She (4 page)

“You’re late!” she shrieks. I turn and see her and someone that I presume to be the photographer walk out of the building and join us in the courtyard. The photographer walks right past Logan and I without saying a word.

“Mrs. Clemence,” I stammer, “I am
so
sorry for being late. I lost track of time, it was careless of me, and it
won’t
happen again,” I promise her.

Before she can reprimand me, Logan steps in, saying, “It’s my fault. We were having lunch and I wouldn't stop talking. Poor girl couldn’t get away.” Poor girl didn’t
want
to get away!

Amelie stares at Logan for the briefest of moments before a huge smile spreads across her face. I don’t think I’ve seen her this happy…ever! Internally I celebrate.

“Logan Leary! How wonderful to see you again,” she says, her accent heavy. They kiss on each cheek, and I watch on in a high state of jealousy.

Logan begins talking, working his magic. I stand still, completely forgotten by Amelie. The affect he has on her is almost disconcerting, but it’s also why I wanted him to come.

“I’ll, uh, just go...” I mutter, taking several steps backwards.

Logan’s head whips around to look at me. Our eyes lock and I feel that now familiar jolt of excitement course through me. He smiles, “Have fun. We’ll be watching.”

Butterflies take flight in my stomach. I make a face that is somewhere between a grin and a grimace and I turn and join the photographer, Claude. He’s very French, I think. He sits me on the stool in the sunlight, so I have to focus hard not to blink or squint my eyes. In the corner of my eye I notice Logan and Amelie standing side by side, facing this direction. Amelie is talking animatedly, gazing up at him with adoring eyes. Logan appeases her with frequent, polite looks, but for the most part his eyes are focussed on me. I flush.
Dammit
! I don’t want to be bright red in my portrait!

Claude brings my attention back to him and the shoot begins.

“You’re radiant!” he calls loudly, over and over again. I can practically feel Logan’s smug smile, and I cringe at the word
radiant
.
Stop it
, I beg Claude in my mind. Any word but that! “What have you been doing today? You’re blossoming! Yes, yes! Radiant girl!”

I want to shudder in embarrassment, but I control myself. Just get through this! Only a few more photos, surely only a few more. But Claude is on a roll and having fun, even if I’m not.

“Turn and face another way,” he directs me. “I want some pictures where you’re not looking at the camera.”

Instinctively I shift and look at Logan while Claude is making adjustments to his camera. Amelie is, for once, looking at me, though still chatting away. Suddenly she and Logan look at each other, and he smiles, nods, and then they both look back at me. Holy shit! They’re talking about me! Smiling and nodding and talking about
me
!

Claude is back in action, and Amelie and Logan quieten to watch on. My eyes are fixed on him, we’re in our delicious bubble again, and rapidly I lose my awareness of what Claude is saying to me. All I can fathom is Logan. He looks at me so intensely, with so much meaning in his eyes, as though there are many things that he would like to do and say to me, but he holds himself back.
Two years
, I remind myself. He’s been waiting for
two
years! My breath hitches. I want very much to cross my knees to stop the feeling that’s building inside me: this is not the time or place for such feelings. Instead I push my knees together tightly; Logan notices. His lips part, his eyes glimmer, seducing me. I remember his words:
the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen
… My body is tense, the building feeling rising within me still. It’s like I’m…like I’m…like I’m having sex!
Holy
shit
, I realise. I feel like I’m having sex with him, just by the way he’s looking at me! How is this happening? How is
he
doing this? A small smile plays on his lips, and it’s too much, it’s
far
too much! Ah! I’m so close, suddenly and inexplicably, but I don’t want to do this here. I grasp control of my thoughts. It’s all I can do to avoid orgasming in public.
I don’t want to do this
, I think again.

“Enough,” I say loudly, tearing my eyes away from Logan and refocussing them on Claude. He looks put out for a moment, but then consents to end the photo shoot; he’s got more photos of me than he could ever possibly need. I take several deep breaths, calming my system, and backing down from my near-high. My mind is reeling. I can’t believe what is happening! This is not normal, is it? It’s incomparable to anything I ever felt with Jerry. He had to work hard to make me come. But Logan, Logan just has to look at me and I melt!

“Finite?” Amelie asks.

“Oui,” Claude says.

“Bravo… Miss. Samuels, you can kindly get back to work now.”

I nod at her, avoiding looking at Logan. Suddenly I’m shy, bashful and oh, so full of wonder. Does he know what he does to me? Does he know that he brought me to the brink?

Amelie and Logan say their goodbyes and then my boss disappears into the vast building. I thank Claude for his services and then meet Logan by the door.

“Have fun?” he asks.

I briefly study his face. He’s as sincere as ever; he knows nothing of my close encounter. Oh, Logan, how do you have this affect on me?

“Partially,” I say with a small smile.

We walk into the building, naturally making our way to the front door. Layla watches us like a hawk from her reception desk.

“I’ll get going then,” Logan says.

I nod, still shy.

“Do...do you still want to go for lunch tomorrow?” he asks tentatively.

My eyes widen. “Of course. Do you?” My stomach tightens. Please say yes, Logan!

He smiles. “Yes,” he’s quick to reassure me. I sigh in relief. “We’ll just have to make sure we keep to a better timeframe.”

Ah,
that’s
why he asked! “Thank you for saving me from Clemence.”

“You’re more than welcome, Gemima… I’ve had a wonderful time.”

“Yes, me too.” I steal a glance behind me. Layla is practically lying on her desk in an attempt to get closer to us and hear our conversation. I roll my eyes at her; she starts, and goes back to tapping on her computer keyboard like an animated monkey.

I open the door for Logan, and then follow him out onto the street, where prying Layla can’t see us. The moment of separation has come…along with a wave of melancholy. I note that I don’t want to say goodbye to this man. Ever.

“Well, goodbye, Logan,” I force myself to say.

“Goodbye, Gemima,” he smiles, rather sadly. Look us, like wet puppy dogs! It’s pathetic. We’re going to see each other tomorrow, for goodness’ sake.

I hold out my hand. He takes it immediately, and that spark ignites again as our skin touches. My whole body is flooded with desire. Desire to kiss him right here on the street; desire to do much more than kiss in the privacy of a dimly lit room. How has this blossomed so quickly? What is this strange connection we share?

It’s chemistry, I tell myself.

It’s affinity.

Maybe it’s…

Logan leans down and kisses my cheek while our hands are still locked. Ah! Two points of contact. Suddenly something my air yoga teacher springs to mind:
always have three points of contact; it makes things steadier
. I place my other hand on his arm and revel that my teacher was right. The more we touch, the better it feels, and the steadier the overwhelm of our connection becomes. I feel his lips caress my cheek, I close my eyes to better feel the sensation. It’s exquisite; warm, sweet and a little bit wet.

As we break apart I feel like we’ve been intertwined in a passionate, sensual, intense embrace for an hour. Oh, how time does funny things with you, Logan, I think as I gaze up at him.

“Tomorrow, then?” he says, and I’m pleased to hear him sound as breathless as I feel.

I nod. “Tomorrow.”

*

The rest of the day passes with a flurry of activity. This job keeps me busy, there’s no doubt about it. Just after five o’clock, I knock on Mrs. Clemence’s door. She leaves the office most days at five fifteen, and I need to catch her before she goes. I apologise again for my late return, and impress that I will work late to make up for it. She waves my apology away nonchalantly, as if it’s already forgotten. Bless Logan and his distraction!

I leave her to her last business of the day, but she stops me in her doorway, by saying, “He’s enchanted, isn’t he?”

I look at her, of course knowing who she’s talking about. Logan, enchanting? Yes, Amelie, he is indeed! “I suppose he is enchanting,” I say quietly.

She peers imperiously at me over her half-moon reading glasses. “No, dear, not enchanting, but
enchanted
. With you.” She states it as a fact.

I feel myself blush. “Oh, uh, I…”

She looks back down at her work, smiling to herself. “That will be all, Miss. Samuels.”

*

At five-forty-five I leave the office and settle into my car. City traffic is awful at this time of day; it’d be quicker to walk. I really should start walking to work, I tell myself. I connect my phone to the car’s bluetooth, and tell my radio to call Amber as I start to drive. I love telling my car what to do! It makes me feel like I live in the future!

Amber is my best friend, and one of the only American women I know in Paris. She’s bright, bubbly, impish, and always down for a laugh. I adore her! She brightens my days with her wicked sense of humour and her candid comments, which are usually as inappropriate as mine. These past few weeks, since Jerry and I broke up, she’s been an absolute god-send! Considerate, caring, and at my beck-and-call. She even tracked down a rare but necessary breakup staple: Ben and Jerry’s Ice-cream. Of course, I cried when I read the name, and she cursed herself for not putting two and two together. But after one mouth full, all was forgotten. And after two tub full’s, we lay pre-comatose, laughing hysterically at things that really ought never to be laughed at — the size of a man’s appendage, for example.

“How are my favourite double-D’s?” Amber asks when she picks up.

I roll my eyes playfully at her greeting. Amber is obsessed with my voluptuous breasts because she has none of her own.

“They’ve had a marvellous day, my love, how are my favourite pancake boobs?”

She laughs and it makes me smile.

“It’s really not fair you know,” she says and I know she’s still talking about our bosoms. “Maybe I should get pregnant?” She’s thoughtful. “What do you think?”

“I think your husband will be more help to you in that regard, than I.”

“Fair point, Samuels. So, how’s your day been?”

This is our routine, and I love it. Banter, teasing, gossip, and counselling. Me and my best friend. At the end of every working day we chat for ten minutes to two hours about our days, or about life in general. Then on the weekend we make a point of meeting up in person, and doing a myriad of things: shopping, restaurants, cinema, day spas, the likes.

I try to sound casual as I say, “I had that lunch date with Logan Leary today…”

I hear her drop something and I grin.

“Well,” she splutters, “tell me everything!”

Where to begin? “The whole thing was…incredible! Literally,
in
credible! We had this…this connection right from the moment we met. And he’s just
so
beautiful, Amber. I thought I was going to explode just from the way he was looking at me!”

Explode is our slightly subtler code for orgasm.

“Holy shit! That’s…that’s fricken’
awesome
!” she finally says. Her enthusiasm makes me laugh. Suddenly I hear her frantically taping away at a keyboard.

“Are you at work?” I ask.

“Yes, I’m googling him…” She’s silent for a moment, and then, “
Wow
! What. A. Stud!”

We spend over a minute just giggling like schoolgirls.

“When are you seeing him again?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Oooh, this is
so
exciting, Gem!” she squeals.

“I know, I can’t believe how much I like him.”

“What’s not to like? He’s gorgeous and he can make you come just by looking at you!” Suddenly her voice dims. “Oh,
shit
! My boss just walked passed when I said that,” she reveals, sending us both into another fit of giggles.

“What’s more,” I say, “I think he might like me, too.”

Again she says, “What’s not to like?”

“Thanks, Amber. I feel…confused, overwhelmed…but hopeful.”

“I’d say that’s a perfect combination, chicken.”

Yes, I agree, it feels pretty perfect to me. “Listen, doll, I’m about to go through a tunnel…”

“OK, call me tomorrow. Sleep well, babe,” she says, and I can hear her smile.

*

Ten minutes later I’m driving down into the secure underground parking lot beneath my complex. It’s quiet, as usual. My new house is a small but perfectly formed cottage, in a complex of many small but perfectly formed cottages. It’s quaint, very French, and I love it.

Once in my designated parking spot, I get out of the car, and see in my peripherals a figure standing in the shadows by the lift. It’s unnerving, but only because I usually don’t see anyone down here. I have to walk towards them to get out of the garage, and as I approach my mouth drops open. It’s Logan! It’s Logan Leary!

Suddenly the voice inside my head that was
all
for him earlier today is ringing the alarm bells. What is he doing
here
? In my secure lockup garage? Is he a stalker? Oh,
shit
! And I had such high hopes for us and our magical, overwhelming chemistry. I notice myself lamenting our end before I’ve even reached him. Overdramatic, Gem!

“Hi,” I say quietly. He smiles, and like once before today, his smile puts me at ease. He’s
not
a stalker, I shout to the voice in my head. He’s a beautiful, intriguing, genuine man.

“Did you freak when you saw me here?” he asks. “I’m not following you, I promise.”