And After?
The sun was falling low in the distance, casting shadows over the garden to match the shadows growing on Jean's heart. She stood in the sunroom as the darkness crept through. She willed her mind to go blank, to protect her from the pain.
Lucien spend all afternoon in his study making phone calls and arrangements for his trip to China. At last, his contact had found Li. She was in Shanghai, and he would finally get to see her. He was so busy with the anxious preparations that he hadn't noticed Jean return home. He assumed she was still with Jack. And it made him glad that her son could stay with her while he was away. Jean was more than capable of taking care of herself—she took care of everyone, most of all him. He smiled just thinking about her.
Not knowing whether he would get a chance to see her before he had to leave at first light, Lucien set out to write her a note, explaining that he needed to go see his daughter, but he would return to Ballarat. He would return to Jean. He would never leave if it weren't important. He never wanted to leave her, if he could.
As he felt the words pour out of his pen, Lucien admitted to himself that he had fallen in love with this beautiful, brilliant housekeeper. She had given him a sense of home and family and belonging he never thought he would ever find. He had never met anyone who matched him at every turn, challenging him to be better, enticing him out of his broken soul. He loved her. And when he returned from China, he would tell her so.
Lucien finally left his study in order to leave the note out in the kitchen for her, the place she'd most easily find it. But as he went through the hallway, he saw that her coat was hung by the door and her housekeys were on the table. She must be home. He put the note in his pocket for the time being and went to search for her.
He found her in the sunroom, standing stock-still and staring into the distant sunset. "Jean?"
She turned at the sound of his voice and gave a sad, strained smile.
"Where's Jack?"
"Gone," she replied simply.
Lucien frowned. "I thought he was going to stay with us?"
Jean swallowed hard and explained, "He said he didn't want to be in the way, said he'd be better off on his own. I shouldn't be surprised. I shouldn't have expected him to stay in someone else's home."
Lucien crossed to her. "Jean, this is your home. And your family is always welcome here. I know my name is on the door, but this house belongs to you much more than to me. You've made it warm and inviting and organized and beautiful. It's only home to me because you've made it that way." He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "You have given me a home here, Jean. I hope you know that."
The crumbling walls around her emotions came crashing down. Jean burst into tears and fell into his arms. She clutched at his lapel, sobbing into his chest. Lucien tucked her under his chin and soothingly rubbed her back, holding her tight against him.
"Shh there, there, Jean. Everything's alright. Everything will be fine. Shh," he murmured.
She pulled back from him slightly to catch her breath. He took her face in his hands, brushing away her tears with his thumbs. Jean swallowed back the lump in her throat, her gaze going from his eyes to his mouth.
Lucien took that as a sign. He felt as though it were now or never. And it was now. He slowly leaned in to brush his lips against hers. She responded by wrapping her arms around his neck, her fingers curling into the hair at the back of his neck. His tongue softly swept across her bottom lip. She opened her mouth to him, deepening the kiss. He tasted as much of her as he could reach.
Eventually Jean had to pull away. She knew she couldn't do this. She knew how much she wanted this and how wrong it was. She was upset. That was the only reason she'd allowed this. She buried her face in his shoulder, hugging him tightly to her.
Lucien felt his heart pound. He wrapped his arms around her waist, reveling in the perfect way they fit together like this. "Jean, I…" he began.
She shook her head against him. "Don't say anything," she begged, her voice muffled into his jacket. She breathed in deeply, memorizing the scent of him. This would be her only opportunity for this. She knew that beyond a doubt.
But as long as she was weak enough to indulge herself, Jean couldn't see why, just for that night, she couldn't allow him to comfort him.
Without another thought, Jean stepped out of his embrace and took his hand. She didn't say a word. She just led him into the house and up the stairs to her bedroom. Lucien followed willingly, feeling utterly awestruck.
She closed the door behind them and looked at him with a sad smile.
"Jean, we don't…I don't…" he said in weak protest, hoping to preserve her dignity and honor.
"I know. But please, Lucien, just for tonight, I don't want to think, and I don't want to worry, and I don't want to be empty and alone."
He couldn't bear to hear her beg like that. He would do anything she ever asked. He never wanted her to feel as though she needed to ask. Lucien closed the distance between them and kissed her.
It was slow and sensual, like before. Their lips and tongues moved in a languid rhythm. They took their time with each other. No need to rush. This was not just their first time together, but perhaps their only time.
Lucien understood that she needed him just for now. She didn't want him and love him as he did her. She just needed comfort. And he was eager to provide it for her. Besides, he would be leaving early in the morning.
Her hands danced on his arms and shoulders and chest, pushing his jacket from his shoulders, undoing the buttons of his waistcoat and shirt, loosening his tie. He held her tight, his fingers clawing at her blouse, pulling it from the confines of her skirt, balling up the fabric. She sighed into his mouth, reveling of the feeling of his large, powerful, gentle hands on her.
Jean broke the kiss to push the clothing off of his torso. Her eyes took in the expanse of his chest—strong, well-defined, covered in coarse blonde hairs. She looked up into his eyes and began unbuttoning her own blouse. Lucien had wanted to undress her himself, but he couldn't stop watching her strip for him. Her movements were not particularly sensual in their own way; she was merely removing her clothing, as though to get ready for bed after a long day. Really, that's exactly what she was doing. But the deft movement of her practiced hands, the casual way she performed such an intimate act in front of him…his mouth went dry.
He was all hers. For tonight, he belonged completely to her. The way he looked at her, the way he had touched her and kissed her. She had no qualms about giving herself to him, nor did she doubt that he would be sweet and tender with her. Because for all his strength and muscles and brash attitude toward life, she knew that this was Lucien Blake. Her Lucien. And just for tonight, the moniker could exist outside her own mind.
Lucien watched her remove all of her clothing, standing naked before him. She walked past him and lay on her bed and waited for him to join her. He quickly unbuckled his belt and removed his socks and shoes and trousers, stumbling slightly in his enthusiasm. Jean pursed her lips together to keep from giggling at him. But nothing was funny after he pushed his briefs off his waist. She could see that he was almost completely hard already. He wanted her, as if the look in his eyes weren't enough to tell her that.
He crawled across the bed to her. His eyes took in the gorgeous expanse of her body. She lay proudly beneath him, waiting.
"I love you," he whispered, locking eyes with her.
Jean couldn't bear to hear those words. She didn't want them. She couldn't have them. Because he may love her now, as they lay naked on her bed together, but would he love her in the morning? When they woke up and returned to their lives as before? Would he still love her when she was just his housekeeper, and he was just her employer? Would he love her after their coupling in the darkness had ended and the sun rose in the sky? She had known for some time that she loved him with all her heart. She would love him forever. She couldn't stand to hear him say he loved her when she knew that any truth in it couldn't last.
Instead of responding with words, Jean only pulled his face to hers and captured his lips in another kiss. Lucien's hands moved down her body, rolling her breasts under his palms, letting his fingertips ghost over her ribs and stomach, squeezing her hips.
She gasped as he began kissing down her neck and chest, the scratch of his beard and the soft warmth of his tongue following the path of his hands. As his teeth grazed the sensitive flesh on her breasts, his hand went between her legs. He stroked her gently at first, increasing the pressure in time with her panting breaths. Jean's fingernails dug into his shoulders as he slipped a finger between her folds. Her legs parted, and she shifted her hips to give him more space as he added a second finger, pumping in and out of her and a frustratingly relaxed pace. She gyrated against his hand, begging for more friction. "Please, Lucien," she breathed.
Lucien obeyed, removing his hand. He raised her legs and poised himself to enter her. He leaned forward and kissed her just as he buried his shaft deep inside of her. She moaned into his mouth as she felt him fill her completely.
As he had up till then, Lucien maintained a steady, slow pace. He never wanted this to end. He never wanted to leave her, never wanted to be without her.
Jean kept her eyes shut tight, holding his head against her neck. She didn't want him to see the tears that pricked her eyes. It was overwhelming, the feelings and sensations he created in her. How she wanted him and needed him and loved him. After knowing how he could bring her such pleasure, love her so thoroughly, how could she ever let him go, even if she knew she had to?
Climax washed over her like an ocean wave, pulsating through her body, dragging her under its surf. She was engulfed in it, trembling from head to toe in the current he created. She was still consumed when he paused, jerked, and shuddered, groaning at his own completion.
The room was pitch dark. Jean hadn't realized how much time they had spent. It was still sunset when she'd brought him upstairs. Now, the moon was high in the night sky outside her window. She stroked Lucien's hair as he placed small, sleepy kisses to her clavicle. He rolled off of her, breathing heavily. His exhaustion and exertion overtook him, and he fell asleep almost immediately, his arm reaching out for her unconsciously. Jean allowed this final indulgence, snuggling into his embrace, resting her cheek on his sweat-slick chest and dozing off.
A cold chill awoke her a few hours later. They hadn't bothered to get under the sheets of her bed. Jean gently got up and silently padded around her room, wrapping her dressing gown around her body. She got an extra blanket to put over Lucien as he slept soundly. She brushed an errant curl off his forehead. He hummed happily at the feel of her touch.
Jean went about retrieving all their clothes from where they'd been discarded by the door. A folded sheet of paper fell from Lucien's jacket as she picked it up. She unfolded it and read it. It was a note for her. Her lips pressed into a tight line as her eyes moved down the page, reading by the light of the moon.
When she got to the bottom of the page, she folded it back up and put it back in the jacket pocket. He was leaving. That's why he said he loved her. That's why he had come to bed with her. His note promised he would return, but when? If he was going to be with his daughter, he could be gone for two weeks or six months. Assuming he ever came back at all. Jean knew she would never want to leave her children if they wanted her to stay with them. Lucien had searched for Li for so long. Jean couldn't possibly expect him to return to Ballarat after getting to reunite with his daughter.
After gently folding his clothes and placing the pile on the chair of her vanity, Jean removed her dressing gown and got back into bed with him. She knew without a doubt that this was the only opportunity she'd ever have.
As the sun peaked through the window, Lucien awoke with Jean in his arms. He pressed kisses to her forehead, breathing in her scent, willing it to be imprinted in his lungs forever.
She stirred at the feel of his beard. She blinked her eyes open and saw him gazing longingly at her.
"Jean, I'm sorry, I have to go."
She nodded. "I know. Go." She drew the blanket up, covering her chest with it. Somehow, being exposed to him felt as though it would cause her to break into a thousand pieces.
Lucien stared at her, wondering to himself how she could possibly know or understand. Perhaps she didn't. He wanted nothing more than to kiss her again, hold her again, make love to her again. He wanted it every day for the rest of his life.
But he had a plane to catch.
He got out of bed and collected his clothes. He took the note out of his jacket and put it on her vanity table. "This explains, I think. Not everything but enough. For now. We'll talk when I get back."
She nodded numbly. He was either lying to her or to himself.
Lucien looked back at her. The words were caught in his throat. He couldn't seem to bring himself to say goodbye. Not when he didn't really want to leave.
Jean watched him walk out her bedroom door and close it behind him. She lay back down in bed, staring at the ceiling, desperately trying not to cry.
A little while later, the sound of a car horn sounded outside. The front door opened and closed. Lucien must be getting his taxi now. Jean took the pillow he'd slept on and pressed it over her face, hiding from the pain by breathing in the smell of him.
The bedroom door opened, and she looked up. Lucien was there, fully dressed, looking rather desperate. He crossed to her bed and leaned down, kissing her. "Wait for me," he begged.
Jean threw her arms around his neck and kissed him deeply, one last time. One final time to sustain her for the rest of her life. Yes, she would wait for him. Even if he never came back. She knew she would always wait for him.