Christiane
Chapter 1
The first time she walked into his bar she was with another woman, both of them immaculately dressed and perfectly groomed, not a hair out of place, make-up impeccable. The table they chose was directly in his eye line, and it was easy to watch her surreptitiously while appearing to be engrossed in his own conversation.
The two spoke in low voices with lots of gestures and although he couldn't hear the actual words there was something which instantly marked them out as 'foreign'. By which he supposed he meant not English and not South African, he thought wryly. He was suddenly transported back to a long weekend in Paris with his then wife and his fascination with the beautiful svelte women who sat outside boulevard cafes smoking long elegant cigarettes, the epitome of sophistication and glamour. What was supposed to be a romantic weekend designed to get their marriage back on track had soured somewhat when he'd developed an incurable case of wandering eye.
That was it, he decided. The air of sophistication, the body-language, even the way her hair was perfectly coiffed. She was French, he was almost certain of it. He continued to admire her from a distance, not thinking she'd even noticed him until the two women got up to leave and she paused, catching his eye and holding his gaze for a long moment. He caught his breath and then she flashed him a little conspiratorial smile, and he knew immediately that she'd been aware of his inspection the whole time and his interest was reciprocated. As she sashayed gracefully towards the stairs he drank in her long legs and the subtle sway of her hips, well aware of the subliminal message she was sending out. She'd be back.
xxxxxx
A few days later he was idly polishing glasses, his attention caught by something in the newspaper spread out on the bar in front of him. It was mid-afternoon, the time when he often had the place to himself, so he was surprised when his skin prickled and he had the distinct sense he was being watched. Glancing up, his eyes widened and his heart beat faster when he realised he wasn't alone: she'd already slipped onto a nearby bar stool, an enigmatic smile playing around her lips. She was as immaculate as he remembered and he felt a sudden urge to ruffle her, wondering what her hair would look like spread out in a dark cloud over his pillow. He shook himself mentally and strolled over to serve her.
"You came back, then?"
"Oui. I like it here. It is … masculine and yet not intimidating. "
He swallowed. The combination of that alluring accent and her pouting lips was threatening to undo him entirely.
"We aim to please."
He held her gaze, knowing what a powerful weapon his eyes could be when it came to the game of seduction, pleased to detect a slight flush in her cheeks.
"So. What's your pleasure, ma'am?"
She arched one perfectly shaped brow, deliberately pausing for just a beat too long.
"To drink?"
He braced his hands on the bar and leant in closer, her perfume surrounding him with subtle notes of vanilla and musk.
"What else?"
His mouth said one thing but he knew very well his expression was hinting at something entirely different.
"In that case, a glass of champagne would be very welcome."
As he made to turn away she covered his hand with her own, her touch sending a flicker of electricity skittering across his skin.
"French, s'il vous plait."
He smiled.
"Of course."
He sensed her eyes lingering on his face while he expertly poured the ice cold Verve Clicqout, pausing for a second to let the bubbles settle.
"Would you care to join me? A woman should never drink alone."
"Don't mind if I do."
Raising their glasses, they inspected one another over the rim.
"What shall we drink to?"
He thought for a second.
"Chance encounters?"
She smiled, her gaze blatantly dropping to his mouth and back up again.
"Bien sur. And new friendships."
"Bottoms up."
They sipped their champagne, and Quinn topped their glasses off before speaking again.
"So. What brings you to South Africa?"
She gave a Gallic shrug.
"My husband is a diplomat. We go where we are sent."
He nodded in understanding.
"And are you happy?"
"Being here? Or with life in general?"
"Both."
She savoured another sip and then looked him straight in the eye.
"Cape Town is a beautiful city."
He waited for her to continue but her lengthy silence spoke volumes. As did the fact that she had come to the bar alone to seek him out.
"My name is Christiane, by the way."
She held out a perfectly manicured hand and he took it, raising it to his lips.
"Je m'appelle Blake. That's about all I can remember from school."
"In that case, it's fortunate that my English is fairly passable."
"True. And it sounds so wonderfully seductive when you speak it."
He had a sudden vision of her in the throes of passion, her voice husky with desire as she encouraged and demanded, cajoled and pleaded in her native tongue, and his trousers were suddenly too tight. She smiled flirtatiously at him and he knew she was well aware of the effect she was having on his rampant libido.
"For myself, I find an English accent outrageously sexy. You could read me the telephone directory for Pretoria and it would still make my knees go weak."
"I'll bear that in mind …"
Her tongue flicked out to rescue a stray drop of champagne from her lower lip and he couldn't tear his gaze away, instinctively clenching his fists in an attempt to stay in control. This woman was sexual dynamite, any more of this teasing and he'd be locking the door and taking her roughly over the bar. Maybe she realised, because she drained the final drops from her glass and placed it on the bar in front of her, reaching for her purse.
"And now I must go. How much do I owe you?"
He trapped her small hand under his much bigger one and their gazes locked, both of them seeing their own hunger reflected in the other's eyes.
"It's on the house."
"Thank you. It seems I find myself in your debt."
He leant in close, his eyes gleaming, his face inches from hers.
"Oh, I'm sure I can think of several ways you could pay me back …"
As she slipped off the bar stool, she whispered huskily in his ear.
"And I'm sure it would be a pleasure."
All the blood in his body rushed straight to his groin.
"Will I see you again?"
She turned back, flashing him a seductive smile.
"Oh, I think we both know the answer to that one, don't we?"
xxxxxx
Two days later an envelope marked 'private and confidential' arrived, addressed only to 'Blake'. Inside was a business card for one of the better hotels in town and written on the back was a date, a time and a room number.
.
xxxxxx
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