‘But there was no hint of it? I just left one day? Sent you a note? Which said what?’
‘That you wouldn’t be back.’
‘Nothing else? Nothing happened? Was said? Done?’ Moving across to her, he slowly turned her, stared down into her lovely face. ‘There must be something else! Must be! You said you looked for me...’
‘Yes. I couldn’t believe it, you see. And I needed to know what was going on. And then...’
‘Then?’ he prompted.
She shook her head. What was the point in telling him about Nathalie? It would only confuse the issue. ‘And then I went back to England,’ she improvised. Days, weeks of worry, not knowing where he was, what had happened to him. And, in the end, she had tried to resign herself to not ever knowing what had happened, why he had done what he had. She’d got on with her life, because there wasn’t only herself to think of, was there? And she couldn’t tell him about his son, could she? Not now.
And so, for the moment, until she came to terms with this new Sébastien, she would keep quiet, tell him only about their life together, how it had been before he’d left. Glancing up at him, she saw that he was frowning—not really seeing her, she thought, only trying to part a veil that would not part.
‘You said I was kind, humorous...’
‘Yes.’
‘Tell me how. Instances, something. Help me, Gellis! What was I like? What did I do? How did I behave? I look at you, and I can’t believe I would have forgotten you.’ As though unaware of what he was doing, he reached out, gently touched his fingers to her face, looked deep into her eyes. And she held herself stiff, determinedly refused to feel anything. ‘You’re exquisitely beautiful, and I have a yearning to—kiss you. May I?’ he asked huskily.
Her heart suddenly jerked and, with fear and panic inside, a shortness of breath she could do nothing about, she whispered, distressedly, ‘Oh, Sébastien...’
‘Was that a yes or a no?’ he asked with throaty humour. Eyes hypnotically fixed on hers, he dropped his hand to her plait, slowly let it slide down to the bottom. ‘You’re shaking.’
‘Don’t do this,’ she whispered.
‘Beautiful hair,’ he continued as though he hadn’t heard. ‘I have a desire to wind it round your long neck, hold you close...’
‘No!’ She wrenched free, and he hauled her back, kissed her. Not brutally, not harshly, but like a man who was so very hungry. With a little sound in the back of his throat, he continued to explore her mouth, gently taste the sweetness. And she could do nothing, only stand there, heart beating furiously, throat dry as the warmth of his kiss set up that familiar shudder inside, that spiralling ache that turned her bones to water, her knees to jelly.
She closed her eyes, fought not to react, and felt her mind slowing, her body begin to melt... ‘No!’ Thrusting him away, she quickly turned her back. ‘You mustn’t,’ she declared shakily. But it was too late, wasn’t it? He already had.
‘I’m sorry, but—Was that how it was, Gellis? Between us? That—magnetism?’
Wrapping her arms round herself for warmth, comfort, she nodded. ‘Yes,’ she admitted painfully.
‘Then talk to me. Put it into words. Let me see how it was. Please.’
Distraught, embarrassed, frightened of feelings she’d thought she had shut away, she murmured huskily, ‘We didn’t like to be apart for long. If you missed me...’
‘And wouldn’t you have missed me?’
‘Yes,’ she whispered thickly. ‘I always missed you. Still miss you.’
‘And if I hadn’t lost my memory? Hadn’t left you? What would we be doing now? Making love?’
‘Yes,’ she admitted rustily, her whole body aching with the sudden need of it. The memory. ‘You would have swept me up when we came through the front door, carried me in here...’
‘And made love to you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Was I a good lover, Gellis?’
‘Yes.’ Eyes blurring with tears, she choked huskily, ‘Oh, Sébastien, you were gentle, funny...’
‘Funny? Dear God, I don’t think I would know how to be funny even if you gave me a manual. Go on, tell me how it was. Make me see it. Set the scene. Pretend it’s a play. You’ve been out shopping, you come back, I’m here—then what? What would I say? Do? Help me, Gellis!’
Closing her eyes for a moment, she took a deep breath. ‘You would smile—Oh, Sébastien, you had such a wicked smile.’
‘Did I?’ he asked bleakly.
‘Yes.’
‘Then what?’
‘Oh, you would take my shopping, dump it somewhere, and then you would...’ Taking a deep, painful breath, she continued huskily, ‘You would take me in your arms. Your eyes would be alight with laughter, and then you would kiss me as though you hadn’t seen me in weeks, and—’
‘How?’ he interrupted. ‘Gently? Passionately? How?’
‘Does it matter?’
‘Yes! How?’
Face still averted, she whispered sadly, ‘You would start at the corner of my mouth, all the time whispering...’ Whispering and urging, his voice at variance with the devilish laughter in his eyes. And always in French; he’d only ever made love to her in French. Fresh tears in her eyes, she whispered in anguish, ‘Oh, Sébastien, I can’t!’
Touching her shoulder, he gently turned her. ‘Yes, you can. Please. I know I’m hurting you... Dear God, Gellis, what sort of a bastard was I to make you hurt so much?’
‘I don’t know!’ she cried. ‘That’s what I find so hard! That’s what hurts so! I didn’t know! I thought you were so special, so different, and all the time...’ Closing her eyes tight, she took a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry. But I find this so hard.’
‘Yes,’ he agreed emptily. ‘You think I was living a lie? Pretending to love you?’
‘Yes,’ she agreed painfully.
‘But why?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t know why anyone would do that. Or perhaps you did love me,’ she added softly. ‘Certainly that would be less hurtful to believe—and then maybe you got cold feet, felt trapped. I don’t know, Sébastien, but whatever the reasons it was a coward’s way out to write me a note.’
‘Yes,’ he agreed grimly.
‘And yet I wouldn’t ever have said you were a coward.’
‘And so it goes round and round in your mind, with no answers. Just like mine.’
‘Yes,’ she said with a small attempt at a smile.
‘And I don’t think smiling at me is a very good idea,’ he reproved her with ironic humour. ‘I’ve been celibate for four months at least. And I don’t think celibacy is my natural inclination.’
‘No,’ she said awkwardly, her face pink.
‘Go on. What did I whisper?’
‘Suggestions.’
‘Suggestions? What sort of suggestions?’
With an embarrassed shrug, she murmured, ‘Erotic.’
‘Erotic?’
‘Yes.’
A sudden glimmer of amusement in his eyes, he asked, ‘And then what?’
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