essa was standing at the window, looking out at the garden, thinking about Jean-Claude and still wondering how old he was, when he came walking back into the library. At the sound of his determined steps on the parquet floor she swung around to face him.

He came to a stop at the glass coffee table and his eyes met hers; he studied her for a moment and a smile began to play around his mouth.

She returned his smile and felt impelled to walk over to him.

‘Champagne, I think,’ he murmured, lifting the bottle out of the silver bucket which Hakim had brought into the library a few seconds before. ‘It’s Rosé Billecart-Salmon, a favourite of mine,’ he told her. ‘I find it smooth…I hope you like it.’

‘I love pink champagne,’ she answered, speaking the truth; it was her favourite even though she was not a big drinker. As she stood there watching him open the champagne, Tessa swallowed several times, discovering that she was feeling intimidated again. But then who wouldn’t be intimidated by him? she asked herself. He was an accomplished, celebrated man, the darling of the French elite and seemingly the favourite of presidents.

This aside, Tessa also realized that a mixture of other emotions were swirling around inside her. For one thing she felt awkward, even slightly nervous being in such close proximity to him. She wanted to reach out to touch him, wanted him to touch her, wanted his arms around her. Strong-looking arms, she thought, and with a quick intake of breath stepped away from him, moved around the coffee table to the other side before she made a fool of herself.

But he was standing next to her again within a split second, handing her the glass of champagne. His hand brushed against hers as he did so, and it was like an electric shock. She sat down in the chair without a word. And she did not fail to notice an amused smile on his face as he went to fill his own glass.

A moment later he raised the flute to her across the coffee table. ‘Santé,’ he said.

‘Santé,’ she answered and took a very long swallow, found it refreshing.

There was a silence, and then he asked, ‘And so, Tessa…how are you?’ His dark, mesmeric eyes rested on her reflectively as he waited for her answer.

His question had startled her and she did not answer immediately. She stared at him, frowning, and before she could stop herself she said, ‘Intimidated.’

‘By me?’ He sounded taken aback, and now his brows drew together in a frown.

Somewhat thrown by her own honesty, Tessa shook her head, and replied, ‘Yes, well, by your accomplishments and achievements, your importance and standing in this world. I’m not used to famous men like you.’

‘But I am just that…a man, Tessa. Like other men.’

‘No, you’re not. You’re very celebrated.’

‘Fame is meaningless to me.’ He sat back in the chair, and once more looked at her thoughtfully before continuing, ‘You are nervous perhaps, you even feel awkward. Yes, that I think you are. Because I am.’

‘Oh,’ she said, sounding surprised, looking across at him over the rim of her glass.

‘It is natural. Of course we feel this way. Suddenly we are alone together. We do not know how to handle ourselves with each other.’

‘Perhaps…’ Her voice trailed off.

Leaning forward in the chair, Jean-Claude pinned his eyes on her, and began to speak to her softly, almost gently. ‘Last night something happened between us. I looked at you in that grand foyer in Marie-Hélène’s house and you looked back, and we made a connection. The most intimate connection there is between a man and a woman. We understood each other exactly. Moreover, if we had been alone I would have done something about it.’

‘What do you mean?’ Her gaze was riveted on him.

‘I would have said…come home with me.’

‘You should have asked,’ she murmured. ‘I would have come.’

‘C’est dommage.’ Jean-Claude lifted his hands in the Gallic manner, lightly shrugged, smiled at her rather ruefully.

‘So why didn’t you ask me?’ she pressed, her eyes still on his face.

He did not respond.

‘Was it because your friends were with you?’ she ventured, questioningly.

‘Non, non,’ he replied. ‘Not that at all. I do not live my life by or for the world. It was because of Lorne.’

‘But he wouldn’t have minded! He adores you!’ she exclaimed.

‘That is a strange word to use, no?’ He gave her an odd look.

She shook her head. ‘He idolizes you, looks up to you, he thinks there’s no one like you in this world. You can do no wrong with my brother.’

‘I am flattered. Naturellement. You must understand how much I value his friendship. I would never do anything to undermine it.’

‘He says you are a true gentleman,’ Tessa thought to add, and took several quick sips of the pink champagne. She wondered if she was getting a bit tipsy.

‘I am not sure if that comes into this equation,’ was his quiet response.

Tessa gazed at him but said nothing.

There was a silence, although it was not at all awkward. Talking to each other in such an open way had eased the tremendous tension between them. Tessa was fully aware that she had never had this kind of honesty with Mark. The very thought of him made her cringe inside, and she pushed the thought away. There was no place for memories of him here in this apartment with this man, who was a real man and not a poor excuse for one. A giant of a man…Jean-Claude Deléon.

On his part, Jean-Claude was glad that he had encouraged her to speak about her feelings. It had somehow brought them closer together very quickly. He hated long drawn-out games between men and women. He found them childish, ridiculous and distasteful. Only honesty and the truth were acceptable to him.

Suddenly standing up, he took the bottle of champagne and went to fill her glass, and returning to the other side of the table he topped up his own flute.

Settling back in the bergère, he savoured the champagne before saying, ‘Are you afraid?’

‘A little bit,’ she was quick to respond.

‘Not of me? Surely not?’

‘No, not really…of what might happen though. Between us.’

‘Ah, yes, embarking on a love affair is risky.’

She was quiet; her silver-grey eyes were suddenly pensive.

He said in a warm tone, a hint of laughter in his voice, ‘A centime for your thoughts, Tessa Fairley.’

‘How old are you?’ Her words fell into the middle of the room like a huge lump of lead.

Jean-Claude stared at her. It was apparent he had not expected such a question.

Tessa could have bitten off her tongue. What she was thinking at that moment had just tumbled out carelessly. She was stricken, and she apologized. ‘I’m so sorry. How could I be so rude? How terribly gauche of me.’ She felt herself colouring. ‘You don’t have to answer that question because it–’

‘Much too old for you,’ he cut in, smiling at her, a look of regret striking his face momentarily.

‘No, you’re not.’

Ignoring her comment, he told her, ‘Last night, here alone, contemplating the evening as I was, I asked myself why the sight of a woman should bring me up with a shock. That is something I must fathom out.’ But he already knew the answer. It was the shock of recognition, of knowing this was the one woman in the world who could solve the riddle of his life. That was what had happened to him last night.

‘It’s your turn to look introspective,’ Tessa said, cutting into his thoughts.

‘Ah, yes. I was thinking of you. What are your plans?’

‘Do you mean this weekend? Or in the future?’

‘Both.’

‘I have no plans for the weekend.’

‘Would you spend it with me?’

‘Yes.’

‘What about Lorne? I cannot take you away from him. You came to Paris together. To abandon him would be…unkind.’

‘My brother’s so serious about his work, but you know that, Jean-Claude, and he’ll be happy to study his lines. He always wants to be word perfect, totally prepared when he performs, he’s something of a perfectionist.’

‘Mais oui. That I do know. We must include him, however.’

‘We can ask him, yes. Why not?’

‘You sound more relaxed, Tessa.’

‘I am. I think I do feel a bit better.’

‘And what about the future? What are your plans?’

‘I must push my divorce through. Once my mother gets back from New York next week I think everything will move much quicker. She’s very good at dealing with problems, and especially good at dealing with lawyers. Have you met her with Lorne?’

‘I have. She’s an exceptional woman.’ And I’m afraid she won’t approve of me for you, but thought it wiser not to voice this.

Hakim appeared at the door of the library. ‘Monsieur, s’il vous plaît.’

‘Merci, Hakim.’ Pushing himself to his feet, Jean-Claude said, ‘Come, Tessa. Lunch is ready. We shall go to the garden through the dining room.’

The dining room was next to the library and Jean-Claude managed to usher her through it without actually touching her. As they headed towards the French windows which opened onto the terrace, she was aware that he felt as she did…that any physical contact with each other would precipitate an explosion.

When they stepped out of the air-conditioned apartment onto the terrace the intense heat hit them with a blast and Jean-Claude paused, hesitating. ‘I think this was a mistake. It’s very hot out here.’

‘I know. But look, the sun has moved over there.’ Tessa indicated the far end of the garden. ‘I’m fine with it if you are. And it’s nice to eat outdoors sometimes.’

‘Very well,’ he agreed and led the way to the table. He pulled the garden chair out for her and once she was seated he moved the large umbrella closer, so that they would be completely in the shade. Sitting down opposite her, he picked up the bottle of water and filled their glasses. After taking a sip, he asked, ‘Shall we finish the champagne, or would you prefer white wine with lunch?’

‘I’d like the champagne, please,’ she replied, knowing very well that the wine would go to her head, and that was the last thing she wanted.

‘Excuse me, I will only be a moment,’ he said, rose and strode across the terrace towards the French windows, obviously going to retrieve the champagne.

Tessa’s eyes followed him, and she thought he looked very fit. He was tall, muscular and well built, with broad shoulders, but there was no fat on him and he appeared much younger wearing the white shirt and cotton trousers than he had in a suit. Perhaps he is still in his forties, just as Lorne said, she thought. On the other hand, he had said he was too old for her. But what exactly did that mean? How could anyone ever calculate something like that? It just wasn’t possible. Some people were mature for their age, others rather juvenile; that was actually the reason age did not matter one iota in her opinion. Everyone was different; it was impossible to generalize. She was thirty-two but considered herself to be very mature for her age. On the other hand, would he? This was a man unlike any she had ever known; he was unique.

He returned to the terrace almost at once, carrying the silver bucket that contained the pink champagne, and fast on his heels followed Hakim, holding a tray with two clean champagne flutes on it.

‘Voilà!’ Jean-Claude exclaimed, putting the ice bucket down on the flagstones, while Hakim placed the flutes on the table, then hurried off. A few minutes later the houseman came back carrying a small metal table; he put the champagne and the water on this, nodded politely and disappeared once more.

Pouring champagne for her, Jean-Claude said, ‘Lourdes, my cook, has prepared a simple lunch, rather light. It’s far too hot to eat anything heavy.’

‘Yes, it is,’ she agreed, wondering whether she would be able to eat at all. She had no appetite, but, this aside, she was unexpectedly tense and nervous once again. She had begun to relax a short while ago, after their rather honest conversation, but now, suddenly she was oddly at a loss, ill at ease, inadequate, she who was normally so self-assured. In fact she felt like a schoolgirl as she sat here opposite this sophisticated man in his elegant garden in the middle of Paris…overwhelmed by him, the situation, and her reaction to him.

As if reading her mind, Jean-Claude suddenly said, ‘It is very difficult…getting to know a person, feeling at ease with them. I understand that, I am part of this…but it will be all right…trust me.’

‘How did you know?’ she asked softly, staring at him. ‘It’s as if you read my mind.’

‘I have no magical powers, I can assure you,’ he murmured, shaking his head.

Oh, but you do, she thought, making me so nervous. I’ve never ever felt like this before. But she remained absolutely silent, picked up the crystal glass and sipped the pink champagne. Not wishing to speak about their feelings at this moment, she changed the subject. ‘The library here is one of the most elegant and beautiful rooms I’ve ever seen. But you don’t work in it, do you?’

‘No. However, I often sit there and think.’

‘So where do you write? Do you go to an office somewhere?’

‘No, I don’t. I work here in the apartment. I have an office upstairs, I’ll show it to you later if you like.’

‘I’d like that. Did you write Warriors up there?’

‘I did–’ he broke off, drank some of the champagne and then said rather rapidly, ‘I gave you my book as a courtesy, because you were at the party, you don’t have to read it, you know.’

‘Oh, but I’ve started it already,’ she answered, and then blurted out, ‘I couldn’t sleep last night.’ Instantly embarrassed by this admission, Tessa sat back in the chair with a jerk, colour flooding her face. Then she went on, very quickly, ‘Anyway, I picked up your book and discovered I couldn’t put it down. I became terribly involved. You know a lot about wars and terrorism and politics, don’t you?’

He nodded. ‘Why couldn’t you sleep?’

She swallowed several times and was about to tell him some ridiculous lie, then opted for honesty. ‘I was thinking about you.’

Jean-Claude took a deep breath. ‘I know. I had the same problem.’ His piercing gaze rested on her unrelentingly until she finally blinked and looked away.

Wanting to draw her back to him at once, he said, ‘I’m glad you understand French, it’s important to me.’

She wanted to ask him why, but did not. ‘Where did you learn to speak English?’ she said instead and striving for normalcy, added redundantly, ‘It’s perfect.’

‘I took lessons when I was very young, just a boy, and I studied, worked hard. When I was twelve or thirteen, thereabouts, I’d decided to be a writer, and I longed to travel, especially to America and England. For that reason I wanted to have total command of the English language.’

‘Well, you do.’ She wondered what was wrong with her. Why did she keep telling him what he knew?

The arrival of Hakim with the cold vichyssoise soup curtailed their conversation for a moment. When he had served her the soup she picked up her spoon, took a mouthful, but discovered she could hardly swallow it even though it was delicious. Food was the last thing on her mind at this moment.

Once Hakim went hurrying off, Tessa said, ‘You’ve covered many wars as a writer, but surely that’s dangerous.’

‘Life is dangerous.’

She did not respond.

‘You know that, Tessa.’

Her eyes narrowed slightly. ‘Lorne has told you things about me,’ she asserted.

‘No, he has not. I saw him two weeks ago, when he was flying from Istanbul to London via Paris. We had dinner together, and it was then he told me about the abduction of your child. But that’s all’

‘I see.’

‘He was worried about you.’

‘I know.’ She sighed. ‘But putting yourself in the middle of a war is like asking for trouble, isn’t it?’

‘No. I don’t take risks…at least not in wars.’

There was a long pause. A suggestive look entered his eyes and they lingered on her face. He smiled at her, a warm, loving smile.

The magnetism of him reached out to her, was a palpable thing, and in an effort to break the spell he had cast on her she picked up her flute of champagne. Much to her dismay her hand trembled so badly she was startled. Trying to stop the shaking she took a few deep breaths, and steadied herself finally, put the flute down without spilling the champagne.

Although he did not say anything she knew he had noticed. How could he not have?

Hakim came and cleared the table, returned with the omelettes and departed yet again. She tried to eat without much success, and after a few seconds she realized that Jean-Claude was not eating either.

Becoming aware of her rather fixed scrutiny, he said, ‘I’m not hungry.’

‘Neither am I.’

‘I think we’d better get it out of the way, deal with it.’

‘What?’

‘The physical aspects…of this situation. Come, Tessa, come with me.’ He stood up and so did she and together they left the garden.

In the entrance foyer he turned to her and said, ‘I told you I would show you my office. It’s up there.’ He indicated the staircase and led the way to the second floor.

After opening the door for Tessa, Jean-Claude followed her into his office, and just as he was about to take her in his arms the phone rang. ‘Merde,’ he muttered to himself, pushed the door closed with his foot and hurried down the room to his desk. Picking up the receiver, he discovered it was his sister Marie-Laure on the other end of the phone.

Speaking to her warmly, listening for a moment or two, his eyes came to settle on Tessa, who was looking at the photographs hanging on one of the walls: photographs of himself with other writers, politicians, actors, philosophers, painters, friends, the beau monde of Paris, of the world. Endeavouring to make the conversation with his sister very fast, he explained he was in a meeting and couldn’t talk long; he had been on the phone for only a few seconds yet it seemed like a lifetime to him. At last he managed to hang up, and as he did so Tessa turned, stared at him. At once he saw the pent-up longing on her face, the yearning for him in her eyes, and he recognized she was as overwhelmed by desire and sexual tension as he himself was.

He came around the desk very quickly, found himself rushing towards her, and she fell, almost stumbled into his arms. A small cry escaped her as she clung to him, and then a second later she buried her face in his shoulder. She was trembling so much Jean-Claude was alarmed, and he tried to calm her, stroking her back, holding her tightly, very close to him, murmuring gently to her. ‘Tessa, it’s all right, relax, chérie, relax,’ he whispered against her silver-gilt hair.

Finally, she looked up at him, raised her face to gaze into his face. He felt swamped by those unique silvery eyes. Looking down at her, being so close to her like this made him catch his breath, and yet again he was thunderstruck by her heart-stopping ethereal beauty. She parted her lips ever so slightly, then licked her lips with the tip of her tongue.

Inflamed by this, no longer able to resist her, he brought his mouth down on hers, crushing it, and then his tongue went into her mouth, and they savoured each other. This intense moment of absolute intimacy sent a thrill running through him, and he held her closer than before. They went on kissing, standing in the middle of the floor, lost in each other, lost to the world, oblivious to everything except themselves and their feelings.

A moment later, still clinging together, they sank onto the sofa, and he continued to kiss her passionately, just as he had wanted to the previous evening and every minute since then. At last she was exactly where he wanted her to be, in his arms, about to become part of him as he would make himself part of her. To be possessed by her, to possess her in return, that was what he craved.

After a short while he got up impatiently, began to unbutton his white shirt as he strode to the door and locked it. When he came back to her she was waiting on the sofa, having undressed, her long, lithe body stretched out for him. How beautiful she was, he thought.

A second later he, too, was undressed, his clothes thrown carelessly on the floor. He lay down next to her, overwhelmed by desire, and took her in his arms. He held her as close to him as possible, listening to his heart slamming against his ribcage in unison with hers.

Eventually, pushing himself up on one elbow, he looked into those extraordinary eyes again, and she returned his intense gaze, touched his face.

‘Jean-Claude,’ she said in a low voice.

‘Yes, darling?’

‘I want you so much.’

‘No more than I want you.’ He kissed her brow, her eyes, her small firm breasts, stroked her long body, and her stomach, caressed her languidly, taking his time. His hands fluttered over every part of her until she was moaning softly, her pleasure apparent as she responded to his touch, and touched him in return.

When his hands and mouth came to rest in the silky hair between her legs she could no longer restrain herself, and she cried out in pleasure. It was with tenderness and expertise that he brought her to a climax, felt her cresting on wave after wave. Moving onto her, positioning himself between her legs, he entered her swiftly, murmuring against her hair, ‘Chérie. Ah my Tessa, my love…’

‘Jean-Claude, Jean-Claude,’ she sighed, and put her arms around him. She held onto him tightly, wanting all of him.

It seemed to him that they were rising and falling together in slow motion. Their bodies fit perfectly, and they moved in perfect rhythm, as though they were one entity. Passion spiralled upward and they began to move faster and faster, panting, gasping as they crested and came together in an explosive climax. He felt as though he were falling down into some silvery, light-filled space, taking her with him, knowing he could never ever let her go.

They lay together on the sofa in a soft haze of pleasure, both of them slightly dazed. Pent-up desire and longing for each other had been assuaged, all tension had fled, and there was only joy and fulfilment between them.

Against her hair, Jean-Claude said, ‘Are you all right?’

‘Very all right. Except I’m thirsty.’

He kissed the tip of her nose, pushed himself up off the sofa and crossed the room.

She watched him, thinking how well he moved, and in such a positive, determined way. At one moment last night Lorne had called him a man of action, because he was always rushing off on assignments, covering wars, taking on foreign projects, and she noted how fit he was, what good shape he was in.

He had gone through a door into another room, and when he came back out carrying a bottle of water and two glasses, she asked, ‘Do you have a kitchen up here?’

He laughed. ‘No, it’s the bathroom. But I put in a refrigerator for water and soft drinks, and there’s a coffee pot.’ Placing the glasses on his desk, he fiddled with the bottle, poured the water and carried the two glasses over to the sofa.

Tessa sat up, swung her long legs to the floor and took the glass from him. ‘Thank you. I’m very dry, it must be all that champagne you gave me.’

Sitting down next to her, glancing at her quickly, he exclaimed, ‘I suppose you’re now going to say I got you drunk and seduced you.’

‘No, I’m not. You did that last night, in Marie-Hélène’s foyer. In front of half of Paris.’

He laughed out loud, enjoying her. ‘Touché.’

‘Do you have a robe or a shirt I can put on? Oh look, I can wear this,’ she said, reaching for his white shirt on the floor.

‘Let me get you something else, that shirt’s not clean, I’ve worn it.’

‘That’s why I want to wear it.’ She buried her face in the shirt. ‘It smells of your cologne.’ Standing up, she slipped the shirt on, fastened a couple of buttons, added, ‘And it smells of you.’

He chuckled as he went back to the bathroom and returned a moment later wearing a navy-blue silk robe. ‘Are you hungry?’

‘A little bit. But I don’t think those omelettes will still be hot.’

Laughter tugged at his mouth again, and walking over to her he put his arms around her, held her close. ‘I think I can rustle up some sandwiches. However, I want to talk to you first.’

‘What about?’ she asked, pulling away slightly as the seriousness of his tone registered. Staring up at him, she hesitated for a moment, then said quickly, ‘Is there something the matter?’

‘Sit there,’ he said, sounding a little imperious, indicating the sofa. She promptly did as he said, knowing he was serious.

He turned around, pulled a chair closer to the sofa, and sat down opposite her.

For a moment he remained silent, sat in the chair pondering, looking contemplative.

She studied him surreptitiously, thinking what a good-looking man he was. No wonder women fell at his feet. Well, hadn’t she also? He was handsome, with a strong hard body, long legs and broad shoulders. His dark-brown eyes were soulful, and at times brooding as well as mesmeric, while his gaze could be piercing. There was a sensuality to his fine mouth and yet it was kind as well. Yes, that was it. That elusive thing about him was the kindness reflected in his face. But now, as he stared back at her and very intently so, she saw a graveness settling over him, and once more she asked rather worriedly, ‘Is there something wrong?’

‘No.’ He took a long swallow of the water, put the glass on a nearby side table, settled himself in the chair. ‘I’m a fifty-three-year-old man, a grownup man. This–’ he paused, waved his hand between them airily–‘is not a sport for me. This is not a game I’m playing.’

‘I think I know that, Jean-Claude.’

‘I’ve seen too much, done too much, lived too hard in many different ways. Pain, heartache…they’re old familiars. I have grappled with disillusionment and despair, I have borne many sorrows and I suppose you could say I’ve experienced most things. There are those in Paris who think I am weary, jaded even, and in some ways perhaps I am.’ He reached for the water again, obviously as thirsty as she had been.

‘And so now, at my age,’ he went on, ‘I cannot afford to squander my time because I still have much to write, to study, to achieve, and to do. Do you understand what I’m saying, Tessa?’

‘I think so, yes.’

‘Last night when I came home after dinner I felt bludgeoned. That’s the only word I can think of…bludgeoned. And by you. By our meeting. You had an enormous impact on me. And I believe I had the same impact on you. Am I not right?’

‘You are. And I feel exactly the same way you do. Haven’t we just proved that to each other, Jean-Claude? But–’ she cut herself off.

‘But what?’

‘I’m a bit frightened.’

He smiled at her. ‘And I am terrified.’

Clearing her throat, she said, ‘What you meant a moment ago is that you don’t want me to waste your time, isn’t it?’

‘That is correct. I’ve managed to waste a lot of my time over the years, and quite often with women who turned out not to be the women I thought they were.’

‘What about me then? What do you think I am?’

‘The woman I’ve been searching for all of my life.’

‘In your book, the one you inscribed for me, you wrote, “Je suis là.” What did you mean when you wrote I am here? It’s enigmatic’

‘What do you think I meant?’

‘I am here for you…waiting for you.’

‘That’s very perceptive of you, Tessa.’

‘Lorne said he’d never seen me behave like that. He told me I was swooning at your feet, and I was. At least that’s how I felt.’

He nodded, but made no comment.

She went on, ‘He said he’d never witnessed you behaving like that either.’

‘Lorne is right, I don’t think I ever have.’ He suddenly chuckled as if amused by his behaviour of the night before. ‘I just wanted to grab you, bring you here and take you in my arms, hold you close to me forever. And it was such an overwhelming feeling I was stunned.’

‘You said you didn’t want me to waste your time…What is it you expect of me?’

‘A fair shake, as my American friends would say. At this moment, right now, I would like to know if you are ready to embark on a relationship with me? But there is one other thing…I must know that you will always be honest with me, always truthful.’

‘I would never lie to you,’ she exclaimed, and then said in a softer voice, ‘As for a relationship with you, of course I want that. Haven’t we just started one?’

‘There are some who might consider it…a one-night stand.’

‘A one-afternoon stand,’ she corrected and began to laugh.

He had the good grace to laugh with her, shaking his head, amused.

Tessa adopted a very low voice, when she pointed out, ‘We live in different cities. I have a three-year-old child. And I also have a career, responsibilities.’

‘I know all of those things, Tessa. But let us try, shall we?’

When she did not answer, he pressed. ‘Are you willing?’

‘I’m willing,’ she answered.