‘The soul cannot think without a picture’
Aristotle
After another fitful night’s sleep I’m glad to be able to sit outside on the terrace for breakfast again. This morning I gave Maxi his treat but then firmly shut the door. I didn’t hunt for Leo in the grey, dawn shadows.
I couldn’t switch my mind off last night. My body still felt the afterglow of Leo’s touch – the feel of his fingers, his lips and his body pressed against me, skin on skin. My mind, on the other hand, felt pissed off that he’d manipulated my body to fever pitch and left me frustrated.
I won’t run after him. I won’t beg.
I sigh, tilting my head back to catch the early rays of sunshine. Okay, so there may be conditions under which I might be induced to beg … pride be hanged. I’ve never had these intense kind of longings before, I don’t know how to handle them. Usually I’d follow my instincts, but they appear to be all over the place.
If I were a different kind of person I might sext him. Not that I really know how to sext. If I were to honestly tell him how I feel right now I’d text something like “I’m yours – anytime, anywhere, any way you want me.” Would that do the trick? But I’ve never sent a sex text, and while that does describe exactly how I feel, the intensity of the longing scares me. It puts me at Leo’s mercy. But being put at his mercy is part of what makes it so arousing. Gah, it’s so confusing.
And imagine the shame if I accidentally sent it to my mother, or even worse to Pete? It’s exactly the kind of stupid mistake I’d make and Pete would assume I was begging for him to take me back.
I’ve never been more certain I don’t want Pete back. We clearly weren’t right for each other, I just didn’t couldn’t see it. I didn’t know this coupe de foudre, lightning bolt phenomena existed. Sex with Pete was always a bit of a duty. At best it was vaguely pleasant but mostly it was a bit of a faff and I just wanted to get back to my book or get comfy on my side of the bed and go to sleep.
With Leo, well … Not that we’ve gone the whole way yet, but it certainly doesn’t feel like a duty. More like a most amazing, joyous awakening of my body. It’s a present, a gift of happiness wrapped in a ribbon that binds me up with Leo. Just unwrapping the gift feels like something I’d never, ever get tired of. I mentally play back the moment he pinned me to the wall in the outdoor spa bath.
“Poppy?” Joanna pulls out a chair and sits down next to me. I jump out of my skin. “Hmm, three guesses what you were thinking about? You know I think I only need one.”
I take a large bite of croissant and signal regretfully to Joanna that I’m unable to reply.
Today is going to be a painting day. It’s as a good a cure as any for frustration. I want to make a start on the illustration work for Angeline’s donkeys. I need to make a good job of my first local commission. After all lots of people sit in the vet’s waiting room so I may get some follow up commissions as a result.
It’s then that I spy Angeline making her way up the track. She isn’t walking normally; her gait is awkward and slower than usual. When she comes closer her usually sunny face is pinched with pain.
“What’s happened? Are you okay Angeline?” I leap up and the little dogs bound after me like they have springs for paws while Barney trots after them, following in their wake.
Angeline pulls a face. “Ah no, I am not okay Poppy. I have broken my ribs.”
“How, what happened?”
“Yorrick the donkey had a sore on his ear. I was trying to reach the wound to clean it out when he head butted me in the chest.” Angeline winces, whether at the memory or by a fresh dart of pain I’m not sure.
“Oh no, poor you.” I gently execute the three cheek kiss, making sure I don’t lean against her at all in her usual full contact embrace. “You should be at home, resting.”
I manage the embrace without any accidental nose bumps this time. Maybe I am getting better at French kissing after all. Greeting kissing that is. My cheeks flood with heat, and my body thrums with the memory of Leo’s fingers on my skin. I can’t get him out of my head even now, when Angeline clearly needs me. I’m shameless.
Or obsessed. Or maybe a little of both.
“I am going home but I wanted to ask you a favour.” Angeline leans against the gate and manages a smile.
“Of course, anything,” I promise immediately, still feeling guilty that all I can think about is Leo.
Joanna stays sitting at the table. She smiles at Angeline but doesn’t come forward. Other than talking a little to Sophie, Joanna is still keeping her distance from people. Which I don’t really get when it comes Angeline. You couldn’t meet a lovelier, less threatening person.
I’m still confident that Joanna will come out from her hiding places when she’s ready. The idea that I might be able to provide a safe space and kindness to both people and animals who need it gives me as much satisfaction as the kind of illustration that flies from my fingers without flaws and takes on a life of its own.
“Would you help Leo look after the donkeys? He will have much to do at the surgery if I take a little time off, even if I manage to arrange a temporary replacement. Is that okay?” Angeline has an odd gleam in her eye. If she weren’t in obvious pain I’d accuse her of matchmaking. Although it would be just like her to be thinking about arranging other people’s happiness while in a great deal of pain.
“No problem, of course I’ll help,” I offer. “I was planning to spend time sketching the donkeys today anyway, I want to start your paintings. What do you need me to do to look after them?”
“Just ask Leo, he’ll be along at the end of surgery today, assuming there are no emergencies.” She looks down at Treacle. “How is he? Any more problems?”
“He’s fine.” I pick him up to show her. He’s lively and happy this morning again, as though the seizure didn’t happen the other evening.
So Leo’s already talked to Angeline about Treacle. Of course he has. How much has he said to her about … other things? Not much if she is really trying to matchmake.
“I have these for you.” Angeline hands me a paper bag containing a box of tablets. “This is the medication Leo suggested you give to Treacle to help increase the oxygen levels in the blood flow to the brain. They arrived early this morning and he asked if I could bring them over now to give you peace of mind. Treacle needs to take one tablet a day.”
“Oh, okay. Thank you, what do I do about paying?” I don’t quite dare meet Angeline’s gaze. “Really you shouldn’t have come over. I could’ve walked over to the surgery to pick them up.”
“It’s okay. Leo didn’t want you to worry and the surgery is obviously very busy this morning so he couldn’t come himself. You can pay anytime. Just pop in when it’s convenient. We know where you live, I don’t think you’ll run away without paying “ Angeline laughs and then grimaces. “I must not laugh, it hurts too much. So it is okay for the donkeys? You will help?”
“Yes, of course I will. Now go home and rest up.” I squeeze her hand affectionately, remembering how much her hugs had meant to me when I first arrived in St Quentin and was dealing with the shock of being unexpectedly alone and feeling utterly betrayed by Pete’s cowardice.
Then I kiss goodbye. No nose bumps or accidental lip brushes again. Hooray, I will get the hang of it, however contrary to my English reticence it is to do more than simply shake hands. Not that I have any reticence when it comes to hugging Angeline. She’s simply a very huggy, tactile person. Her appearance in my life at a time when I desperately needed comfort is a gift. Of course I want to pay that back.
By the time I get back to Joanna she’s grinning like a loon. I can’t help grinning back and sticking my tongue out again. There’s something very freeing about acting like schoolgirls, as though neither of us has anything more to worry about than whether our teenage crushes at school fancy us or not.
“Leo didn’t want you to worry, eh? How sweet. I don’t think you need to worry about him not liking you.” Joanna hides her giggles behind her cup of tea, as though afraid of her unguarded, unfiltered emotions.
I suppose if you get so used to hiding secrets and not being yourself then it must be really hard to let go of the filters.
“Maybe he’s just being professional?” I shrug but it’s nowhere near as cool as a Sophie shrug. Maybe I’ll learn the shrug eventually too.
“Or maybe he’s giving you special treatment for a reason?” Joanna giggles again. “Perhaps your eyes will meet over the feed buckets and he’ll decide tonight is the night to finally give you a roll in the hay.”
“Idiot.” I roll my eyes, trying hard not to blush as I put the tablets on the table out of the way of the dogs.
But already I’m buzzing, my body hyper-aware that I’ll be seeing Leo again tonight. I want him to, need him to do something about the crazy desires he’s stirred up in me.
With Pete I waited about a month before having sex. Waited to be sure of him. Ha! Look how that worked out.
So I don’t see the point of waiting, of following someone else’s dating rules. With Leo the only advice I want to follow is my own instincts. Even if those instincts would’ve let him take me up against the wall of the ruin the other evening if it hadn’t been for the fact Treacle needed watching and Joanna had interrupted us.
I’ve never felt such a strong, magnetic connection before. Anyway, as I seem to be reinventing myself here in St Quentin why should I care what my parents think? Or what Pete thinks, what anyone who doesn’t really know me thinks … Michele would tell me to go for it. In fact, I think she already did. I’m daring to live, the way Gran urged me to. Not as though life were just a thing to be got through, to survive. “Happiness is precious and rare,” she’d say. “When you find it, Poppy, you must grab hold of it and don’t let go. Promise me.”
She was the one who taught me that surviving and living are two very different things. I want to live a full life, experiencing as much as I can and reaching my full potential. If I make mistakes then so what? It won’t be the end of the world. Mistakes are the way we learn. Mistakes are far better than inaction.
I don’t know if I can make a go of the guest house or my artwork outside of the Fenella Fairy brand safety net, or even if I can get a publisher interested in my children’s book idea but still, I’m bloody well going to try.
It’s harder to follow the grabbing hold of happiness maxim with Leo. The risk of having my heart broken does terrify me. What if he betrays me or casually dumps me as though I’m nothing more than another conquest. I never felt this afraid with Pete but then I suppose I wasn’t risking my heart because Pete never had it to break.
I don’t know where this thing with Leo is going but if I don’t do my best to find out I think it would turn into a lifelong regret. I don’t think he’s deliberately playing me for a sense of power, turning me on just because he can. Surely meeting someone you feel a sense of emotional connection with accompanied by powerful physical desire doesn’t happen that often in life? I mean, I was prepared to give up on the concept forever thinking it was a myth or that if it did exist it had passed me by.
I find some calm in my work, in the familiarity of the ritual of the preparation of materials. I get the same rush from a blank piece of sketch paper waiting to be transformed and the joy of my fingers moving over the paper, instinctual and bypassing conscious thought.
Still, not even the magic of my craft can stop my body from practically fizzing with anticipation as I sit on a folding chair in the donkey field later that day, my sketchbook resting on a lap tray. I’m happy I’ve captured the swishing donkey tails and the curious, intelligent eyes. My attention is drawn especially to the cheeky one with a dark nose and white blaze who likes to chase the other donkeys and took longer than the others to convince that I didn’t have any food for them. He’s a Peanut kind of donkey i.e. always on the lookout for trouble. If he’s anything like Peanut I expect he finds it. I wonder if he’s Yorrick and make a mental note to let Leo deal with him if so.
I’m enjoying sketching, but half my attention is still over the road with a certain vet. I try to distract myself with the seed of the children’s book idea that has been growing, planted in my mind and nurtured in the Languedoc sunshine. I have to do it; it’s like the story insists on being written, pushing itself to the forefront. I can’t help drafting sketches and making notes, as well as planning and starting the sketches for Angeline’s surgery waiting room.
In the end I’m so engrossed I don’t actually hear Leo coming up behind me, and he makes me jump sky high, even though I’ve been expecting and anticipating him pretty much all day.
“I love that sketch. It’s fantastic. You’ve captured their personalities so perfectly.” Leo leans over me and points to a sketch of a suspicious Peanut standing up on her hind legs to sniff at the lowered muzzle of an equally dubious donkey. They are locked in a staring competition for dominance.
My money is on Peanut, every time.
Leo’s breath is warm against my neck and his scent awakens my senses. I inhale deeply, and I have to resist the urge to bury my face in his chest. There’s a tightening and a coiling in my body, a tense anticipation.
I’ve decided, whatever happens this evening I plan on taking the initiative. I’m not going to sit around waiting for Leo to decide he’s tortured me enough, or whatever it is he’s doing.
“Is that going to be for Angeline?”
“No, that sketch is just for an idea I’m thinking about for a project … um, maybe my own children’s book.” I close my sketchbook.
“Really? I love it, would you do one for me? I think it would look good on my wall at home.” He casually rests a hand gently on my neck, caressing it, sending shivers of pleasure down my spine.
“Of course, if you’d like.” I turn to face Leo properly for the first time since last night, when he left me confused and frustrated, not knowing if I was experiencing foreplay or a power play.
When our eyes meet I’m jolted by the connection I feel. Does Leo feel it too? Is it possible I have the power to affect him the way he affects me?
I lick my lips, feeling awkward, like a teenage virgin given I’ve never before experienced the things Leo makes me feel. With the overwhelming awakening of a sensual side I didn’t even realise I had I can’t help wondering if tonight will feel like my first time. Because if I possess even one iota of the sway Leo holds over me I intend to make sure it happens this evening. And I’m sure this first time will be a hell of a lot better than when I lost my virginity to my first boyfriend in the back of his Vauxhall Astra.
Not that we’re supposed to be thinking about that. Not now. Focus Poppy.
Donkeys. Helping Angeline, that’s why we’re here. Supposedly.
But when I look into Leo’s dark eyes I see my own desire mirrored there. Are we at the proper kissing hello stage yet? A vivid memory of his hand gripping my hip last night, his fingers pressing into my flesh as I came flashes into my mind and it’s all I can do not to throw myself at him.
Leo bypasses my hesitancy and draws me towards him, into a firm embrace. What I once dismissed as arrogance seems more like sexy confidence now. I raise myself up so that our mouths meet and our lips and tongue linger, promising, hoping for more…
Shakily I pull away, sensing we’re stumbling close to the cliff edge and endless drop into the unknown. Will Leo catch me or let me fall? I’m not quite ready to find out.
Not here.
Not now.
Certainly not with Yorrick and company beating a determined path to Leo. I didn’t feed them but they’re hopeful that the new arrival might. Quickly I pack away the rest of my work things into my oilcloth satchel and waterproof portfolio.
I glance at Leo, at the rapid rise and fall of his chest. It’s a relief to see he is breathing heavily. It’s good to know I can affect him too, that it’s not all one way.
“Is this where you ask me to muck out the donkey shed?” I ask. “I don’t mind, if that’s what needs doing. Has it been a really busy day with Angeline off?”
I know I’m babbling, revealing my nerves. Leo grins, he knows it too.
“That doesn’t need doing until morning. We just need to fill the water trough, give them some feed and hay and I need to check Yorrick.”
“Is he the one who head butted Angeline?”
“Yes, that one over there, but don’t worry, you don’t need to touch him.” Leo clears his throat. “I think maybe Angeline is trying to throw us together. You and me I mean, not me and Yorrick. She doesn’t know about us by the way.”
Us.
So, there is an us? I finger the strap of my satchel, playing with a loose thread.
“Oh, I see, well just show me what to do and I’ll, er, do it.” I can’t stop my mouth from quirking into an awkward grin.
“Will you now?” Leo grins back, eyes gleaming. He leans in towards me, lips brushing my ear softly as he whispers. “Do you promise to do exactly what I tell you?”
“Uh, yes.” There are darts of sharp, exquisite pleasure shooting through me, just at his words, at the slightest brush of his lips. The sensible corner of my mind says I should introduce a caveat excluding anything too kinky or weird but thankfully my inner flirt is in charge right now. She hasn’t had much practice over the years, but she knows the basics and doesn’t want me to screw this up.
I stare at Leo’s full lips and the dark, end of day stubble peppering his jaw. I can’t help fantasising about how it would feel if Leo did more than kiss me. If those lips travelled to my breasts or maybe even lower down…
My face flames. Is it possible for Leo to know what I’m thinking?
“Where is your little entourage?” He asks.
“Oh, you mean the dogs? Joanna’s looking after them.” I say, looking into Leo’s darkening eyes, swept up by the inevitability that something is going to happen between us tonight.
“Would you like a tour of the chateau when we’re finished?”
“Er, okay, that would be great,” I reply, confused, sure he’d wanted me alone for something else. Does he mean when we’re finished with the donkeys or …?
“And then, after the tour, we will go back to my home and I will make love to you,” he murmurs, as casually as though he’s suggesting us going on somewhere for a cup of tea.
“Oh?” I reply shakily. I wish I had Sophie’s élan, that I could reply in a cool, casual way. Maybe with a French shrug thrown in for good measure. But it’s me he wants to sleep with and the good thing is he’s already seen me at my worst in a tatty T-Shirt, leaking tears and God knows what else what. And he still wants me. That thought is pretty damned amazing.
“If you’d like me to, that is,” Leo adds casually, rolling up his sleeves to reveal tanned, toned forearms. Then he sets about seeing to the donkeys with a swift efficiency that makes me think Angeline knew he wouldn’t need my help at all.
Hmm, maybe I’ll get my own back by matchmaking for her one day.
While I’m hanging around waiting I make sure to keep my distance from Yorrick, the mischief making donkey who keeps making a beeline for me. I’m about to whip out my sketchpad to capture his expression when I notice he has an absolutely, um, huge appendage. It definitely wasn’t that big when I was drawing him earlier. I stare at it and try to stifle my giggles.
Leo notices me looking and raises an eyebrow.
“Well now I know where the phrase comes from.” I shrug, embarrassed.
“What phrase?” Leo asks, and I can’t tell if he honestly doesn’t know the English expression or just wants to make me say it out loud.
“You know,” I mutter, looking down at the water trough, the feed buckets. Anywhere but Yorrick. Or Leo. “Hung like a…”
“Vet?” Leo grins.
“Donkey,” I reply primly. “Well, that’s certainly not going in my children’s book.”
Leo laughs again and when he’s finished with the feed we walk up to the chateau.
“Are you sure this is okay? You’re not too tired to…”
“No, I’m not too tired to…” Leo’s lips twitch.
“Have you had anything to eat yet?” I ask as the ornate gates of the chateau and the vineyard beyond come into view.
“I had lunch brought in from the café. I thought we could eat later at my place if you like. We can get a take away pizza.”
“You can get take away pizza in the village?” I ask incredulously. “Where on earth from?”
“There’s a van goes round the villages. It’s St Quentin’s turn tonight. The pizza is very good.”
“Okay that sounds nice, I haven’t had pizza in a while.”
It feels bizarre, talking about the mundane when my body is practically trembling with anticipation. The words “I’m going to take you to my home and make love to you” pulse through me, anticipation building as Leo shows me around the chateau. I’m sure he knows it, that it was his intention. I’m extremely glad that his parents are off visiting his aunt. I’m not sure I’m capable of behaving in a way that even vaguely resembles normal at the moment.
Having a vivid imagination means I’ve always loved history, particularly history I can touch and make a connection with. History of art was one of my favourite modules for my art degree. I find it easy to visualise the images of the past. Leo’s clearly proud of the research he’s done into the history of the chateau. I did look up the webpage his mother told me Leo had made but struggled to understand much of the French. But as Leo talks his words make the stories come alive, as though they were lying dormant in the chateau’s stone walls and are now conjured into life, a part of the flickering flames in the fireplace. It amazes me to think the grand fireplace in the main hall looks the same today as it would have in the thirteenth century.
This is a side of Leo I’ve not seen before, a creative, passionate streak that makes me fancy him all the more. I can’t help wondering if he planned this all along, to impress me. Not that I’m not impressed by tonight, but the moments Leo really impressed me were when he treated Treacle with such tenderness and also when he finished the fence for me without any expectation of gratitude or even recognition. I’ve also thought that true heroism is revealed not in ostentatious displays but in small acts of kindness, carried out with no expectation of reward.
Which I suppose … makes Leo my hero.
I turn away and touch the ancient stone lintel above the fireplace hearth, warmed by countless fires over the centuries.
“It must’ve been quite an amazing place to grow up,” I say, my mind conjuring pictures of who else might’ve touched the very same stone in previous eras.
“It was my home, I took it for granted. Then I wanted to go off and see the world as soon as I was old enough. Yet now something has led me home again,” Leo looks at me quizzically. “It is strange how these things happen. That we think we are free agents, yet life pulls us to a certain place at a certain time. And pulls people together too.”
He takes me by the hand and circles my palm with his thumb again. It amazes me that this simple touch can trigger an ache that radiates through my whole body and renders me almost senseless with longing. I don’t want to read too much into his “right place, right time” speech in case it’s just a line but somehow it doesn’t feel like one. I feel the same, that we’ve been drawn together.
But then, I used to believe I had a happy future ahead with Pete, so I clearly possess the capacity for self-delusion. How can I believe in this?
Maybe knowing for sure that Leo means what he says and his feelings are an echo of my own will do it. I’ll only know that, and that this isn’t a well rehearsed seduction routine if Leo is still here for me in a month’s time. His actions will convince me, not his words.
“So.” I exhale shakily and try to regain my composure. “Is that why your English is so good, because you’ve travelled a lot?”
“I’ve spent some time in the States and I also worked for a year in England before veterinary college. I wanted to pay my own way but working abroad was about more than that, I wanted to fully experience life and see more of the world.”
“I see, so did you meet any nice English girls?” I ask, my stomach executing tiny back flips as he increases the pressure in the centre of my palm.
“None worth mentioning.” He shrugs, his smile morphing into a lazy, sexy grin. “Until now that is. Odd how I didn’t find anyone special in England and then I come home and find a very special English girl right on my doorstep.”
I grin back and melt a little inside.
Special.
I store the word away to be brought out later, when I’m alone.
“Shall I show you where the treasure was found?” He asks.
“Okay.” I nod and add “very special” to my own personal treasure trove of Leo words and memories.
Joanna was right. I’ve got it very bad.
The gleam in Leo’s eyes as he leads me around the twisty corridors tells me that basically he knows it.
“Did you realise that we basically invented romance?”
“Oh really? What, you personally or just your ancestors?” I laugh.
“Laugh if you like but Occitan was the language of the Troubadours who travelled around Europe with the very first tales of courtly love and romance.”
“Really?” I ask. Okay, so that is kind of interesting. I trail the hand not holding Leo’s over the solid stone walls that must be at least a metre thick and try to see my own story and connection with Leo as part of the rich tapestry of woven lives linked through time to St-Quentin-sur-Aude and the chateau.
Leo shows me the spot where a sack of gold coins was found in one of the walls when the time came to install modern plumbing. Touching the spot gives me a thrill, I know there’s no actual treasure there now but I’m touching the memory of it, of the people so desperate to hide it. I wonder why? What drove them to such a drastic measure? Marauding forces? Tax evasion? I suppose we won’t ever know for sure but the physical touch links me to another time and to other souls. That’s how it feels anyway.
I turn around to see if Leo thinks I’m nuts, but I can see from his wide smile that he gets it and is glad that I get it too. It’s great to find someone willing to encourage my imagination instead of crushing it by telling me to grow up and stop being so daft. With a jolt I realise I’ve put that happy smile on Leo’s face. I want to make him smile more. I want to make him happy.
I think of Angeline comforting me when I first arrived and the kindness of the villagers and then about how I’m touching Joanna’s life and of course, Leo’s. In my mind’s eye I see ripples of love and kindness, spreading out in concentric circles throughout history. One kindness leading to another. An act of love inspiring courage. I wonder when the circles started and when they’ll end, if ever.
“Do you have any Occitan writings here in the chateau?” I ask. “I suppose it was mostly an oral tradition but are there any surviving records? I’d love to see some.”
“I think we have a few rare volumes in the library and some modern translations too,” he says. “I can show you the library next anyway, if you like. Actually, if I can find it I think there’s a translation you’d find interesting.”
“Okay,” I say happily, glad that I’m discovering more about Leo. And that he’s discovering more about me and my quirkiness and isn’t running a mile.
Also, I’ve not forgotten the promise he made me. No going home frustrated tonight.
Entering the library, I inhale the musty smell of old books and sigh happily. I might think in pictures, but I’ve always loved books too. I like to think that by illustrating books I might be inspiring another generation of children to not only read stories but make up their own one day.
It’s my own small way of spreading ripples.
“Ooh, you have one of those old library ladders.” I touch the sliding wooden ladder that reaches up to the highest shelves. “Can I have a look round?”
“Go ahead, I’ll see if I can find that book of Occitan poetry with modern translation.” Leo heads off to another corner where there are more modern books with brightly coloured spines. “I know I’ve seen it recently.”
I head up the ladder, the musty odour of older calfskin bound books tickling my nostrils. I run my eyes over mostly incomprehensible titles and history books I’d struggle to understand in English, never mind French. I go back to a large section containing art books and begin to leaf through, noticing some volumes are inscribed on the title page by the author. When I open one large volume I find some prints at the back, contained in a loose card portfolio. The dust on the outside suggests it hasn’t been opened in a while. I gently draw them out and reel with shock. These are … but surely they can’t be really … can they? They’d be in a safe or an art gallery.
“Leo,” I call out as I hurry down the ladder. “Come and look at these.”
He stares at the prints and shrugs. “Are they anything special?”
“I’m fairly sure they’re Goya. They match his style exactly, he produced a lot of prints on the theme of warfare, these really have his feel about them. Does your father know he owns the prints? Are they not on display for a reason?”
“I have no idea. Do you really think they’re original Goya prints?” Leo’s eyes sharpen as he looks at them and he handles them with more reverence.
“From what I remember from my art history studies I’d say there’s a good chance. There’s a Goya museum in Castres that’s not too far from here. You’d probably find an expert there to verify if they’re authentic. It’s worth a try. What’s the worst that can happen?”
If they are what I think they are this could be huge. Almost as amazing as the plumbers finding the sack of gold coins, but I don’t want to raise Leo’s hopes too much.
“I’ll tell my father.” Leo replaces prints in their cardboard folio and places it on a side table. “In the meantime, would you like to have a quick look at this Occitan poetry book? There’s one in particular I think you’d like. Then we could go back down to the fire if you like?”
“Okay,” I agree readily, seeing fire of a different kind in Leo’s eyes.
The intensity in his expression makes me shiver, and not with cold. He tugs me downstairs not just by my hand but by his look. He’s got me well and truly hooked and is reeling me in. He’s tugging and I’m flying, tumbling towards him. I’m caught and claimed as his.
And I’m not complaining.
Back in the main hall Leo pulls me down on top of him into a large armchair. I land on his lap sideways on and he rests a proprietorial hand on my thigh. Then he hands me a book, already open at a page that displays both the original Occitan and the modern translation.
“This is the one you were talking about? That you think I’d like?” I ask.
“Yes, it was written by a woman, the Countess of Die. She was a troubairitz around the year 1200.”
“Really? I didn’t know there were women troubadours.”
Leo remains quiet as I read the poem’s translation.
I was plunged into deep distress
I was plunged into deep distress / by a knight who wooed me,
and I wish to confess for all time / how passionately I loved him;
Now I feel myself betrayed, / for I did not tell him of my love.
therefore I suffer great distress / in bed and when I am fully dressed.
Would that my knight might one night / lie naked in my arms
and find myself in ecstasy / with me as his pillow.
For I am more in love with him / than Floris was with Blanchfleur.
to him I give my heart and love, / my reason, eyes and life.
Handsome friend, tender and good, / when will you be mine?
Oh, to spend with you but one night / to impart the kiss of love!
Know that with passion I cherish / the hope of you in my husband’s place,
as soon as you have sworn to me / that you will fulfil my every wish.
The idea of my body being a naked pillow for Leo is a very enticing one. That aside it’s both humbling and astounding to discover that while so many things have changed outwardly, nine hundred years ago women struggled with the same issues as today. They too fell in love and experienced a desire for sex that felt more like a need than a want. They too understood the compulsion for a connection that transcended the everyday, a compulsion that became a song, the poetry of the soul.
I turn to Leo. He’s watching me closely, intently, as though drinking in and memorising my every feature. I know my cheeks are flushed and I must be showing other signs of arousal. The intensity of his scrutiny only increases awareness of that arousal.
Breathe Poppy.
I break eye contact and look back down at the book while simultaneously taking a lungful of air that doesn’t quite make it down to my diaphragm but is an improvement on the previously shallow breaths that were dangerously close to panting.
“You know this is possibly the most unusual seduction technique I’ve come across. But then I’m not really that experienced.” I lean closer into Leo, breathing him in as I rest against his chest.
He tugs my legs up onto the chair and I lose my ballet flats in the process. My denim skirt rises up my thigh and I leave it where it is, enjoying the gleam in Leo’s eye as he takes advantage of the view.
“You were the one who asked to see the Occitan poetry book.” Leo takes further advantage of my skirt hitching up to slide a hand up my bare thigh, making me inhale sharply. “And you, Poppy Kirkbride, are one of the most unusual women I’ve ever wanted to seduce.”
Leo hand keeps going higher up my thigh until his fingers reach and lightly brush the cotton barrier of my knickers between my legs.
My legs part for him and I squirm as he strokes me languidly through the fabric and then dances away, teasing me. On his next foray he playfully lifts the edge of the knicker elastic, letting me think he’s finally going to slide his fingers inside my wet sex but then he lets it snap back into place again and resumes stroking up and down my thighs. Basically, he caresses everywhere except where I want him to until my knickers are soaking with my arousal because I’m so wet for him. I’m definitely on the verge of begging him to put me out of my misery, to practically rip my knickers off me.
“I could help you with ‘experience’ if you like. I’m a good teacher.” Leo nuzzles my neck.
“Uh?” We’re talking? Were we talking before Leo decided to begin his exquisite sexual torture? I’m not sure I’m up to anything complicated, like words, right now. Groaning, panting and gasping? Yes.
Conversation? No.
I might be able to manage a version of the word “please” that’s half desperation, half command. Beyond that I’m good for nothing.
Except the one thing Leo promised me would happen tonight.
“Yes,” Leo replies, as though I’m not squirming on his lap, thighs parted. “We’ve already covered French kissing but there’s a lot more on the course curriculum.”
“Huh.” I decide to get my revenge and wriggle on his lap until I feel his erection, rock-hard beneath my bottom. I rub myself against it to get some relief for the ache between my legs and get the added benefit of hearing Leo groan with his own need.
Result.
I may be inexperienced but there are some tricks that work every time. I shift position so my knees are even further apart to give Leo better access between my legs. I hope to God his parents aren’t due back soon. We are at least fully dressed. Sort of. My skirt is on, even if it is now hiked up around my waist.
He cups my bottom, squeezing gently. Just as I think he’s going to finally slide his fingers inside my knickers and thrust them up inside me he withdraws his hand and decides to explore the rest of my body instead.
“Bastard,” I half mutter, half moan, apparently capable of speech after all. “I get it now, you basically want to get me to the point where I beg for it?”
“Have I got you there yet?” Leo murmurs in my ear and then lightly nips my earlobe.
“Maybe.” My chest is heaving and I’m shamelessly close to begging. I’ve never felt so turned on before. “Maybe not.”
Leo laughs and kisses me, his hands running over my legs, my hips and my breasts. I’ve no idea where the book went to and I don’t really care. All that exists for me right now is the kissing and the touching. Leo’s hands are up inside my top, lightly skimming my bra until my nipples harden. He pulls the fabric cups of my bra down below my breasts without undoing the clasp so they are forced higher up and pushed together. Then he tugs the neckline of my top down, exposing my breasts and swollen nipples so he can see them.
His sharp intake of breath and rapid breathing make me feel sexy in a way I’ve not experienced before. His eyes don’t so much appraise me as feast on me. Then he really is feasting on me, his tongue circling my nipples and nipping them with his teeth before sucking hard.
“Okay, okay,” I gasp. “I’m going with my first answer about being ready to beg. As in maybe. Yes. Definitely. Absolutely. Good enough?”
Leo’s groan against my neck is guttural, almost primeval.
The realisation that I can turn a man like Leo on makes me feel sensual and powerful. My fingertips are up beneath his T-Shirt, exploring hard muscle and then trailing down towards his abdomen, wanting to see more of him, to touch more of him. I want to know what my hard nipples feel like pressed against his bare chest. I want to know what the erection digging into my thigh will feel like buried deep inside me.
Leo pulls my hands back from his waistband and puts distance between us with obvious difficulty, his breathing laboured.
“Let’s go back to my house?” he asks. “Is that okay? Joanna’s okay looking after your dogs?”
“Yes, that’s, er … fine, I’ll send her a quick text.” I try to regain some semblance of normality. Try to recall basic facts like my name and the fact I own dogs. I’m floating and overwhelmed by the powerful magnetic tug pulling my body to Leo’s with such relentless ferocity.