Waking the Wolf (Coup de Foudre)

by Amanda Sandton

  His eyes crinkled up and a broad smile spread across his face. “Wow! You look hot enough to melt Antarctica. We could have done with a little of that heat in the snowstorm.”

  Sylvie arched her brows and teased, “Are you saying that I was not hot enough for you then, Jean-Luc?”

  “Merde,” he said stamping his foot in mock annoyance. “I’ve done it again. Spoken about that-which-is-not-to-be-mentioned.” He bowed low. “Forgive me, Milady, after you.”

  When they reached the foot of the stairs a slim young woman with sloe black hair came rushing over to them and flung her arms round Jean-Luc’s neck, knocking Sylvie’s hand away from his arm.

  “Oh, Jean-Luc, chéri. It is so long since I have seen you. My poor heart has been going pitter-pat all week waiting for this moment. How have you been surviving without me, my darling?”

  Sylvie who had taken a couple of steps backwards out of the way of this dramatic onslaught couldn’t tell who was the more surprised, Jean-Luc or herself. He had staggered back with a look of embarrassed surprise on his face.

  “Salut, Morisette,” he said when he had recovered his balance. He pulled her arms away from his neck and anchored them down by her side.

  Turning to Sylvie, he said, “Sylvie, this is Morisette, the daughter of our mayor. We were at school together.”

  Pushing Morisette away from him gently but firmly, he let go her hands, “Morisette, this is Sylvie, my co-worker on le Projet Loup.”

  Morisette gave a dismissive glance towards Sylvie. “That’s all right then. For a moment I thought you had betrayed me and she was your girlfriend.”

  She clutched Jean-Luc’s arm and towed him along beside her. “You don’t have to stay with her if she is just your colleague …Viens! We can talk about old times together.”

  As he was dragged off, Jean-Luc glanced back at Sylvie, sending her a look to say that politeness meant he had to yield to his capture by this annoying female. But was she annoying? Perhaps she was more than a childhood friend. Anyway, what did it matter to her? Jean-Luc had made it clear that apart from some silly messing about when he was a little drunk, he didn’t want to get involved with her, and that the night up in the mountains in the snow had been a regrettable mistake. She should stop behaving like a dog in the manger. Should - but could she? She would find Martine or Louise and pump them for information on this girl who thought she had rights of ownership over Jean-Luc.

  The long dining table had been pushed back against the wall to form a buffet for the coming spread. Both this room and the salon were filling up rapidly with a crowd of young and colorful people. As Sylvie knew only the family members, she was a bit at a loss when she walked in, but Raoul had seen her enter and he came over and gave her a glass of champagne. He escorted her to where Martine was chatting with a group of friends and handed her over. Martine made the introductions and Sylvie found herself answering question after question about life in Mississippi for young people. There were a few jokes about her accent and several trips to the forfeit jar in the kitchen, but Sylvie took it all in good spirits.

  She noticed that Morisette was monopolizing Jean-Luc. She clung to his arm as if stuck with superglue and gazed up at him with adoration as he circled the room with her as an unwanted appendage. Everyone would think Jean-Luc and Morisette were an item and Sylvie guessed that that was her intention.

  Martine broke away from the group to go and check on whether Diane needed any help in the kitchen and Sylvie followed her.

  As soon as they were safely inside the kitchen, Sylvie burst out, “What is this girl Morisette to Jean-Luc? He’s never mentioned her to me and no one in the office has any idea that he is - to use an old-fashioned expression - spoken for. We all thought he was still hankering after his ex-fiancée.”

  Only then did she notice that Diane was in the kitchen and had heard Sylvie’s question. Sylvie blushed and slid down onto the nearest chair. It was one thing to girl-talk with a contemporary but quite another to ask such questions within the hearing of Jean-Luc’s grandmother.

  Martine was the first to answer. “She’s a damned nuisance; she’s been chasing Jean-Luc since école maternelle, nursery school. He’s always shaking her off but she is impervious to his disdain and she always comes back for more.”

  While Martine had been talking, Diane had taken the chair next to Sylvie. “Sylvie, I thought you and Jean-Luc were business colleagues. Why are you so interested - upset even?”

  Sylvie had to backtrack quickly. “We are - that’s all we are. But she seems so overpowering, proprietary even, and he didn’t seem to enjoy it. I care for him as a friend and I wondered if someone should rescue him.”

  Martine came over and put her hand on Sylvie’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. As a family, we have been on Morisette-watch all our lives. We will all do what we can to keep her away from him tonight, but I must warn you she is insistent and she’s the daughter of the mayor so we have to be courteous.”

  “Thanks. You’re both very kind,” said Sylvie, hoping that they had hold of the true version of the relationship between Jean-Luc and Morisette. “I’d better get back to the party.”

  The party was great fun. Sylvie decided to ignore Jean-Luc and Morisette. It wasn’t worth getting upset about something about which she could do nothing. Jean-Luc wasn’t the only personable young man in the room. All the male members of the family asked her to dance and there were plenty of other friendly good-looking guys who wanted to talk to her and dance with her. The music was great and the food five-star. What more could she wish for?

  Try as she might she couldn’t keep her eyes from following Jean-Luc as he moved round the room in the clutches of Morisette. It was hard to tell whether he was enjoying himself or not. He seemed to be holding her closer than necessary but maybe he was making the best of a bad job.

  The party had been going for some time. It was hot in the salon and all the men had stripped down to their shirtsleeves. Surely, Morisette had to go to the bathroom at some point? It wasn’t until the evening was beginning to wind down with the lights out and the old slow smoothies being played, that Sylvie saw her leave the room. Sylvie excused herself from her partner and worked her way quickly across the floor to Jean-Luc’s side, anxious to reach him before Morisette returned. When she tapped him on the shoulder, he spun round, a look of pleased surprise flooding his features.

  “At last, a dance with our project’s alpha female,” he teased as he swept her up into a tight nightclub clinch, his hands moving down her back to cup her butt and pull her in close, so close that she could feel his hardened cock through his jeans.

  “Is that for me or are you still thinking of Morisette?” she said.

  “Don’t mention the name. What I have to do in the name of social grace. I’ve had that wretched female hanging round me ever since the party began. I’ve been signaling the family but no one has paid any attention.”

  “They’re all enjoying the party too much to worry about you, and maybe they think it’s time you did something firm but kind about her. It’s not fair to let her go on in her delusion that she’s your sweetheart.”

  Jean-Luc gave her a squeeze sending darts of exquisite sensation shooting up her thighs. He was too tall for them to dance cheek to cheek so she let her head fall forward onto his shoulder. He licked behind her ear and then nibbled it.

  Sylvie pulled her face away. “Stop it, Jean-Luc. Stop teasing me.”

  “Sylvie, don’t tell me you don’t like it. I can feel your nipples through the silk - hard against my chest,” he whispered as he moved his hands up to her shoulders to force her back against him. He brushed her hair with his lips while Sylvie fought to find an answer. In her heart of hearts, she would love to be in a situation where she could be on the receiving end of that promised potency again.

  “Jean-Luc” she breathed against his skin. “What I like and what I want are not necessarily the same thing. In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not a guy.”

&nbs
p; “Sylvie, don’t forget, I know that and I haven’t forgotten how well we fit together, you and I.”

  “But I thought we decided that was just sex? I need more than that.”

  “That’s enough analysis, Sylvie, just enjoy this. Here we are together in a lover’s clinch, the lights are out, the music’s soft. Just relax and enjoy being close to me as I am enjoying being close to you.”

  Jean-Luc was right about that. She didn’t have to discuss it to death. She was enjoying being bound up in his arms and swaying gently to and fro round the dance floor. She closed her eyes and relaxed into him, drawing up the scent of male cologne overlaid with the aroma of physical exertion and a hint of cognac.

  A flash of bright light shocked them both to a standstill and the music stopped. Morisette stood just inside the door by the switches. She was scanning the room. Looking for Jean-Luc? Sure enough. She came striding over to pull Sylvie out of Jean-Luc’s arms, screaming, “He’s mine. Get away from him!”

  Raoul came across the room and led Sylvie away, saying quietly to Jean-Luc, “Get that girl a drink of water while I see if I can find someone to take her home.”

  The music welled up again, the lights dimmed and the party continued. For Sylvie the party was over. In spite of Raoul’s kindness in taking her over to Joyce and giving her a glass of wine, she felt as if Morisette had slapped her in the face. The woman was impossible.

  She stayed talking to Joyce and refused all invitations to dance, feeling that anyone else would be an anticlimax after Jean-Luc. She cast around the room and saw that he had taken Morisette back onto the floor again. Maybe he hoped the exercise would sober her up or placate her. Sylvie wasn’t sure whether the girl was drunk or deluded.

  She looked away to watch Louise and her boyfriend. Louise was trying to teach him a new step and he was making a mess of it. Poor chap! When she turned back, she caught sight of Morisette pulling Jean-Luc out of the room into the hall. Excusing herself from Joyce, she made her way round the floor and peeped out into the hallway. She had to see what was happening. Morisette had opened the door to the mudroom leading off the hall. Jean-Luc appeared to be resisting but Morisette was insisting that he follow her in. The door closed behind them and as Sylvie tiptoed up to it, she heard the key turn.

  19 : Caught

  There was only one reason why a couple would leave a party and lock themselves away but Jean-Luc had assured her he didn’t fancy Morisette. Had he had so much to drink that he didn’t care who he was with? And she wasn’t sure whether he had gone willingly, or whether he had been unable to get rid of Morisette without being unforgivably rude.

  Sylvie hovered about outside the door for a few minutes. She even stooped to putting her ear to the door, but the door was so thick she couldn’t hear anything. She knew she should go away but she couldn’t; she had to find out if there was anything between them. After a while, she heard the key turn in the lock again and the door opened slowly. She hung back to the side; she didn’t want Morisette to see her there and give her the satisfaction of knowing that she was interested in Jean-Luc. He stepped out on his own, closing the door behind him.

  “Where’s Morisette?” asked Sylvie in surprise, stepping forward to accost him.

  “A-ha!” he said, taking hold of her arm and pulling her into the room, locking the door and leaning back against it.

  The room was empty.

  Sylvie was so astonished all she could do was bleat, “Where’s Morisette?”

  “Now what do we have here? A peeping Tom? An eavesdropper?”

  Sylvie didn’t answer. There was no getting away from the fact that she had been loitering outside the door.

  Seeing her discomfort, Jean-Luc burst out laughing. “What do you think I’ve done? Murdered her and shoved her up the chimney?”

  “Of course not!”

  “Shouldn’t have done it but I lost my temper with her nonsense, and pushed her outside. Told her to go round to the front of the house and take these with her,” he said picking up and brandishing a packet of condoms before throwing them down on the counter.

  “Are you saying they’re hers?” asked Sylvie, her voice heavy with incredulity.

  “You know the brand I use, remember, and it’s not this one, is it? She’s just a trouble-maker, that Morisette.”

  Sylvie had to admit to herself that Jean-Luc had a point. She walked over to the garden door, opened it and looked out. “There’s no one out here.”

  “There you are; she’s gone back inside.”

  Sylvie locked the door again. Concern for Morisette wiped out her jealousy and possessiveness. “You can’t just leave her wandering about outside in the cold in her evening finery, Jean-Luc. She was a little tipsy, you know.”

  Jean-Luc rolled his eyes at her. “Sylvie, I’m not that irresponsible. I sent a text to Raoul asking him to look out for her. It’s his turn to deal with the annoyance; the mayor’s his friend, not mine. I’ve had to put up with the damned woman all evening.”

  “Did he answer you?”

  “Said he was on to it. So you can stop feeling concerned about someone who couldn’t give a damn about you and did her best to spoil your evening.”

  Sylvie shrugged his comment off. “Now that’s settled, are you going to move away from that door and let me out?”

  She took a tentative step towards the door but Jean-Luc grinned, and closed in on her with his arms held out to bar her exit, “And give up the only private time we’ve had together for days?”

  “Jean-Luc, stop messing about and let me out.”

  Sylvie heard her voice shrilling. She was annoyed with Jean-Luc for playing the fool and with herself for allowing him to rile her. She turned back to the outside door but before she could move, Jean-Luc darted forward, snatched the key out of the lock and pocketed it.

  He advanced on her and seized hold of her, enveloping her in a hug and snuffling his face into her hair. “You smell so good, Sylvie. Are you sure you want me to let you out?”

  Sylvie struggled to free herself from his arms, “Let me go! … I’ll scream.”

  “Oh no, you won’t,” he said, and he bent down to fasten his lips on hers.

  Sylvie squirmed and kept her lips tightly closed but he held her fast. She was not going to let Jean-Luc sweet talk her into letting her guard down, not till she got to the bottom of his episode with Morisette, but then he withdrew his mouth from hers and brushed it across her face dropping soft kisses all the way down to her neck. She felt her antagonism ebbing; she couldn’t keep it up in the face of Jean-Luc’s assault on her senses.

  Jean-Luc pulled away, “If you really want me to let you go, I will,” he said backing towards the door and putting his hand on the handle. “Just say the word.”

  Sylvie hung her head and bit her lip. Time stretched out between them.

  “Right,” said Jean-Luc, sweeping her up in his arms and sitting her down on top of the worktable. “She who hesitates is lost.”

  There was nothing she would have liked more than to have sex again with Jean-Luc but not while he was being so impossible. The sexual excitement she had felt when they had been dancing had not left her, and if Morisette hadn’t intervened in such a boorish manner, she was sure they would probably have gone to bed together, but not when he was behaving like a school kid. She wanted some respect. She wanted to feel that she counted. She refused to respond, her posture rigid with contempt, her hands gripping the edge of the table and her eyes fixed on the distant doorknob.

  Jean-Luc took one look at her face and chuckled. “Oh dear, on your high horse are you? You’re the one who was looking for me, remember.”

  Keeping his eyes on her face, he put his hands under the hem of her long evening dress and worked them up her legs, ruching the colored silk up to the top of her thighs. From there he slid his hands round to cup her buttocks and then he gave her a sharp yank, pulling her forward to the edge of the table and causing her to lose her balance and fall backwards.

  She
let out a cry of surprise but he ignored it. Spreading her legs apart, he bent down to her and mouthed his way up and down the gusset of her panties, blowing his hot breath through the silk. She gave a slight involuntary buck of the hips as he sent sharp tingles of desire radiating throughout her body. Keeping his focus, he stretched out his hand across the table and grasped the garden shears.

  Sylvie tried to sit up in alarm but he gave her a gentle push to flatten her down on the table again. Grabbing hold of her panties, he cut through the gusset and threw the shears on the floor. Sylvie shuddered as he sank his tongue into her wetness. He licked up and down, pausing now and then to vibrate his tongue across her clit.

  Sylvie could not deny the effect his ministrations were having on her senses but she was still uncertain whether another bout of sex with Jean-Luc, however great it would be, was good sense or not. She curled herself up to reach his hair and gave it a tug.

  He lifted his head and looked at her with a knowing smile.

  “Give the word and I’ll let you up.”

  When she didn’t answer, he chuckled. ”Your head says one thing but down here it’s a different story.”

  His fingers dipped deep into her vagina and as if tasting honey from a honey pot, he drew them out and put them in his mouth. “Can’t you feel how wet you are? Do you really want me to stop, Dr Latour?”

  “Don’t call me Doctor,” Sylvie said in exasperation, letting go of him and falling back onto the table.

  “Is that a ‘no’?” he asked. “You don’t want me to stop?”

  Sylvie’s answer was to stretch across to the packet lying on the counter and hand them to Jean-Luc. The packet was complete, she saw in passing; Morisette had not had her way with him. Jean-Luc had been telling the truth.

  Sylvie sat up and watched Jean-Luc push down his jeans and ease on the sheath. He tutted with impatience as he strove to unfurl it along his length and breadth. There was no gentleness in his final approach this time. He yanked her towards him, guided his cock into position and rammed it home but after a couple of thrusts, he tempered his raunchiness by gathering her up into his arms and kissing her throat. He ran the zip of her dress down to her waist and pushed her away from him, far enough to slide the dress off her shoulders and down over her breasts to bunch above her hips.