The wine had helped to
numb her feelings, and now the charged atmosphere of his bedroom
melted her into yielding. Even her left hand felt normal.
I tried, God as my witness, I tried, she thought with a shudder
as he wrapped his arms around her and across her breasts. He held
her until her trembling subsided, then he began to unzip her
dress, very slowly. She opened her eyes. Her vision had adjusted
to the silvery light, which now sharpened the edges of everything
and cast ambiguous shadows.
And there, across the pond, she saw Matthew's lamp.
"No," she said, reaching behind for her zipper.
He gripped her wrist.
"Yes," he breathed hotly in her ear.
She challenged his hold. Unable to resist, she yielded, spun
fiercely, and sought his lips. He held her head between his hands
and kissed her, pushing against her so intensely she felt she
would burst into flames. Her hands slid up his chest and across
his shoulders, his broad back. This hardness, I want this on me,
was all she could think, I have to have this in me.
But again, as if burning into her back, Matthew's library lamp
broke her, mocked her. With a cry, she twisted around. "No. I
can't. Not with him right there."
"We'll pull the shade," Jean-Pierre said. He nuzzled his nose in
her hair.
"No," she said, planting herself firmly. "Not now.
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