Chapter Four

“That was wonderful. Thank you for all your help with this, M. Terrien!”

The little woman who stood before him was all smiles and enthusiasm, with a clear hint of flirting. He ignored the last, smiling at her even as his thoughts went inevitably to the man he was meeting at the airport in an hour. They had only spoken twice since Cam’s visit with his students a month ago, though they managed to send text messages at least once a week, and he was still trying to manage the desire that the thought of the American made rise inside him.

“It was my pleasure, madame,” he said, forcing his focus back to the moment. He added in a smile for good measure and retrieved his hand from her grasp. “I wish you the very best as you go forward with this project.”

Then he stepped away, smiling at one or two other people, shaking a hand or three on his way out the door. He had merely been doing his job, but it pleased him to be able to open the exhibition of art work featuring up-and-coming young artists whose work was all set in France. The university would host the exhibition for the remainder of the year, before the ambassador decided which of the pieces he would add to the collection in the embassy, and which he would purchase for his residence.

The air was hot and muggy as he turned on the air-conditioning in his car, and Jean-Paul wished he were swimming in the pool his complex maintained for its tenants. He would always be grateful for the good fortune he had in finding such a lovely place to live, especially when the weather turned horrible, like it was today. He turned onto the George Washington Memorial Parkway. He would be there in eight minutes, if the traffic were not backed up. Finding parking would take a few more, but he would be on time for Cam’s arrival.

The airport terminal was bustling when he walked in, and he saw that the passengers on the flight Cam had taken from Orlando had already deplaned. It would not be long now before he saw the man who had become a feature of his day and night dreams since the last time they had met in person. The two times they had spoken on the phone since then had been short, almost business-like. He wished he could get out of his head more, and enjoy the moments he shared with the American.

Not wishing to lose himself down the rabbit hole of regret over what could not be fixed, he decided to work harder at it this time. Cam would be in the nation’s capital for a week. Five days should be enough time to affect a seeable change in his behavior. He didn’t know if he would ever see Cam again when he returned to his hometown in time to begin the new school year, so he would make the best of this last opportunity.

“Jean-Paul! Thanks for coming to pick me up!”

Cam’s voice shook him out of his reverie and he fought to contain the flush of embarrassment threatening to stain his cheeks. He had already gotten off on a bad note, if his guest could arrive and he didn’t even notice. He reached out a hand to shake Cam’s own, wishing for some odd reason he could do more and wrap him in a tight embrace. Releasing his hand quickly, he turned, saying, “Right this way!” and walked away.

The car was hot when they got back to it, even though it was late afternoon. The sun was still high enough in the sky to make him wish the pool were closer.

“And thanks for offering to put me up, man,” Cam was saying. “You saved me a ton of money. Visiting DC is not cheap.”

Jean-Paul smiled, opening the trunk so Cam could throw his suitcase into it. Once in the car, he cranked the AC and rolled the windows down so the hot air could escape. Then he rolled them back up and set off.

“As you will see, I live very close to work and to the university where you will be attending the conference. It is a mere ten-minute walk or so from my home.”

“I’m stoked. And I see I can do a lot of walking around monuments and downtown DC as well.”

“If you like walking, there are many places you can visit without having to take a bus or train. I will take you on a short walking tour tomorrow, if you are not too tired.”

Jean-Paul could feel the warmth of Cam’s smile on his face, though he kept his eyes on the road as he drove. He clenched his fist around the steering wheel and dug his elbow into the console between their seats to stop himself from touching the other man who was accepting his invitation.

“I usually go for a run, but if we’re going to be walking, I think I will get my daily exercise in that way.”

“No gym in your apartment building, then?”

“Yes, on the first floor. I go there when I don’t go for a run.”

Silence settled in the car, and soon Jean-Paul was backing into his allotted spot in the building’s underground parking garage. The elevator led directly up to his sixth floor apartment. He opened the door for Cam, who walked in and looked around. Jean-Paul gave him a quick tour.

“The powder room for occasional visitors is here.” He pointed to his right. “And behind it is the kitchen and a breakfast nook.”

He kept walking, pointing as he went. “The dining room is here, and this is my suite across from it. Your room is here. You have your own bathroom.”

He walked in and showed Cam the space. When he dropped his suitcase, Jean-Paul headed out again to finish the tour.

“The dining room is here, with picture windows for sights of the city. And here is the living room. My office is through there, and out there is a balcony where I often sit with a drink after a long day. The view is magnificent.”

Cam opened the door and walked out, looking over the railing. “Impressive. Must be nice to relax to views like this.”

“You will have the chance to experience it for the next five days,” Jean-Paul replied with a smile. “Now, what would you like for dinner?”

He watched as Cam’s eyes widened. “You don’t have to feed me, man. I can just…”

Jean-Paul didn’t know whether to feel angry or amused at Cam’s obvious embarrassment. Why would he think he would invite him to share his home and not feed him? Sometimes, Americans confused him with their ridiculous independence.

“Now, how would it look for me to have you here in my home and not feed you?” He couldn’t keep the irritation out of his voice, though he tried hard, and he saw when faint color stained Cam’s neck and rode up his cheeks. It turned him on enough that he had to turn away and walk back in to the kitchen, saying over his shoulder, “I’ll just bring you a glass of wine. Relax and enjoy the views.”

He left his guest looking out over the city while he poured from the half open bottle of Merlot he had left in the refrigerator. Adding a few chocolate wafers from the tin he had bought earlier in the week, he put everything on a tray and went out to find Cam lying back on the recliner, his eyes closed, hands crossed over his belly. He stood still in the doorway taking his fill of the visual treat that was his guest.

Cam was wearing tan-colored cargo shorts that stopped short at the knees and a black Polo shirt. His shapely calves were hairy, as were his muscular arms, though not so much that he looked like a bear. His feet, encased in black walking sandals, were wide and strong. Jean-Paul swallowed the saliva pooling in his mouth as he looked him over. He had been without a lover for more years than he cared to admit, and it had not been a problem he couldn’t solve with his left hand. But Camden Archer was making him want things he had given up on years before, things he had loved and sworn never to want again.

To want was to lose, and Jean-Paul had lost enough in his life. He had had enough of loss. Better to avoid wanting, since it would lead to needing, and from there the path devolved into having and losing. He tore his gaze away just as Cam opened his eyes and smiled, saying, “I was just about to ask if you planned to keep staring at me all afternoon.”

He sat up as he spoke, his smirk growing wider at Jean-Paul’s blush. There was something sweet about the man that made Jean-Paul’s insides ache with want. But he was only here for another five months. He would be returning to work with the department of cultural affairs on home soil. It was not wise to allow anything but friendship to develop between them.

He placed the tray on the table next to the lounger and put on his best host smile.

“I hope you like Merlot. It pairs well with le chocolat. Enjoy! I will return in a few moments.”

Hurrying away, knowing he was escaping any further teasing comments from Cam, he searched his refrigerator. He didn’t have much, but he could make omelets and French toast. He’d need to send his grocery shopping list down to the concierge, as he hadn’t had time to do it himself before going to pick up Cam. He looked over the list he had already made, added a couple of new items, and sent it in an email to the concierge, with his thanks. Then he poured himself a glass of wine and took the now almost empty bottle out to the patio.

Cam’s back was to him this time, and he was gazing out over the city, toward the Washington Monument.

“It is a beautiful view, isn’t it?” he asked, letting Cam know he was back.

“Very much so, and the sunset just makes it brilliant.”

Jean-Paul had to agree. He set the bottle on the table, noting that Cam had not touched the petits fours he had placed on the plate. He frowned. Did he not like chocolate?

“You do not like le chocolat?”

Cam turned to look at him. “Oh, I do. I just wanted to share it with you.” He picked up the plate as he spoke and held it out to Jean-Paul

“Merci, Camden.”

He took one of the little wafers and shoved it into his mouth, so he wouldn’t say all the things bubbling up inside him. He must be lonelier than he realized if Cam was having such a powerful effect on him. He would rein in this unbridled attraction. To let it continue was a recipe for disaster. He swallowed the morsel with the words on his tongue and sipped his wine. Better to let Cam lead the conversation. Then he would only need to answer questions or comments, without having to contribute any of his own thoughts.

“My days start at eight at the university.” It was almost as though Cam had heard his inner monologue. “How early do you have to leave for work?”

“I am usually out by seven thirty. I like to be a few minutes early, and it gives me a few extra minutes, in case the traffic is crazy.”

Cam grinned. “I can imagine that traffic can get to be nightmarish around these parts. Even in a small town like mine, it can get horrendous sometimes.” He looked out over the view again, then asked, “So we’ll be leaving around the same time?”

Jean-Paul nodded. “I can give you a ride, if you wish. It’s not out of my way.” He needed to say that so Cam would have no reason to refuse, unless he really wanted to walk or wanted to be left on his own.

“My day ends at three. Any suggestions for what I can do for a few hours after?”

Jean-Paul took another sip of his wine. “If you don’t mind waiting till I get home, we can do a walking tour. Depending on how tired you are, of course.”

“Thanks, Jean-Paul. I’d like that.”

“When are you leaving?”

He dreaded the answer to his question, even as he scolded himself for asking. He didn’t want Cam to get the wrong idea. In no way would he want to give the impression that he wanted Cam to stay past the days of the conference...even if the masochistic side of him wanted nothing more than to prolong the agony of having this man close enough to touch.

“The conference runs for five days, but I figure I’ll just spend Friday night here and then take the train home on Saturday morning. If that’s okay with you. If you have Friday night plans, I don’t mind being alone. I’ll have packing to do, anyway.”

Jean-Paul smiled. “I have no plans this week.” He wouldn’t admit to not usually having plans. “Perhaps one afternoon we can drive over to Arlington? I like to visit and just sit quietly.” He would also never tell Cam why. It was a morbid habit, but it soothed the ache inside him.

“I’d like that.”

The silence that settled between them was strange...not quite comfortable and yet not strained. Jean-Paul eventually rose and excused himself to go make the light supper he had planned. The fixings for omelets, arugula salad, a cheese platter, and yogurt were ready to go. He went to change out of his work clothes, taking a quick shower before slipping into a comfortable pair of jeans and a t-shirt. Back in the kitchen, he set about preparing the simple meal, wondering what Cam was doing. He had heard him go into his bedroom while he was changing and now the shower was going.

A kind of peace stole over him. For the first time in a very, very long time, he had a guest in his home, someone whose company he enjoyed, someone to take care of. It was what he had loved the most about his life before… He stopped the thought before it could take him to a place he avoided at all costs these days. Thoughts of the accident that had killed the people he loved the most in life had no place in his head while Cam was in his home. He would not be an entertaining host if he were depressed.

The meal was ready, except for the omelets, which he would make after he set the table and was sure Cam was done with his shower. Once he was satisfied that everything was in order, he returned to the kitchen, just as Cam stepped out of his room. He looked cool and relaxed in another pair of shorts, and a t-shirt. He smiled at Jean-Paul, and something like fire rushed through him. Cam’s smile was a thing of beauty and a call to dreams.

“Can I help with anything?”

His offer shook Jean-Paul out of his stupor. “Ah...oui. You can take these things out to the table.”

He led the way into the kitchen and handed Cam the salad and cheese plate. When he returned, he pointed to the half a baguette and yogurt while he made the omelets, adding cheese and herbs to them before folding them. Then he sprinkled chives on top and carried the two plates out to the table.

“Just one more thing,” he said, “and we can eat.”

He hurried back to fetch the wine, and then came out to find Cam waiting by the table, not seated. He raised a surprised brow and Cam seemed to understand his unspoken question.

“I was waiting for you. And I noticed that you had a concierge, so I called down and ordered something. The young man said it would take a few minutes to get here.”

Jean-Paul didn’t know quite how to respond to that. What could he have ordered? He hadn’t known what was for dinner, so he couldn’t have known he’d want something more. And anyway, Cam didn’t seem like that sort of person. Instead of trying to puzzle it out further, he invited him to take a seat.

“I hope you will like the way I make omelets,” he said, knowing it was nothing like the way Americans made it. “And how is it you say here? Dig in?”

Cam chuckled and nodded. “That’s how we say it here, yeah.”

He watched as Cam cut into the omelet, noting a complete absence of any reaction to the moist center. He let go of the breath he had been holding and was just about to start his own meal when the doorbell rang. Before he could get up, Cam said, “I think that’s for me.”

He went to get the door and returned with a delicate bouquet of yellow and white flowers, already in a vase. He set them on the table on the side not occupied by food and sat down again.

“I thought I should contribute something to the evening meal, and since I didn’t know what you were making, flowers seemed a smarter choice than wine.”

It pleased Jean-Paul that Cam was practicing what he knew about French culture. That he would find a way to bring something to dinner was special and heartwarming in a way that threatened his resolve not to let the American in as more than a friend.

“They are beautiful. Thank you for thinking of it.” He watched as Cam’s eyes flared with the smile that curved his lips.

“You’re welcome.”

They ate after that without speaking, except for Cam’s first moan of pleasure when he tasted the omelet. The sound made Jean-Paul’s cock stir in his jeans, a reaction that stole his breath because it had been far too long since he’d felt that with anyone. He gulped some wine, adjusting his body to ease the tightness and keeping his eyes on his own plate. He refused to allow thoughts of Cam moaning for entirely different and better reasons to take hold. Instead, he considered where he could take him for a walk the next day, after their work day was over.

When Cam finished his omelet, Jean-Paul invited him to try some cheese. “I hope you will like what I had in the refrigerator,” he told him with a self-deprecating laugh.

Cam cut himself a piece of the goat cheese, tasted it and looked over at Jean-Paul with a smile. “So far, so good,” he said, and finished it.

Jean-Paul watched him approvingly as he took another sip of wine before trying the next piece. When Cam spoke, he was startled. “Not going to try some?”

He nodded, unable to speak as he watched Cam lick his lips. Needing to break the spell, he pointed to the baguette. “Feel free to have some bread with the cheese.”

Then he helped himself, and they ate and sipped wine, while Cam told him about his only visit to France.

“I had just retired from the Army and wanted a holiday. I did a fourteen-day tour following the travel tips from a website I like that does European tours. It was hectic, and I wanted to go everywhere and stay longer, but of course I couldn’t afford it. I loved it. It was great!”

“Where did your tour go?” It would be interesting to hear the places he chose to stay longer, and the places he chose to miss.

“I flew in to Paris, stayed three days, then took the train from there, through the Loire region down to Provence. I stopped in a few places on the way to Avignon, Marseille, and Nice. I flew out of Nice back home.”

He reached for his cell phone, which was in his back pocket, and scooted his chair closer to Jean-Paul’s own.

“Here, I have some pictures still on the phone. I keep them for when I’m teaching about French culture. The kids like it when I can show them things I’ve seen myself.”

For the next ten minutes, Jean-Paul forgot they hadn’t finished eating as he looked over Cam’s pictures from his France trip. Cam looked angular and sexy in a tough, don’t-mess-with-me way in those pictures, but Jean-Paul much preferred the way he looked now, sitting on the edge of his seat, his wrists resting on the table as he scrolled through the pictures on his phone. There was nothing soft about the flesh and blood man sitting next to him, but somehow the angles and planes seemed less intimidating. Or maybe it was because he was allowing himself to become enamored of him.

He cleared his throat as Cam finished the set of pictures, each with a little story of its own, and watched as he tucked the phone back into his pocket. He loved the way his big hands closed around it, and he kept his eyes on them as Cam broke another piece of the baguette and tried some more cheese with it.

He dragged his eyes away when Cam turned to him suddenly and said, “This meal reminds me so much of meals I had while I was in France. And you made the omelet like an expert.”

“My mother was…”

He stopped, the pain that never seemed to go away ripping through him at the mention of her. He had no intention of sharing his wounds with anyone. His loss was his to bear, now that he was practically alone in the world.

“Your mother was a chef?”

Cam’s question broke the spell and Jean-Paul blinked to wick away the burning in his eyes. He definitely was not going to weep like a sad and broken child in front of a man who was still mostly a stranger. Clearing his throat again, he answered quickly.

“Yes. Would you like to finish with some yogurt?”

He knew the abrupt change of subject would likely only raise more questions in Cam’s mind, but he was not prepared to answer any of them. His family—his loss—was off limits to everyone.

He could see the puzzlement in Cam’s eyes, and he was even more grateful the man asked no further questions but nodded and took the container and spoon from him. He needed wine to fortify him, so he finished what was in his glass and poured another, swallowing half of that before stopping to breathe.

“I’ll get the dishes,” Cam offered after five minutes of awkward silence. “You cooked. The least I can do is clean up. Do you have a dishwasher?”

Jean-Paul nodded. He would not argue this time. He needed the space to regain control, and to close off the wound Cam had inadvertently reopened.

“I’ll be on the balcony,” he said. “I’ll take the wine and your glass.”

“Thanks, man.”

He escaped through the French doors and settled in his favorite chair, facing the Washington Monument and the spread of the city. He sipped slowly, releasing the tension that had gathered in his spine and shoulders. He could make this week work, if he could only manage to avoid personal topics. There was enough to talk about without ever having to mention his family. They could discuss the things he would take Cam to see. They could talk about what Cam would be doing each day. They could talk about his time in the military. Jean-Paul didn’t think his life was as interesting as Cam’s, even if it was more tragic. But tragedy had no place in his home...at least not this week.

It was fully dark by the time Cam walked out onto the balcony. Traffic was still flowing on the nearby highway, and the monuments and other city buildings glowed like jewels in the darkness.

“It’s beautiful at night as well,” Cam murmured, going to stand by the railing again. “Do you ever fall asleep out here?”

“Once in a while, yes. It is very calming.”

Which was more than could be said for his reaction to the man whose silhouette he could admire under cover of darkness without being noticed. Everything about Cam was attractive to him, and he discovered after only one afternoon together that here was a man he could relate to. Their shared love of all things French was just the foundation of the friendship he knew in his bones they would forge together. What else might develop he would resist. If he could…