Perfume Of Provence. Kate Fitzroy

flooded through her. Never had she felt such longing. Nothing in the world existed apart from him. She was empty without him.

      He slipped his arm under her and carried her across to the large bed. The whole night stretched ahead of them. At dawn their love-making reached a new height of passion as, exhausted and still excited, they clung close to each other, unable to move apart. When sleep finally overcame them they fell into a light sleep, closely entwined.

      The first rays of sunlight fell across the pillows and they awoke simultaneously and looked into each other’s eyes. Jean-Michel spoke first, his voice husky with sleep.

      “Rosie, will you marry me as I’m sure that I’m not married and you’re not married at all?”

      “Yes, Jean-Michel, yes, yes, yes, I will marry you!” Rosie hadn’t hesitated for a moment. They slept on as the sun moved across the room, picking out the story of their clothes strewn across the floor.

      Rosie awoke from a dreamless sleep, finding herself still wrapped in Jean-Michel’s arms. She studied Jean-Michel’s face lying close to hers. She softly stroked his cheek, brushing the dark lashes with her fingertips. So he wasn’t a dream. Had he really proposed to her before they fell asleep?

      Rosie’s eyes stretched wide in amazement as she suddenly remembered her acceptance. This was madness. Every fibre of her body made her feel it was right — not only right, but everything that she wanted. Yes, she wanted to marry Jean-Michel. But was her body making life decisions? What about her brain? Was she suffering some mad rebound sickness in the fallout of her relationship with Luke?

      She slipped from the bed, pulling the thin counterpane around her as she went out onto the balcony. She realised she was looking at the market square and there, just in view, was the waterfall that had so amazed her yesterday. Could it really have been yesterday? The market traders were setting up their stalls; their voices rose up to her in the still morning air. She stretched, feeling the wonderful languor of her body in the cool air. Was this a holiday romance run wild? She looked back into the room and saw that Jean-Michel was sitting on the bed watching her. In that moment she knew that she would always love him and that her life was to be with him.

      “Would you like that coffee now?” Jean-Michel called out to her. “I seem to remember promising you a coffee before our bodies took over last night.” He moved towards her, superbly at ease with his nakedness.

      “Bonjour, ma belle Rosie!” He kissed her tenderly on the top of her head. “Are you wondering how it all happened?”

      “Yes, I suppose I am in a way and yet it all seems so right,” she answered, looking him straight in the eye. If he should waver now then she wanted it all to be over quickly. If he showed the slightest regret or doubt…

      “You do remember you promised to be my wife, don’t you?” he asked, raising his dark eyebrows quizzically although his eyes were very serious.

      “Yes, I do!” she replied, equally solemn.

      “Does that mean ‘yes’ you do remember, or ‘yes’ you still do want to say I do?” He was making light of the words but his look was more intent than ever. “Because if you have any doubts I want to know now. I can’t bear to—”

      Rosie interrupted him, placing her finger on his lips.

      “That’s exactly how I feel too. I have not the slightest doubt. I know I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I’ve heard about love at first sight and this must be it!”

      “Thank you, merci, ma belle Rosie. That is so much what I wanted to hear you say in the bright light of morning. I awoke earlier whilst you were still asleep and had a dreadful fear that it was too good to be true. I know it sounds crazy but I was sure from the moment I saw you walking down that goat-path… So now we know what all the fuss is about…love at first sight…un coup de foudre!”

      “Oh, I was way ahead of you — I fell in love with you at the airport!”

      “Then why did you give me the cold shoulder? I had to pretend to make a phone call I was so put down…”

      Rosie laughed. “And I thought you were phoning your wife… Just think — we’ve wasted a whole day of our lives.”

      “And a night!” added Jean-Michel, putting his arms around her and hugging her to him. “By the way, where did you waste last night?”

      Rosie put her hand to her mouth in dismay. “The concierge at the hotel — he’ll wonder where I am!”

      “Surely not — people in hotels just come and go. Which hotel is it?”

      “The Windsor. No, I’m sure he will be worried. He was so kind and he gave me the directions to Eze. Without him we would never have found each other.” She looked at Jean-Michel in concern.

      “The Windsor, I know it well — it must have been Henri Amiel. Was he a big burly man with greying hair?”

      “Yes, don’t tell me you know him!”

      “Everyone in Nice knows Henri. He plays the clarinet. The hotel is famous for its jazz clientele — especially during the Cimiez festival. Henri is one of the world’s great movers and shakers. Now it is no surprise to me whatsoever that we found each other. I must send him a bottle of champagne. Bravo Henri! You know, Rosie, talking about champagne — wouldn’t it be better than coffee?”

      He went into the kitchen that was divided from the main living area by a glass brick wall. She heard the fridge door open and close and then he was back by her side.

      “Et voilà — coffee is served!” He came close to her and held the ice-cold bottle against her arm. Rosie squealed and ran to the bed with Jean-Michel in pursuit. He deftly turned the cork in the bottle and there was a soft pop as he caught the cork in the palm of his hand. The pale golden wine frothed up the neck of the bottle and Jean-Michel quickly filled the flute glasses and passed one to her.

      “To perfection for ever!” They clinked glasses and began to sip the cold, yeasty champagne. He refilled her glass and then quite carefully poured some between her breasts. She drew her breath in sharply as the icy liquid dripped down her body. Then he bent forward and she felt his strong tongue licking her skin. She slowly poured the contents of her glass over his back, running her hand through the bubbles and down his spine. He gave a low laugh that was almost a moan and set the bottle and both glasses down on the floor with impatient hands. Their bodies came together wet and slippery, moving slowly in a new rhythm. Rosie arched her back in pure animal pleasure. The night’s love-making had taught them each other’s desires. Now they were one in a new and yet familiar form, fitting together like pieces of a puzzle.

      Finally they lay side by side, sated and content. Rosie felt herself drifting towards sleep until Jean-Michel moved and turned towards her, brushing her hair gently from her face and kissing her forehead. He whispered into her ear.

      “There is something I want you to do for me but I don’t dare ask you.”

      Rosie stayed silent for a moment, wondering what more she could do that she hadn’t already done during the last night and this morning. She turned towards him and whispered back, “You must ask — we can have no secrets or hidden desires between us…ever.”

      Their heads stayed close together as he whispered back, “Will you come and visit my grandmother with me today?”

      Then he burst out laughing as she threw the pillows at him and then sat astride him, pinning his arms down as she kissed him.

      “You are a rotten tease but, yes, of course, I’ll come and see your grandmother with you. I shall tell her what a bad and wicked boy her grandson really is!”

      He sat up holding her on his lap and pulled her hands gently behind her back as he nuzzled his head between her breasts.

      “But I’m a good boy!” he insisted, looking up at her with a wicked smile. “I’m the golden boy of her life and she won’t believe a word you say against me. Anyway,