by Serena Janes
He sat down beside her and took one of her hands in his, raising it to his beautiful lips. In the dim light she could just barely make out the soft expression in his eyes as he looked down at her. Then she noticed the bite mark on his swollen lip. His war wound, as it were.
She touched it lightly. “Does it hurt?”
“Not much.” His face grew serious. “Joanna, I want to say something, but I need to find the words. Uh, how can I put it?” He closed his eyes, lifting her hand to press it against his forehead. A moment later he lowered it and began again. “I need French words for this. Ah, well, let me try in English.
“Before this afternoon I suspected we would be very good together.”
Here he raised an eyebrow for emphasis, giving her a pointed look and a heart-melting smile.
“But this afternoon was more than I imagined it would be. I am—how can I say it—very surprised by you. By us together. That’s all I wanted to say,” he quickly finished before she could respond.
Jo had her mouth open, ready to speak, when, instead, she closed it and gave him a conspiratorial grin. Then she began to laugh. He’d given voice to her own feelings. How could she be anything but shocked what had just happened—the way their bodies responded to each other?
And they understood each other, that was the most important thing. She laughed in pure joy, and he joined her. The two of them laughed like mischievous children who shared a special secret, and when they were done, he leaned over to give her mouth a gentle last kiss.
“If there’s nothing more I can do for you, I will wish you a goodnight, my sweet Joanna. Sleep well.”
She was still giggling as he shut the door. She went back to bed, opened her diary, read her last entry, smiling, and added another. Then she turned out the light and tried to sleep.
But sleep evaded her. She lapsed in and out of fragmented dreams, full of guilty excitement and fear made worse by her inability to call James. She knew she should talk to him, or at least send him an email. He would be worried.
But she couldn’t.
Her abandoned ring still languished beside the bar of soap in the bathroom.
In the morning she woke up exhausted and sore. Every part of her hurt, as if she’d been rolled over by a boulder. Anxiety gripped her as she wondered how she could disguise her slow, painful movements. She was bound to attract attention if she hobbled like a crone.
But an aching body was the least of her worries—her heart was hurting too. Self-loathing and horror at what she had done to James would accompany her throughout the rest of the day, she knew. The entire week, even.
And what about the rest of my life?
But right now, she had to come up with some lies. She quickly invented a story to tell the others—she must have pulled a muscle in her back during a particularly strenuous yoga session yesterday afternoon. And now she was paying for it. The migraine was the first clue, she’d tell them.
She heaved herself out of bed and staggered into the bathroom. Afraid of what she’d see, she peeked in the mirror. But it showed a face that was only slightly red and puffy around the mouth. Her lips didn’t look as swollen as they felt, thank God.
Or thank you Mother Mary. White or black, virgin or harlot, I don’t care which.
The razor burn wasn’t too bad either. She popped two more aspirins.
Twisting painfully around to inspect her naked back in the mirror, she was shocked to see bright red scrapes along the top of her shoulder blades. No wonder it hurt so much—she’d lost a lot of skin. A warm shower helped relax her stiff muscles, but the water stung her flayed back. She’d have to keep people from seeing her shoulder blades for at least a week.
Who am I? she wondered as she managed to get herself cleaned, patched and dressed for what she knew was going to be an arduous day.
Jo leaned heavily on the banister as she made her way slowly down the stairs to the breakfast table. Every step was agony to her. Added to that was an agony of anxiety about the moment she would meet her lover at the table, under the watchful eyes of the entire group. Could she maintain her cool?
As she entered the dining room, she quickly became the object of much questioning and concern over her health. Thankfully, Luc wasn’t there, so she had a momentary reprieve as she ordered her breakfast.
When he bounded in a few minutes later, all attention moved away from Jo to him, as they wished him a “Bon matin, Monsieur LaPlante!” “How was your run this morning?”
Apparently yesterday’s exertions hadn’t prevented him from getting up earlier than everyone else to jog for an hour. Jo was astonished he had the energy.
He did look more tired than usual, she thought, but he greeted everyone with enthusiasm, clearly the life of this party. His smiling eyes lit on Jo as he asked her all the questions expected of a tour leader to an indisposed client. She played along, explaining her yoga injury and insisting she needed no special treatment.
Their exchange matter-of-fact, no one would suspect anything was going on between them, she hoped. However, she noticed his lower lip was still reddened and swollen on one side.
Later she heard speculation between Carol and Marcie that he left the caves yesterday for a tryst. They invented a woman living nearby, perhaps in Lacave. Throughout the day there was a small degree of “nudge, nudge, wink, wink” going on amongst the rest of English contingent, too. Jo ignored it.
As she sipped her coffee, she listened to the conversations going on around her. The spelunkers were all abuzz over yesterday’s trip. Duncan wasn’t sure about the paint-spitting theory. The image of the bison looked brushed on, he said. Sarah disagreed, and so a lively debate took up most of the morning meal. That was some relief to Jo as she managed to eat enough to ready her for the day.
After breakfast, Luc offered to buy Jo’s lunch supplies at the market, and after gratefully accepting she tackled the staircase leading up to her room. Each step was a challenge, and for a moment she remembered it was only yesterday that she speculated about the wayward pilgrims serving penance by climbing the Grand Escalier on their knees. And then she realized something.
They were climbing up to the church to pay homage to the Black Virgin. They probably wanted her forgiveness. Yet she also grants license—but only to women. So the men are asking for forgiveness for their sins, but the women are asking for permission to sin.
And once women sin, where do we turn for forgiveness? Ourselves?
She didn’t know if she could forgive herself for what she had done.
When she finally got to her room she finished her packing, and stole a few extra moments of rest. Half an hour later, she sent her bag down to be taken to the next stop, St. Sozy. She wished she could ride with it, but pride wouldn’t let her.
They began their trek in high spirits, everyone but Iris showing concern for Jo. Their attention made Jo feel better and she began to believe she deserved their kind wishes. But it troubled her to see that Iris looked even more morose than usual.
Jo knew that for the last two days Iris had occupied the hotel room next to hers. Was she in her room yesterday afternoon?
OhmyGod did she hear us?
The idea made Jo feel sick to her stomach. Soon she was lost in her head, alternately reliving yesterday and anticipating the future. She felt she was flying and crashing, then taking off up into the skies again, every painful step a punishment for her sins.
This has to be as bad as climbing the Escalier on my knees, she thought with each horrid flash of pain. I deserve this. Ow, ow, ow, shit!
But she was smiling as these silly thoughts carried her away.
It was worth it, though! Oh how it was so worth it! I don’t care who knows.
To her surprise, Luc slowed his usual pace to walk with her awhile, examining her closely. She could barely stop herself from giving away her feelings, as her body began to thrum and buzz in memory of what this man could do to it.
“You don’t look well, Joanna. You should have gone on ahead wi
th Marc in the van.”
Clearly he was alarmed at seeing her behaving like an accident victim. Relieved at his polite manners, she smiled sweetly and downplayed her discomfort, trying to keep her voice neutral.
“No, no thank you. I’m fine, really. I prefer to walk to stretch out my muscles. I’m sure it looks worse than it is.”
The look on his face told her that he didn’t believe her, so she played up the details of her yoga strain, loudly enough for the others walking close by to hear. For good measure she threw in a description of a blister on her foot from yesterday’s walk.
He nodded understandingly. “We’ll take some extra rest stops today. That should help.”
“Thank you.” She smiled weakly, happy to give in to this small concession, and grateful not only for his professionalism, but for the honest care he seemed to be showing her. And although she could have opted out of the day’s walk, he seemed to respect her decision to carry on. To take her punishment.
He wasn’t acting like a man who was out to seduce and run. Last night she’d cringed at the thought that he might be the type who would completely ignore her after making his conquest. She’d been mortified just thinking about it. Her holiday would have turned into a nightmare if her lapse in judgment had led to such an uncomfortable scenario.
But here he is. Beside me, offering help. I really, really like him.
It was a very difficult ten miles for Jo. Not only did everything hurt like hell, she was tired, confused, guilt-ridden, and maddeningly excited over what had happened yesterday, what was happening at any given moment while she was walking, and what might be happening in the next few hours. Not to mention the next few days.
Every time she looked at Luc, who was usually walking ahead of her, she was overwhelmed by the mere fact of his existence. Not only that he existed at all, but that he was alive and breathing only a few feet away from her.
And she could hardly assimilate the fact that her desire for him seemed to eclipse all desire, for any man, she had ever experienced before. This was a new and completely challenging concept to her. There were no parameters to guide her with the dizzying emotions she felt.
And to top it off, he was likeable. Not just desirable, but likeable. It was an intoxicating combination.
At their first rest stop, taken early for her benefit, she sat down on the ground, removed one shoe and sock, and showed anyone who cared to look why she was limping. There was a blister.
Of course her foot barely bothered her at all—it was every muscle in her arms, legs, back and neck that screamed with each step. And with each of these steps the straps of her daypack rubbed with excruciating regularity against her scraped back.
This must be what wearing a hair shirt feels like.
When Luc spied her sitting on the ground, he was at her side in a flash, crouching over her with his First Aid kit open and at the ready. Helping her charade, he rummaged through his supplies to produce a tube of antibacterial ointment.
Although tired and a little frightened of her ricocheting emotions, she tingled in anticipation of his touch as he squeezed a small amount of ointment onto the tip of his finger. His movements were almost sexual in their slow deliberation. He expertly dabbed the medicine onto her blister and she had to laugh at herself at the enormous pleasure she received from this small gesture. It was both tender and titillating.
Cheap thrills.
Then he cut a small piece of gauze and another of moleskin, and placed them over the almost-healed wound. His touch was warm and very gentle. Giving her a look equivalent to the “nudge, nudge, wink, wink” of the English, he made a point of saying loudly, “There. I think your foot will be much better by tomorrow.”
And then, when he was certain no one could see, he quickly reached out a hand and stroked the inside of her bare thigh, saying in a low voice, as his blue look pierced her, “I’m sorry you’re suffering so much. If I could, I’d carry you all the way to St. Sozy. But tell me, do you think it was worth it?”
The last words were whispered, barely audible. She shivered with pleasure.
Removing her dark glasses, she nodded up at him seriously, blushing slightly, the skin of her thigh burning where he’d caressed it. Again, he was giving her the look that turned her insides to liquid. And her brain, too.
His face passed close to her ear as he slowly stood up.
“Tell me it was the best sex of your life,” he playfully demanded in a whisper.
Cavalierly, with a broad, confident grin he extended one hand to pull her to her feet. She took it, still blushing as she painfully raised herself. She trembled slightly at the touch of his strong grasp.
“Do you doubt it? For even one minute?” She met his gaze boldly, her mouth turning upwards at the corners in a provocative and playful grin, eyes challenging as she put her sunglasses back on.
His smug smile was her reward. And then she laughed as she turned away from her French lover. She’d just realized she’d have to try even harder to walk normally now that she’d been patched up.
* * * *
Luc didn’t have to ask Jo to know he’d been the best she’d ever had. Every part of her body had told him so. Every noise she made. Even her breathing. It all worked together to let him know what he needed to know—to confirm that what they shared was exceptional.
And that they had to do it again.
Tonight. After the others go to bed. Outside, under a tree. On a bed of leaves. Or a bed covered in sheets. It’s all the same to me.
Turning around to check on her, he was pained to see her walking so slowly, obviously hurting.
Well, maybe not tonight.
He was furthered bothered that she had to invent a string of lies to explain her pain and her absence at dinner last night. He knew he’d been rough on her, at times, but had it really been that bad?
Then he had to smile when he remembered some of the highlights of their afternoon liaison.
Duncan slowed to walk alongside him, and as they talked Luc found he couldn’t stop grinning. He was inordinately pleased with himself. And he suspected Joanna was equally pleased—despite her present condition.
But this is not cool—pas cool, ça. No one can know.
He forced a neutral expression and tried to focus on Duncan’s description of a hike he once took in Switzerland.
And then there was Simone, Luc remembered with a twinge of guilt. He’d never cheated on her before. He loved her.
Maybe he wasn’t in love with her the way he would have liked, but he did care for her deeply. She was good with his son, Daniel, and would make a wonderful mother.
His and Simone’s lovemaking had never approached anything like this, though, he thought nervously.
This is something else. Like nothing else I’ve ever known. And I want it again. Now, even. If I could I’d pull her off this trail and fuck her so hard she wouldn’t be able to walk at all.
Behind a bush, under the riverbank, on top of an ant hill—anywhere.
“You okay, mate?”
It was Duncan, breaking his reverie.
Luc turned to the Scot with a smile. “Mais oui! Just thinking about work. It’s not the kind of job I can really leave behind, even when I’m on vacation.”
This was true, except that he hadn’t thought of work since the moment he ordered Jo that first glass of wine.
But I need to keep my head on straight over the next few days, or things could get messy.
“Rest stop, mes amis!” he called out and turned to watch everyone on the trail bump together like sheep in a chute. Joanna was last, of course, and as soon as she saw it was time to stop, she crumpled onto a bed of leaf litter, took off her pack, and lay down.
Right here on the ground.
He couldn’t help himself.
In a hollow. Over a log. In the river…
* * * *
Once everyone was back on the trail, Carol and Peter slowed to fall into step with Joanna.
“Doctor Luc fixed yo
u up good, did he then”? Carol teased. “I bet he has just the best bedside manner, wouldn’t you say so, dear? I think I’ll turn my ankle and see if he can carry me all the way to the hotel.”
Jo didn’t know if Carol’s words were innocent or loaded with innuendo. There was certainly disdain in her tone. But she was too excited, too sore, and too tired to really care.
By mid-morning, the weather had turned sultry, and when they stopped at the crumbling twelfth century church in the hamlet of Maryinhacle Francel, Jo was all done in. Luckily, the stone building offered a cool, damp retreat. She sat heavily on a pew to rest and let her temperature drop, admiring the gigantic bouquets of flowers someone had placed at the altar. Explosions of enormous white lilies, long-stemmed anemones, and globe-shaped pink and white peonies filled the dim room with their beautiful colors and scents. They made her think of sex in an abstract way, and of Luc. Her desire for him. A lust she hadn’t known before.
The stigmas of the lilies were so delicately erotic, she thought. They reached far out into the air, like slender erect penises, almost quivering with anticipation. Touch me, touch me, they seemed to say with their golden bulbous tips, beckoning flies, shirtsleeves, noses, anything at all.
One stigma oozed sticky syrup from its swollen and fissured tip. The liquid ran down its stalk suggestively. She stretched out a fingertip and lightly brushed it.
“Does that feel good?” she whispered.
Then, after a quick look to make sure no one was near, she leaned in to flick at it with her tongue. She just couldn’t help herself. It tasted sweet. She thought of her French lover, and smiled.
But she had to stop this nonsense. Forcing herself to think about something besides sex, she looked around her. It was a beautiful scene. Tiny ferns and other small plants grew inside the church in the crannies of the soft stone walls. They would make an interesting feature for one of the articles she had planned to write for her magazine.
She took a few photographs of the tiny plants, and then she subtly turned the camera on Luc, shadowed in the gloom of the nave. Just a few candid photos. To help her remember when she got home.