Sputtering noises growled in the engine and the car began to jerk unevenly.
Jacquelyn looked out the window. Down the road, she saw a cluster of quaint French buildings. "Do you think we can make it as far as there?" she asked, pointing to the structures.
"I don't know," Scott said, fiddling with the switch, his foot still pumping the gas pedal.
The car began to slow again, this time coasting for longer and longer periods of time before it jumped back into life. Finally, it coasted one last time and came to a gentle halt several hundred yards from the buildings.
"Do you mind walking?" Scott asked.
"Not at all," Jacquelyn said, slipping out of her heels. "But I think I'll go barefoot, if you don't mind. Please turn your head."
Scott frowned, looking puzzled.
"My hose," she explained. "If I don't take them off, I'll ruin them. And if you don't look in the other direction, I'll embarrass myself."
"Oh?" Scott said, a teasing grin on his face. "I've seen your legs before. Don't forget all the times you've worn a bathing suit around me."
"It's not the same thing," Jacquelyn protested with mock indignation, "and you know it."
"Yeah," Scott growled seductively.
"Scott McCrann!" Jacquelyn exclaimed.
"Okay, okay," Scott said with a chuckle. "If it saves your modesty, I won't look, I promise."
With a broad sweep of his arms, he placed his hands over his eyes like a kid playing hide-and-seek.
"Now, go ahead."
Jacquelyn eyed him suspiciously, lifted her skirt and slipped down her hose. Scott parted his fingers mischievously, peeked through the opening and gave a low whistle.
"You promised!" she said.
"I promised I wouldn't look. I didn't promise I wouldn't peek."
"That's not fair," Jacquelyn said vehemently, pushing his hands back before his eyes.
"Why not?" Scott asked huskily, taking his hands down. He turned in the seat to look at her. Suddenly the game turned into a duel. Their eyes met and clashed, each seeking to control the situation by sheer force of will. An electric current shot through Jacquelyn. The frivolity had become a probe. Scott's blue eyes searched Jacquelyn's face. But their intensity penetrated deeper into her being, locking into her eyes and silently questioning her.
What was it Scott wanted to know? For an instant, it didn't matter what the question was. Jacquelyn was flying on a magic carpet of emotion, and no matter what he asked, the answer would be yes. She wanted nothing more than to grant any request he would make of her. Her heart had stopped in her chest and her blood had halted in her veins. The world stood still on its axis because she felt sure Scott was going to kiss her. Her body ached for his touch. Her soul longed for his embrace. She was caught up in a magic spell of enchantment that she wanted to last forever.
Just then, Jacquelyn heard a tap on the window. She shook her head to clear her vision and she shot a resentful glance in the direction of the intruding sound.
Suddenly, for the first time, Jacquelyn realized it was sprinkling. A fine mist enshrouded a man's face at the window of the car. He held a black umbrella over his head and tapped once again on the window-pane.
Scott turned, rolled down the window and spoke to the man in French.
Jacquelyn sat silently. But inside, her thoughts were a jumble of confused feelings. What had just transpired between her and Scott? What did it mean? Why did she feel so frustrated, so agitated, so edgy? What had France done to her? It couldn't be real, what she was experiencing. She had allowed herself to become a victim of the romance of Paris, and she had become confused by her own responses. She was going to have to get a grip on herself. The first thing she did was reach up and remove the clip from her hair, letting it fall loosely down her back.
"He saw us stall along the road," Scott explained, pointing to the smiling face peering in the car window. "He has a little restaurant down the road. We can get something to eat there and call for another car."
"Fine," Jacquelyn answered. "I'm getting awfully hungry." But it was more than just food that she craved. It was a hunger of the soul, a hunger she didn't understand or know how to satisfy.
They hopped out of the car and huddled under the umbrella together. A fine spray scattered over them as they walked down the side of the road. Jacquelyn carried her purse in one hand. The rough road scraped the soles of her feet.
"Want me to carry you?" Scott asked.
"No," Jacquelyn answered sharply, then wondered why her tone had been so abrupt.
The inside of the café was cozy and intimate. A small light in the center of the room illuminated the handful of tables with their crisp white tablecloths. A counter ran across the back of the room. Wine bottles sat in a rack to one side of the cash register.
The proprietor of the café folded his umbrella, shook off the pools of water and set it in a stand near the door.
There was one other couple in the restaurant. A young man and an attractive woman sat huddled over a small table with a single candle in the center. They leaned toward each other and held hands. Jacquelyn felt a warm glow start somewhere in the region of her heart and radiate out through her body, carrying with it an intense longing. Was it simply hunger?
Scott led Jacquelyn to a table and pulled out a chair for her to sit down. He took the one opposite her.
The owner scurried back to the kitchen and began talking in a loud voice. Soon he reappeared at the table, spoke to Scott in French and stood with an expectant expression on his face.
"Well," Scott said, "looks as if we've made quite a hit with the management. He's offering to let us come to his wine cellar and pick out our own bottle. Interested?"
"Why would he do that?" Jacquelyn asked.
"It must be the rented car. I asked him to phone for a replacement. He obviously assumes we are sufficiently flush to warrant special treatment."
"What would the car have to do with it?"
"He knows we're foreigners and thinks we're rich."
"Well, aren't we?" Jacquelyn asked lightly, momentarily forgetting that she was merely a hired hand as far as Scott was concerned.
"I guess so," Scott agreed amiably. "Now, how about the wine cellar? Do you want to see it?"
"Sure, I'd love it. I've never been in a French wine cellar. Who could turn down a new adventure like that?"
Scott nodded to the man and pulled Jacquelyn's chair out for her. They followed the café owner to the back of the room and through a narrow door. They descended steep steps into a dank plastered room.
The man pushed a button on the stairs to illuminate a small light that flickered uneasily. When he reached the floor, he grabbed an overhead cord that switched on a small, bare bulb which gave off a faint light.
The cellar, lined with bloated barrels and bottles stacked in racks on their sides, smelled of fermented corks. The café owner indicated with a sweep of his hand his pride in his fine homemade wines. He spoke to Scott in French, they exchanged comments, and the man reached for a bottle from the rack.
"He's quite proud of his stock," Scott explained. "He's opening us one of the best vintages he owns."
Reaching into his pocket, the man withdrew a small box of matches to light a candle sitting on the top of a wine barrel. When the light flickered into life, the man's face became solemn. He held the candle behind the amber wine bottle. Slowly, he turned the bottle round and round and moved it back and forth in front of the flame.
"He's checking for dregs," Scott said. "The French are very fussy about their wines. It would be an insult if he served us less than his best."
With a satisfied smile, the little man uncorked the bottle, poured a small amount of the liquid into a goblet sitting on the end of another barrel and sniffed the glass. Then he brought the rim of the glass to his lips, slowly sipped the wine and stood for a moment with a thoughtful look on his face.
Jacquelyn stood expectantly. Would he approve of it? When his face broke into a broad smile, she
felt a sense of relief. What a shame, she thought, if he had been disappointed in his own product.
When Scott had been poured a sample and had given his smiling nod of approval, they returned to their table with the café owner and the bottle of wine.
Scott ordered their meal from a limited selection of gourmet dishes. Scott chose stuffed shoulder of lamb while Jacquelyn wanted crab soufflé.
They sat waiting for their meal, a candle flickering on the table between them, lending the small room a soft cozy glow.
"Will it take long?" Jacquelyn asked, trying to make small talk.
"Does it matter?" Scott asked. "We can't go anywhere until the car rental service either gets our vehicle repaired or delivers us a replacement. So we might as well enjoy our wait." He picked up his wineglass and nodded toward her. "A toast?"
Jacquelyn smiled. She lifted her glass to his.
"To good times and a beautiful woman," Scott said, his blue eyes lingering on her face.
"Should I say thank you?" Jacquelyn asked, taking only the barest sip of her wine.
"Not to me," Scott answered. "I didn't make you so lovely. I just appreciate what nature created."
"Thank you," Jacquelyn responded demurely. Could that warm feeling in her cheeks be a blush? she wondered. She cast her eyes downward, feeling strangely shy.
"Don't you like the wine?" Scott asked, obviously noticing how little she consumed.
"Oh, it's not that," Jacquelyn explained. "It's just that I've felt so… giddy lately, I guess you'd call it, that I don't want to do anything to destroy it. The wine might—" She stopped herself. She hadn't intended to let Scott know how high she had been feeling since yesterday. It was her secret, yet she found herself willingly sharing it with him before she realized what she was saying.
"Then you've felt it, too?" he asked, moving the candle to one side and reaching for her hand.
His warm skin touched hers. A flush spread through her. She tingled all over as his fingers held hers in an intimate embrace. She felt the room grow smaller, and only the two of them existed in time and space, suspended by a thin thread that linked them to reality.
"Yes, I've felt it, but I don't quite know what it is," Jacquelyn murmured.
Just then, the little man approached them with two salads, which he placed on the table. Jacquelyn and Scott had to break their manual contact. Her hand felt cold where it had been warm. Her heart felt empty where it had been full.
Jacquelyn looked at the green and red salad. Suddenly, she knew food was not the answer to the void inside her. She hardly tasted the crisp lettuce as she munched it. All she could experience was the ache inside her, the longing for something she had never felt so intensely before. What kind of magic had Paris wrought that it could turn her emotions upside down like this and leave her feeling this way?
She looked across the table at Scott. The candlelight flickered softly against his face, giving him a mysterious quality. She realized that this man was both friend and stranger. She knew him, yet she had never really known him at all. And that was part of the restlessness she felt, she realized. Something was urging her to get to know Scott.
"You never did finish telling me about your mother," Jacquelyn said.
Scott put down his wineglass. The blue eyes registered pain. Jacquelyn was suddenly sorry she had asked.
"I told you all there was to say," he replied woodenly. "I never really knew my mother."
"Then your father raised you alone?" Jacquelyn ventured.
"No, there was a series of housekeepers who kept an eye on me. One I remember especially. She was young and beautiful, like you. She used to play baseball with me. She could run like the wind. But sometimes, when we raced, she would pretend to stumble so I could beat her. She taught me how to love, and I said I was going to marry her when I grew up. She always took me seriously. She never laughed at me. But she said she was much too old for me. She seemed genuinely sorry about that."
"What happened to her?" Jacquelyn asked.
"One day when I came home from school, she was gone. She deserted me, just like that. She never even said good-bye. My father said she had been offered a job in the city." Scott's voice was hollow, with a quality that failed to mask the hurt.
"That must have been tough," Jacquelyn said, swallowing hard to hold back a tear that threatened to spill over her lids.
"I vowed then and there never to fall in love again," Scott said. His jawline turned hard. His voice was steely. "And then I met you," he said softly.
"And?" Jacquelyn asked, her heart pounding so loudly she wasn't sure she could hear his answer.
Scott was silent for a moment. His hand gripped the wineglass. The veins stood out, throbbing and deep blue. "And you left me for the big city, too," he said in a monotone.
"Oh, Scott," Jacquelyn whispered softly. "I didn't know. Why didn't you tell me?"
Scott shrugged. "It wouldn't have made any difference. It would have sounded childish—silly—not the sort of thing a grown man goes around talking about."
"Oh, but that's not true, Scott," Jacquelyn protested. "A man can tell the secrets of his heart to someone he… cares about." Her lips refused to form the words "loves," which was what she really wanted to say. But that had been so long ago, and this was now.
The conversation ended when the café owner approached their table with their entree. His appearance broke the spell they had been under. It had been an intimate moment, one that comes only seldom, one that cannot be planned in advance. Something in the events of the day had broken down Scott's defenses and had led him to tell her personal memories he had never before revealed. It was as if she had seen a new side of him for the first time. What she had glimpsed was genuine, the real depths of Scott McCrann. And she was troubled that she had responded so openly and wholeheartedly to a man she had learned to hate. Where was that hate now? Why could she not recall it, savor it and feed on it to protect herself from the feelings of sympathy he had stirred in her?
It was an hour later when the substitute car was delivered, and Scott and Jacquelyn drove back to Paris. Their conversation was casual on the surface, but there was an undercurrent that had not existed before, a new feeling of closeness that both of them tried to pretend did not exist. But it was there, and Jacquelyn did not want to let go of it.
When they reached the hotel, it was past time for them to go with Austin and Natalie to the Moulin Rouge. Scott walked Jacquelyn to her door. There was a note taped to the door that Natalie and Austin had gone ahead and Scott and Jacquelyn were to come on to the club.
"Shall we go?" Jacquelyn asked Scott, handing him the note. She knew what his answer would be.
"No," he said. "May I come in?"
Jacquelyn didn't answer him. Instead, she handed him her key.
Inside, Jacquelyn stood nervously looking at Scott. She didn't understand what was happening, but she felt an intensity building in both of them. Scott reached out and took her by the hand. He led her to the window, drew back the drapery and directed her attention out the window. There in the distance she could see the city of Paris laid out before her feet like a sparkling black diamond aglitter with the glow of a thousand lights trained on its many facets. The Eiffel Tower in the background brought back a surge of the romantic feeling she had been experiencing ever since yesterday.
"I love this city," Scott murmured, slipping his arm around her shoulders.
"I've grown to love it, too," Jacquelyn said, leaning her head against Scott's firm shoulder, thrilling at her closeness to him.
Scott turned Jacquelyn to face him. He put his hand under her chin, tilting her head up. For a long, agonizing moment he stared at her, his blue eyes awash with a storm of emotions that both captivated her and frightened her.
Then his lips found hers and a thousand sensations exploded in Jacquelyn. It was as if the whole of the last two days came together in a mighty blast. She felt weak and exhilarated at the same time.
Scott pressed his mouth on her
s with an intensity that threatened to drive her wild. She returned his kiss, working her lips back and forth eagerly in response. His arms gathered her in and held her close, taking her breath away.
Scott pulled back and then buried his face in her hair.
"Jacquelyn, I've waited so long for this moment," he said, his voice filled with passion. He eased her back gently on the bed, trailing kisses down her neck and arms as he settled down beside her.
He slipped the strap of her dress off her shoulders and she let him. Nothing mattered now except the fulfillment of the intense longing she had endured these last two days, and it was only now that she could admit, even to herself, what it was. Skillfully, Scott began to satisfy her raging need that had propelled her to the brink of insanity, and she submitted herself to his talents, moaning softly with the ecstasy that comes with knowing that the deepest needs of the heart and body will soon be fulfilled.
The sights and sounds and smells of Paris swirled in her mind as she moved in fluid unison with Scott's hands. He knew just what to do and how long to linger.
Then from somewhere, a disturbing knock began to penetrate the bliss. At first Jacquelyn ignored it. The present sensations were too fantastic to be distracted by just any annoyance. But the knock grew stronger and louder until she could no longer dismiss it. She shook her head to clear her mind and realized someone was knocking on her hotel room door.
"Who is it?" Jacquelyn called impatiently.
"It's me, Natalie. Let me in!"
Chapter Eight
"Yes, I'll marry you," Jacquelyn said.
She met Austin's dark-eyed gaze. She was dimly aware of the night sounds and smells of the garden that surrounded them, cloaking the moment in a special kind of solitude. She thought it fitting that she should accept Austin's proposal at last here in the garden of Cypress Halls, where so many important changes in the drama of her life had taken place.
By accepting Austin's proposal, she was drawing closed an important act of that drama, and the central figure of the act—Scott McCrann—was leaving the stage forever. The final scene of that act had taken place in Paris, but it had been so painful she had tried not to think about it until now, when she was back in the United States.
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