficulties.

  Patricia demonstrated some of the steps, with Claudine following closely in her footsteps. After a while Patricia told Claudine to pause for a rest. "Please, Patricia," Claudine asked, "won't you go on and dance?—I can learn just by watching you."

  Patricia readily agreed. After a few warm-ups, she gave herself completely to the dance she loved, enjoying the intricate movements she was executing.

  The Tchaikovsky waltz was just ending when Patricia caught a reflection of a male figure in the large mirror that covered the length of the room, standing very still. She stopped dead in her tracks, panting a little, having just completed a graceful, high arabesque.

  Dressed in a business suit that indicated he had been to the office, Armand stood tall and straight, his head inclined just a trifle, his black curls falling to his forehead.

  Patricia's heart did an arabesque of its own, a terrible habit that seemed to manifest itself the moment Armand appeared anywhere near her. She could tell, even in the mirror, that his magnetic blue eyes we
re dwelling on her and wondered how long he'd been standing there, watching her dance. It seemed once again, he had caught her unaware, just as he had done on the plane to Africa.

  "How long have you been here?" Patricia demanded, annoyed and yet aglow inside at the very sight of the man who had such an emotional hold on her.

  "Long enough to be aware of your talent, chère Patrice." His gaze was frankly admiring. "I am surprised though…"

  "Surprised?" What did he think, that she was an amateur?

  "Surprised to see you have so much energy this morning—I'm sure I heard you say last night that you were all danced out."

  Patricia chose to ignore this sarcastic remark. "This is a totally different kind of dancing," she said. But the memory of her dance with Armand the night before, being held so close to him, the ecstatic kiss in the moonlight, came flooding into her consciousness. She had to grip the barre with her hands, feeling suddenly dizzy.

  "Uncle Armand!" Claudine had gone to turn off the sound system, and now came over to her uncle. "Isn't Patricia wonderful? Did you see how she dances? She can teach me so much! Ask Patricia to stay with us. Tell her not to go away," she added firmly.

  "I have already suggested it." Armand's broad smile revealed his straight strong teeth. "Unfortunately Patricia has declined the invitation— for the moment."

  "Maybe, Uncle Armand, she will come back to Abidjan after she visits her aunt?" Claudine suggested hopefully.

  No! Patricia exclaimed silently, not wishing to offend Armand's little niece, of whom she had become very fond. Why was Armand always making decisions for her! The way he had said "for the moment" suggested he was sure she would return at another time!

  "Excuse me now." Claudine curtsied prettily. "I have to go." She stood on tiptoe to give Patricia a kiss before she ran out of the room.

  "You are a magnificent dancer, just as I suspected. And I must add, a great teacher," Armand said, turning his full gaze toward her, seeming to devour her with his eyes.

  Patricia didn't know whether to be flattered or insulted—was he condescending or praising? With Armand she could never tell. She remained silent, moving her head away, resting her eyes on the far side of the room so that she wouldn't have to face his penetrating stare.

  "My instinct told me you would be a perfectionist," he continued. "And you are. Even in the short half hour with Claudine I could tell you taught her a great deal."

  So he'd been watching her the whole time! The sneak! Even when she taught her classes at the Dance Therapy Institute, Patricia rarely allowed an outside onlooker. If there were to be someone present, it was always with her own consent.

  "You really are an amazing woman—talented, accomplished, and dedicated to her calling."

  There was no mistaking the admiration in Armand's voice; then it softened. "Lucky is the man who will have you as a lifetime partner."

  "There is no such man and there is no reason to believe that there will ever be one," Patricia responded almost automatically.

  Staccato palpitations made her heart jump, quickly spreading all over her, as Armand approached the barre and stood inches away from her.

  Patricia was well aware of how clearly her delicate figure stood out in the skin-tight leotard she wore. Even the curve of her hip bones was revealed under the silky material.

  "One can hope to change your mind, heartless Patrice." Armand's eyes were now blatantly caressing her long legs, under the sheerest white tights she always wore for ballet practice. His gaze traveled slowly from her slim ankles up her calves and knees to her thighs. They rested there, setting Patricia's flesh on fire, bringing back vivid memories of the evening just passed, when she was captive in his arms.

  Even now in broad daylight Patricia found herself reliving the moments under the huge tropical moon. She knew the night before Armand could have easily become her lover, as she lay prone in his arms. Thank heaven her sense of propriety had returned to her in time!

  Her body was bathed with perspiration produced not by the exertion of dancing, but simply by the presence of this magnetic man. Yet the man who put her in this state of feverish confusion seemed unaware of his effect upon her.

  "I know few women who have the love and understanding of children you possess, Patrice." He continued to speak in a matter-of-fact fashion, leaning his muscular frame against the ballet barre. "We certainly could use such talents as yours in our community."

  "Your sister told me of your interest in community projects." Patricia took a deep breath, regaining her composure. "She mentioned the time you give to help children, Armand."

  "I'm afraid I don't do very much," Armand said modestly. "I wish I could devote more time to these projects. There is so much to be done just now… at this time we are in the process of building a new hospital and school for children."

  "Really? Where will it be built?" Patricia asked, interested.

  "Just outside the city proper. I'd love to show you the building, Patrice. I'm sure you could make some useful suggestions on how to plan some of the recreational facilities."

  "I'd love to see the project," Patricia said with enthusiasm. "Shall I go and change now?"

  Armand flicked up the sleeve of his French cuffed shirt to look at his wrist watch.

  "I'm afraid I can't take you just now," he said apologetically. "I'm expected at a board meeting. We'll have to do it another time."

  There was a knock at the door of the ballroom just then, and a butler appeared.

  "Pardonnez-moi, Monsieur le Comte, mais on vous attend," he said.

  "I'll be right there, Yves," Armand said.

  "Please forgive me Patrice, this is very important business. I'll see you later."

  He kissed her hand and left the room.

  Patricia was stunned. What did he mean by saying "see you later"? Her plane was leaving for Nairobi in the early afternoon. She would have to start for the airport in less than two hours. Wasn't he driving her to the terminal? She had somehow taken it for granted that Armand's time was at her disposal. Now it turned out she was wrong. He had chosen to work instead! Patricia reminded herself that she thoroughly disliked idle men. But the thought that she wouldn't see him again before leaving Abidjan angered her. He had been so abrupt!

  Patricia still felt put out when it was time to leave for the airport and Armand had not yet shown up.

  "I'm sure Armand will try to come directly to the terminal to see you off," his sister told Patricia apologetically. "I know he wouldn't want you to leave without saying goodbye…"

  Patricia was glad when Marinette as well as the children got into the car to accompany her to the airport. She had become very fond of the little family. When the departure of her plane was announced, she hugged them all, tears in her eyes.

  "Thank you for everything, I'll see you soon!" she called, ready to enter the "passengers only" gate.

  "You'd better see me soon," spoke a familiar voice that Patricia would recognize anywhere. Not for the first time, Armand had materialized seemingly out of nowhere.

  Patricia turned her cheek to him, deciding that was the only kind of kiss he deserved. She wasn't about to forgive him for not being there to drive her to the airport.

  But one strong hand took hold of her chin, while the other pressed her body swiftly to his, so that the handbag she was carrying on her shoulder fell to the floor.

  Holding her pinned against his hard, lean body, Armand proceeded to kiss Patricia passionately right in the middle of the busy airline terminal, in full view of hundreds of people.

  He's so unpredictable, she thought. He has no sense of propriety, no concern for my reputation. And yet, her lips responded to him, as they had when he kissed her before—with complete abandon. She became overwhelmed with desire, totally oblivious to where she was, in a vibrant response to his demanding mouth.

  "You'll miss the plane, Patrice." It was Armand who broke the kiss.

  Feeling flustered and somehow ashamed, Patricia picked up her shoulder bag an
d without a backward glance rushed to the gate just as it was about to close. She felt feverish and disheveled.

  She was the very last passenger to board the aircraft. She fell into her seat, still out of breath, buckling her seatbelt as the jet began taxiing down the runway.

  Thank heaven Armand was no longer with her. She simply wasn't equipped to cope with the feelings he elicited in her. He made her lose her head, reducing her to a bundle of sensuality beyond description, making her abandon her normal calm and not be at all in control of her actions. I can't have this, Patricia resolved. He's only playing with me!

  Photographs of Armand de Vincent came to her mind, pictures she had seen in the magazine. One especially stood out. The photograph of Armand with Brigitte Duval, the French movie actress. In that particular picture he was snapped kissing Brigitte's hand—just as he had kissed Patricia's. She shuddered to think what other intimacies had passed between them. And how many other girls? He himself had probably lost count!

  As the airplane became airbound, Patricia could see the handsome figure of Armand standing on a terrace on top of the airport building. She was relieved to know she had left him behind. This time her flight would be uneventful, there would be no mad, romantic Frenchman to disturb her.

  Patricia heard her name called over the loudspeakers when she deplaned at the Nairobi airport after her flight from Abidjan. She answered the page at a desk designated for arriving passengers, where a tall, young man was waiting.

  "I'm Derek Holmes." He introduced himself in an unmistakably British accent. "And you must be Patricia Wells."

  "Yes, I am." Patricia liked the man's clean-cut looks and his polite manner.

  "Lady Patricia Malborough, your aunt, asked me to meet you. She would have come in person, but, as you no doubt know, she hasn't been well. I work for Aunt Pat—that's what she likes to be called. She is an informal sort of person—I'm her pilot," he said.

  "How is my aunt?" she asked.

  "She's much better than expected—she's making a splendid recovery."