just love it here,” Jo offered as she looked around the property. “And everyone’s so friendly ,” she added with just the slightest trace of sarcasm.
Jo wondered why this strange woman was obstinately sealed oyster-tight, unwilling to soften to any attempt at camaraderie on the part of a friendly American tourist.
Many of the English she’d met over the years seemed aloof, disinterested in her as a foreigner. But Iris was by far the most difficult she had ever run into. Her character exuded an element of obvious unfriendliness.
All Jo knew about her was that she was an engineer at an electronics company. Large, thirty-something and slow moving, Iris seemed non-communicative in general, and was the only one of the group who had been routinely walking with earbuds stuck into her head, effectively shutting out conversation.
Jo suspected that Iris hated her on principle—she was younger, livelier, prettier, with a much better figure. And, Jo was, above—or beneath—all, an American.
But Iris’s rebuff couldn’t dampen Jo’s spirits for long. A second glass of wine began to go down as easily as the first, and a surge of pure joy moved through her tired body.
Here I am, in this most beautifully scenic corner of France, with these witty and charming fellow travelers, the woman seated to my right an obvious exception, soon to enjoy a fine meal after a lovely day. And tomorrow we’re going to explore caves before walking through more beautiful countryside—what could be better?
Oh, yes. Something even better could be added to this marvelous list of marvelous things to see and do, and eat and drink, and these marvelous, beautiful people. All I have to do is turn my head fifteen or twenty degrees to the left to see the best thing I’ve seen in my entire life. There he is!
Oh my God , could I really be getting looped on only one and a half glasses of wine?
She stared at Luc. He was deep in conversation with Ron and Edward, but he picked up her look and held it. She smiled, genuinely, joyfully, directly at him, for no good reason. He paused in mid-sentence and gave her the sweetest of smiles in return before turning his attention back to the men. She felt a familiar little flutter in her stomach, the one that told her she was indeed, and with great pleasure, going into a dangerous place. A vain, silly, happy woman, she was thrilled. So she drained her glass and poured herself another.
Had anyone seen that?
No one, unless he was unconscious, could miss the electricity flowing between Luc and herself—she was sure. But as she looked around the table, she saw that everyone was intent on other things. True, Peter was occasionally looking down her cleavage, but what the hell, who could blame him? She knew she looked good, and her cleavage looked particularly good tonight.
Marcie and Carol were showing each other photos of their children. The Arnolds, heads bent together over a book, were reading up on the caves they would be exploring the next day. Glenda and Sarah were talking exercise. Pilates or aerobics—which was best? And Peter, when he wasn’t looking at Jo’s breasts, was telling her about the best varieties of grape for the Western Washington climate. Iris, straining towards Luc, was hanging on to every word of his conversation with Ron and Edward. Duncan had left the table and was standing at the bar, talking to the bartender in a halting French with a Scottish accent.
Jo drank deeply and smiled to herself. Good—everyone’s too busy to notice I’ve gone into heat like a common alley cat.
Except Luc. He knows.
* * * *
Luc knew, alright. The moment he looked down the table and saw Joanna smiling at him, looking at him with those beautiful shining eyes, he knew there was no way out of this.
He’d been talking to Ron and Edward. “I haven’t done this walk for awhile,” he was explaining. “I’m the company’s mountain guide, normally. I prefer the challenging tours, packing in all our gear
Jo wondered why this strange woman was obstinately sealed oyster-tight, unwilling to soften to any attempt at camaraderie on the part of a friendly American tourist.
Many of the English she’d met over the years seemed aloof, disinterested in her as a foreigner. But Iris was by far the most difficult she had ever run into. Her character exuded an element of obvious unfriendliness.
All Jo knew about her was that she was an engineer at an electronics company. Large, thirty-something and slow moving, Iris seemed non-communicative in general, and was the only one of the group who had been routinely walking with earbuds stuck into her head, effectively shutting out conversation.
Jo suspected that Iris hated her on principle—she was younger, livelier, prettier, with a much better figure. And, Jo was, above—or beneath—all, an American.
But Iris’s rebuff couldn’t dampen Jo’s spirits for long. A second glass of wine began to go down as easily as the first, and a surge of pure joy moved through her tired body.
Here I am, in this most beautifully scenic corner of France, with these witty and charming fellow travelers, the woman seated to my right an obvious exception, soon to enjoy a fine meal after a lovely day. And tomorrow we’re going to explore caves before walking through more beautiful countryside—what could be better?
Oh, yes. Something even better could be added to this marvelous list of marvelous things to see and do, and eat and drink, and these marvelous, beautiful people. All I have to do is turn my head fifteen or twenty degrees to the left to see the best thing I’ve seen in my entire life. There he is!
Oh my God , could I really be getting looped on only one and a half glasses of wine?
She stared at Luc. He was deep in conversation with Ron and Edward, but he picked up her look and held it. She smiled, genuinely, joyfully, directly at him, for no good reason. He paused in mid-sentence and gave her the sweetest of smiles in return before turning his attention back to the men. She felt a familiar little flutter in her stomach, the one that told her she was indeed, and with great pleasure, going into a dangerous place. A vain, silly, happy woman, she was thrilled. So she drained her glass and poured herself another.
Had anyone seen that?
No one, unless he was unconscious, could miss the electricity flowing between Luc and herself—she was sure. But as she looked around the table, she saw that everyone was intent on other things. True, Peter was occasionally looking down her cleavage, but what the hell, who could blame him? She knew she looked good, and her cleavage looked particularly good tonight.
Marcie and Carol were showing each other photos of their children. The Arnolds, heads bent together over a book, were reading up on the caves they would be exploring the next day. Glenda and Sarah were talking exercise. Pilates or aerobics—which was best? And Peter, when he wasn’t looking at Jo’s breasts, was telling her about the best varieties of grape for the Western Washington climate. Iris, straining towards Luc, was hanging on to every word of his conversation with Ron and Edward. Duncan had left the table and was standing at the bar, talking to the bartender in a halting French with a Scottish accent.
Jo drank deeply and smiled to herself. Good—everyone’s too busy to notice I’ve gone into heat like a common alley cat.
Except Luc. He knows.
* * * *
Luc knew, alright. The moment he looked down the table and saw Joanna smiling at him, looking at him with those beautiful shining eyes, he knew there was no way out of this.
He’d been talking to Ron and Edward. “I haven’t done this walk for awhile,” he was explaining. “I’m the company’s mountain guide, normally. I prefer the challenging tours, packing in all our gear
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