First tango in paris, p.27
First Tango in Paris, page 27
Brigitte stared at her with clearer eyes. “You can? You are?”
“Yes. I needed time to come to terms with Father on my own. And I have. Plus, some things have changed in his life, and he may be the better for them.”
“I’m glad, for both of you.” Brigitte smiled for the first time that evening.
“But you haven’t answered my other question.” Eva felt like a trainload of spoiled American teenagers had just rolled away from the station, leaving her relieved and free. “Why did you come back?”
Brigitte’s smile grew. “Oh, I wanted to see if you were in the mood to have a picnic and to dance with me.”
“A picnic and dancing?” Eva held up the bag she’d dropped beside the sofa. “I just happen to have a hearty appetite and some tango shoes. So the answer is yes.”
Brigitte’s eyes narrowed. “Are you sure? I didn’t think you liked Americans very much.”
“Who told you such a thing?” Eva widened her eyes innocently. “I love Americans.”
Jumping up, Brigitte started toward her coffee bar. “Wonderful. Because this American just happens to be famished.”
Chapter Thirty-two
Eva relaxed into her metal chair as she sat on the small balcony across the table from Brigitte and examined the food spread out in front of them on large platters. “You must be starving. Just look at all this. Cheese, ham, olives, fresh bread, crepes, strawberries, pears, and chocolate. Oh, it all smells so good. So this is what you were shopping for this afternoon.”
“Yes.” Brigitte appeared proud of her purchases. “And I had the hotel staff make these lovely trays for us.”
The sun was beginning to set, and Eva stared out across Paris. “It’s a beautiful city, isn’t it? I’m so glad you came back. Where have you been?”
Brigitte spread a generous portion of brie onto a piece of soft bread she’d broken from a large, crusty loaf. “Oh, the typical tourist sites. The Alps, the Parthenon, the Sistine Chapel, the Prado. It’s all glorious, but I couldn’t think about anything but Paris, and you. The Eiffel Tower is still my favorite.”
Eva glanced out the window. “I’m so glad. Look. You can almost see it in the distance.”
“But that’s the wrong direction. What kind of tour guide are you, anyway?” A smile quivered on Brigitte’s lips.
“One that will be retiring in a year or so, I hope. As soon as I pass my bar exam.” She watched Brigitte devour a crepe. “Hey, what kind was that?”
Brigitte licked the side of her mouth provocatively, then ran her tongue along her upper lip. “Umm. Smoked salmon, cream cheese, and capers.” She picked up an olive and sucked it into her mouth.
“No fair. That’s my favorite kind. Was that the only one?”
“Let me see.” She sorted through the assortment of crepes. “I think this might be one. Want it?”
As Eva reached for it, Brigitte pretended to take a bite. Eva grabbed it from her. “Hands off. That’s mine.”
Brigitte shrugged and then stood up. “If you feel that way about it, okay. More wine?” she asked. “We have a nice merlot and a pleasant pinot noir.”
“Pinot noir.” Eva accepted a glass and swirled it, savoring its mixed aroma of cherry, rose petals, and leather. “Thank you. This smells delicious.”
Brigitte sipped her merlot, then picked up a small strawberry and held up it to Eva’s nose. “Smell this. It’s from the mountains.”
Eva inhaled deeply. “Ah. Nothing’s better than a wild French strawberry. It’s better than any perfume.” She took it from Brigitte’s fingers and crushed it until the juice began to run. “Here. See how delicious it is.”
Brigitte gently held Eva’s hand up to her mouth and touched the strawberry with the tip of her tongue. “You’re right.” She sucked it into her mouth. “It’s wonderful.” Brigitte licked Eva’s fingers clean. “Don’t want you to stain your dress,” she said, letting her gaze slide down the tight-fitting white dress Eva wore.
“No, we can’t have that, can we?” Eva murmured.
They decimated their feast and sat in silence as the lights of Paris began to blink on and replace the vanished sun’s rays. “Would you like to hear some music on my new record player?” Brigitte asked out of the darkness.
Eva roused herself. “New record player? Another recent purchase?”
“Yes. I was on a roll this afternoon. Want to listen to a recording by Erroll Garner? We could enjoy him together this time.”
As they walked back inside, Brigitte snaked her arm around Eva’s waist and led her to the plush love seat. The sounds of Garner’s genius at the piano washed over Eva, and she sighed, contented. Then a question occurred to her. “Are you planning to live here permanently? I mean, here at the George V?”
Brigitte brushed Eva’s bangs to one side of her forehead and placed a kiss there. “In Paris, yes. At the hotel, no. I’ve decided to look for an apartment. I stored most of my luggage here at the hotel while I was gone, but I think they’re getting tired of me and all my property.” She gestured to her new record player. “As you can see, it’s mushrooming daily.”
“Hmm,” Eva said. “Jeanne has started dating someone she says is special, so she just might be getting tired of me too.”
Brigitte’s hand drifted down to Eva’s cheek, followed by a kiss there. “I could use a roommate. Someone to show me the city, help me improve my French.”
Eva turned toward Brigitte and rested a hand on her shoulder. “Your French is perfect, though I might know someone who’d like to show you all of Paris’s secrets.”
“Does this someone know how to tango? That’s one thing I require in a roommate.” She ran her hand up Eva’s calf. “Hmm. Somehow I bet she does.” She gestured toward Eva’s purple bag sitting on a nearby end table. “And it appears she brought her tango shoes with her.” Brigitte assumed a stern expression. “I do, of course, require proof of her dancing ability.”
Eva rose and pulled her shoes from her bag. “That’s fine. But you have to supply the music.”
“Agreed. I have just the thing.”
Eva hadn’t worn her special shoes in so long she was nervous putting them on. What if Brigitte was actually serious? She was anxious about her bar exam but sensed her whole life depended on the result of this particular test.
But when the music poured over her, she stood and assumed a serious expression to match Brigitte’s. Brigitte sat on the love seat fastening the strap of one of her medium-heeled shoes around her ankle as Eva grabbed a long red silk scarf that lay on the back of a chair and flung it over her shoulders. Whirling around the room with the scarf wrapped around her shoulders, she then tossed it over Brigitte’s shoulders and pulled her to her feet with it. A strumming guitar filled the room, accompanying a female voice singing in Spanish. Ah yi, yi, yi. The raspy voice called her to the dance.
Brigitte glided toward her, and Eva slung the scarf to the other side of the living room. The tango beat filled Eva with its passion as she led Brigitte a few steps, Brigitte’s right hand resting on Eva’s left shoulder, Eva grasping that hand possessively. She’d wrestle the devil himself for this woman.
In the center of the living room, Eva stepped behind Brigitte, and they both flung their arms upward in time with the beat. Eva bent her knees and slowly ran her hand down and then back up Brigitte’s silk-covered legs, the left one stretched backward, straight and inviting. Eva gasped with pleasure as she stroked the firm flesh encased in such a strong yet yielding substance.
As the vocalist sang of the sweetness of the tango, Eva wrapped her arms around Brigitte from behind her, then slowly pulled her arms up and back, strength rushing through. She held both their arms extended and out like wings, as if they could fly away together into space and time.
She twirled Brigitte to the music’s rhythm, and then Brigitte knelt in front of her, momentarily submissive. Eva passed one leg over Brigitte’s head, rested it briefly on Brigitte’s shoulder, then rose, exhilarated by Brigitte’s beauty and her intense focus on only her. Eva grabbed Brigitte’s hands and drew her up toward her, but then they whirled away from each other and Eva experienced a profound sense of loss.
Eva half turned away from Brigitte, half pulled her back, and Brigitte spun into her arms. Eva felt as if she’d captured an exotic jungle cat and exulted in her prize. Eva lowered Brigitte halfway to the floor, then pulled her back up. She couldn’t live without her. They swirled together, and then, with Brigitte’s left leg straight, Eva’s pressed tight against it, Eva held her in a tight embrace against her breasts, panting with desire.
With Brigitte’s right hand on Eva’s shoulder, Eva ran her left hand slowly up Brigitte’s side, beginning at her upper thigh and continuing upward. She could almost feel the air sparking beneath her fingers.
But suddenly, Brigitte seized control. She held Eva as she threw her head back and rested completely in Brigitte’s left arm. One slight move and Eva would have landed helpless on the floor. But she relaxed into Brigitte’s power as Brigitte feathered her hand from Eva’s throat down the center of her body, brushing her crotch.
Eva ignited, like natural gas lit by a match. She could practically smell sulfur and almost blacked out from the sensual rush that Brigitte’s hand evoked, but she managed to stay conscious. She didn’t intend to miss a second of their tango.
They straightened, then kicked through a complex set of moves together and ended up in a tight embrace, Brigitte’s hand in Eva’s hair caressing her scalp with strong fingers. Brushing noses, they stared at each other with a searing, serious gaze, their hair hanging free and in their eyes, their lips inches apart, as if they were straining to touch, to merge. The guitar and the woman’s voice died away, yet Eva didn’t move as Brigitte’s caress moved to her neck. The odor of spring rain suddenly washed over her, though it was a dry September day.
“You’ve cut your hair, haven’t you?” Brigitte said after the music died away. She stared at Eva’s neck, seeming transfixed.
“Yes. It needed some attention. It’s too much trouble when it gets too long.”
Brigitte shook her head as if clearing something from her mind, then led Eva over to the record player. Brigitte kept her arm around her as they both removed their shoes and stood there with bare feet. Then she took the record from the player and laid it nearby. “How did you like this one? I just bought it.”
“It’s wonderful to dance to. And you’re wonderful to dance with.”
Brigitte appeared bedazzled as she turned to Eva. “It’s meant to be, I think. I don’t want to ever let you go.”
“Then don’t.” Eva put her arm about Brigitte’s waist. “I want you, my beauty. More than I’ve ever wanted anyone.” The words bubbled from her mouth like expensive champagne.
Brigitte slowly turned Eva in her arms, then lowered her head and brushed her lips over Eva’s forehead. Eva closed her eyes and sighed with pleasure as twin kisses blessed her eyes and her ears. When she finally opened her eyes, she looked down at the top of Brigitte’s head. Brigitte was halfway kneeling, kissing Eva’s nipples that were straining to escape from her sheer dress. Brigitte pushed one narrow strap aside, then the other, and slowly pulled the clingy fabric down below Eva’s breasts.
“Let’s take this to the bedroom while I can still walk,” Brigitte whispered, and Eva had no choice but to say yes.
*
Eva’s eyes gleamed like aquamarines as Brigitte led her to her spacious bed and laid her on it. Brigitte felt as if she were offering a beautiful sacrifice to the goddess of love. No, not a sacrifice but a tribute, an offering of thanks, a way to show her reverence for the women who had lived during the centuries before them, to the one who lay stretched out in front of her, and to the mysterious powers of the universe that had led them to one another.
Eva was the woman Rosa had sent her to Paris to find. Their tango tonight had proved it. When Brigitte had seen the taut skin of Eva’s neck earlier, she’d relived her vision of the mysterious woman who’d momentarily interrupted her final dance with Rosa. The face of the woman was no longer fuzzy. She was Eva.
Now Eva lay motionless before her, gasping as she eased Eva’s white dress past her waist, over her hips, and down her slender legs. When Eva lay there totally nude, Brigitte stood still for a moment, awash in Eva’s vulnerability, her beauty. Quickly stepping out of her own flimsy black dress, she lay down beside Eva and stretched Eva’s arms over her head, as Eva had done to her during their dance.
Brigitte smoothed her hand along the inside of one of Eva’s arms, then the other. The bluish veins lying just beneath the surface of the white skin near the inner side of Eva’s wrists reminded Brigitte of river deltas—rich, fertile areas where the world’s great civilizations had been born and thrived. Rosa had shed her blood, but Eva’s pulsed through her.
She traced across to Eva’s small breasts, their nipples sharp enough to cut flesh, yet as smooth as mousse. Delicious. She sucked. She licked. She reveled as Eva yielded them to her, these precious, priceless gifts.
Momentarily sated, Brigitte continued her journey, traveling downward, as if on a voyage into the humid jungles of the Congo, the Amazon. Heat rose from Eva, and the room seemed steamy as Brigitte neared the fecund tropics of her desire. It had been an endless trip, but oh so worth it. Eva panted, then jerked as Brigitte, dying of thirst, drank from the source of the heat that was making them both sweat.
She scalded her tongue in it, painted Eva’s inner thighs with it, lost herself in it. She rode down a river of blood, pulled by the swift currents, tossed about by the river’s fury, rushing toward an unknown destination, then plummeted over a breath-shaking waterfall.
At the bottom, she floated, relaxed, trusting the cooling fluid that surrounded her to keep her from drowning, finally quenching her thirst.
“God, Brigitte. What did you just do to me?” Eva’s words penetrated her consciousness, pulled her upward to Eva’s lips, her breasts, her silken skin.
“I’m not sure,” Brigitte whispered.
Go to Paris reverberated through her.
She kissed Eva’s soft lips, so full yet firm. “But I do know one thing.”
Eva sighed, her breath sweet. “What’s that?”
“I want to do it over and over, for the rest of my life, my darling.” Brigitte kissed her again. “Here in Paris. With you.”
About the Author
Shelley Thrasher, world traveler and native East Texan, has edited for BSB since 2004. A PhD in English, she taught in college for many years before she retired early and still teaches a fine arts course online. She has published poetry, short stories, and essays, as well as one scholarly book. Shelley and her partner Connie, with their two dogs, cat, and parrot, live near Dallas, Texas. Her first novel, The Storm (2012), was a GCLS historical romance finalist and a Rainbow Awards runner-up for best debut novel. Her second novel, First Tango in Paris (2014), is based on her travels abroad.
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