There was a certain smell about old hotels. The smell of dust on the carpet in the hallway was musty, giving one the unsettling realization that thousands of feet had walked over it. The wallpaper in this hotel had a flower pattern that was vaguely familiar, the colors were faded out a bit and the paper curled around the edges. There were signed pictures on the walls of celebrities who had once stayed at this hotel. A reminder that at some point in time, this had to have been a classy place, although one was entitled to forget that when noticing the steep, uneven staircase and the inconvenient lack of an elevator.

In the hotel suite on the top floor however, the dusty smell of the hallway was nowhere to be found. Clarisse stood in front of the open windows and inhaled the fresh scent of the French evening air, feeling how the oxygen revitalized her brain. Her robe and nightgown swayed a bit in the moving wind. The smell of pine trees enveloped her and she heaved another deep sigh, closing her eyes while doing so.

She had opened the Children's Center of Marseille earlier that day, a place she helped finance. It hadn't been her choice to attend the grand opening, she would have preferred to stay in the shadows, but the founders had insisted she come. Nothing would please the children more they had said. So how could she refuse?

The party she had to attend as well this evening, held to celebrate all they had accomplished, had been delightful, yet a bit of a strain as well. Having to smile her way through yet another night and another stream of people had worn her out. But, she couldn't deny, she wouldn't have been so exhausted in the first place if she hadn't been avoiding the subject that was about to rob her from another night's sleep.

Staying in this particular hotel had been her choice, even though the founders of the children's center had been willing to provide her a stay in the most luxurious hotel in town. She had refused; somehow it didn't feel right to bathe in wealth after having witnessed dozens of children in need. Besides, she had spent a lot of nights here in the past, back in her youth when her parents took her on vacation. It brought back an unbelievable flood of memories to look outside and see the pine trees waving in the cool evening breeze.

Yes, she could enjoy the view and then head to bed. She had every intention of doing so, but there was this uneasy sensation in the back of her neck, a prickling feeling that caused her to turn her head slightly.

There it was, made from solid wood. The broken white paint was crackled a bit. The wobbly handle not made from iron but from copper. But the lock was clicked perfectly into place.

One door. She shook her head as she kept staring at it. One door was all it took. One door to open. One door to close behind her forever.

She had been staring at this door, and so many doors similar to this one, numerous times before. That hard wooden door that hid a certain private suite in her own palace was her least favorite one – she had stood in front of it too many times to count. Looking for her source of light. Looking for Joseph.

Once again he had been with her all throughout the day, as always offering her security and support where needed. Staying in the shadows, yet ever so much present when that painful moment came this afternoon when a child climbed on her lap at the reception – a little boy named Philippe. Joseph had been there for her, a soft squeeze on her shoulder letting her know that he understood. She had welcomed his touch, as usual.

Posing for the press came afterwards; how she loathed moments like that. Flashes of light blinded her while photographers screamed at her to turn this or that way, to smile or not to smile, or to shake the hand of God knows who.

Joseph had guided her away from the press, had blocked people from approaching her and she had used that moment to thank him again for being there for her. It had been such a brief moment between them, but she could see that her own emotions were mirrored in the deep shade of his eyes. Feelings of warmth, gratitude and more – how much more she was afraid to learn.

During the party he had cheered her up, making her laugh uncontrollably even though she had to remain professional. They had danced, oh how they had danced, and she had felt on top of the world. Right there and then, the world had seemed perfect and he felt it too, that much was evident. They had spoken without words. And then suddenly, he was gone.

She frowned and moved her eyes towards the door again. Suddenly he had gone.

She shouldn't try to find out why he had left, some doors were meant to be shut forever, locked in chains that were their own, sealed shut by fate itself. There were hundreds of reasons to stay in her suite and not a single one for her to do what she was about to do.

And yet...

She shivered, taking a few tentative steps closer. The door seemed even more solid when standing inches away from it. Her knock started out softly, almost insecure, so she put more pressure to it. With her breath high in her chest she waited until she heard the familiar click on the other side. A bolt of lightning shot through her, realizing what she was about to do, realizing she was putting herself on display. But she had made her decision, she had to follow up on it now and, in spite of her great anxiety, she smiled in delight when the door opened. There he was. Joseph.

"Hello."

His tone was short, sounding as if he wasn't surprised to have her standing here right in front of him.

"Hello to you," she nodded, her knees felt unsteady so she sought support from the wooden frame of the doorpost.

He stood before her, wearing black sweat pants and a fairly new fitted T-shirt, the short sleeves emphasizing his strong arms. Usually her eyes would be drawn to them, but there was something else that put her on guard tonight; that made her alert and wary. It was the uncertain look in his eyes, a sort of darkness mirroring behind them. It was how he let his gaze slide across her face, never stopping, as if he were trying to focus, but not succeeding.

It was his attitude, a bit aloof but oddly surrendering at the same time. But mostly, it was his smell, a vaguely sweet, unfamiliar smell that surrounded him. As she looked past him inside the room, the reason for it occurred to her before her eyes had time to confirm it in her mind.

His room was a shrill contrast to her own large luxurious suite. The drapes were dark brown, heavy and unwelcoming, shutting the world out. The carpet felt thick and comfortable underneath her bare feet, yet it was uneven, as if someone had mowed the lawn and had left off a few places. The atmosphere of the room was dark and dusty, smelling like old tobacco and a hint of cologne. Maybe Joseph had sprayed a little to cover up the musty scent of the building. His bed was neatly made and clean, the pillows however were standing against the headboard of the bed. Letting her gaze slide over the sheets, his pillows, and the little dent in the middle of the mattress, she then noticed the large glass on his nightstand; halfway filled with a gold colored liquid. As she suspected, Joseph had indeed been drinking, the realization both surprised and unnerved her.

"Can't sleep?" he asked as she met his gaze again. He didn't wait for her answer but turned around to walk back into his bedroom. As if he had expected her.

She hesitated, even though she had made the decision to come here, suddenly it felt like an intrusion to follow him. Yet clearly it was what he expected her to do. Somehow he was behaving like someone else, rather than her loyal chief of security, the man she had grown so close to over the years. Granted, he ceased being just part of her staff a long time ago. But there was something different in the way he was sitting down on his bed and looking at her with an uncertain glint in his eye.

"You? Still up I see?" she asked.

"Very perceptive," he nodded. "But then again, I never sleep until three am."

"So your boss puts a strain on you then," she said, folding her arms and leaning against the wall. As he turned to get his glass, she noticed his small smile. It made her smile, too.

"Must be some lady, huh?"

He chuckled, he couldn't help it, but his laugh faded out as he turned his head to meet her eyes. She was looking at him from across the room, wearing a floor length robe, made of sheer white satin. As always, it was a perfect fit, tight around her chest line, dropping smoothly from her waist down. A smooth white ribbon, made of the finest, most delicate lace was tightly tied in her waist, emphasizing her figure. And right where her robe came together on her chest, he could see a glimpse of her nightgown underneath, made from the same shiny fabric. The chest line was round, perfectly supporting her natural curves and by the looks of it, it was embroidered with tiny pearls and glass beads. They sparkled ever so slightly whenever she moved.

He looked away. It hurt him physically to see her like this, the temptation she posed to him. The temptation she had always posed to him. And yet, he could never say a word.

She would have to be the one to come closer. It always had been this way.

"You have no idea," he simply said.

To her surprise he said nothing else, instead he was twirling his glass so the ice tinkled against the crystal. Somehow the silence felt uncomfortable, a feeling she hadn't yet experienced with this man. One of the things they did so well together was enjoy the peace and quiet. Silence between them was usually soothing, calming. This silence didn't feel as peaceful at all.

"What are you having?" she asked as he took a sip.

"No idea, some sort of French Scotch that I had sent up from the hotel bar," he answered, lowering his glass. Then, as he looked up, that small smile reappeared on his lips and he raised his glass at her. "Would you like some?"

Already inhaling to say no, she suddenly stopped herself. There was something in his voice, that hint of mocking amusement, which made her change her mind. He was daring her she realized. Her eyes narrowed as she noticed the glint in his eyes. Was he really challenging her, to take a step beyond her restrictions? Was she projecting perhaps? Did she want him to ask her to come closer towards him?

"Why not."

If he was surprised at her response, he didn't let her in on it, and he left his hand dangling in mid air – his glass pointed her way.

She took a few steps closer and accepted his glass without any comment. It was oddly intimate, sharing his glass. As she tilted her head back to empty it, and immediately swallowed the ice-cold fluid, she felt tears stinging into her eyes. The scotch was strong, momentarily burning away her insides, and she couldn't say that she thoroughly enjoyed the bittersweet taste. The warm sensation it left behind was pleasant though. An ice cube stayed behind as she lowered the glass, cooling her mouth. Her tongue played with the ice, turning it round and round inside her until it had melted away.

Keeping his eyes fixated on her, he formed his hands into fists. This wasn't even subtle anymore. Clarisse knew exactly what she was doing, and who she was doing this for. And it drove him insane.

To say this was the first time that something similar had occurred between them wasn't the truth, far from it actually. He had found himself in situations like this before, feeling as if he was stranded on a deserted island and was only allowed to listen to the life he'd left behind through a distorted radio signal. Being allowed to speak, but not confront her. Wanting to touch, but forced to look. Having to wait. Always waiting that extra moment.

"Thank you," she finally said as she licked her lips and met his gaze again. It was strange, but somehow she felt as if she didn't know this man who was looking at her from his bed. His eyes were dark and loaded with an emotion she couldn't quite read.
"I don't think I've ever seen you drinking before," she said, handing him back the empty glass.

He kept looking at her body, covered with that white satin that lit up the darkness yet only fed his frustration. After slight hesitation he spoke. "There's a first time for everything."

Her eyes narrowed as she looked at him. His hands were playing with the coaster that had been lying on the nightstand.

Suddenly, as if someone cut an invisible wire, they fell into a discussion that seemed to be a continuance of something that had been spoken about earlier.

"Where were you?"

"When?"

"Just now. After the party."

He refilled his glass. "Off to my room."

She came closer. "Without telling me?"

"Without having to tell you, apparently." He waved his hand at her, pointing out that her current location made that fact obvious.

Choosing to ignore his cynism, she continued. "You left me alone."

He shook his head. "You weren't alone."

He was right about that. Truth was, her ladies maids had accompanied her as she climbed up the stairs to her suite. There had been absolutely no need for him to be with her, yet his presence was missed dreadfully. Like any other night he wasn't with her. Especially tonight. Her voice changed, got softer as she took a tentative step closer.
"I suppose it felt alone."

Inhaling deeply, he closed his eyes. He simply wasn't able to look at her any longer. Hearing her say those words shook him to the core. All night long he had felt it tingling in the air, like sizzling champagne. He had felt it in the deepest corners of his body, the way she smiled at him or touched him, his shoulder or his hands. She had danced with him, cheek to cheek, her hand firmly in his, their skin separated only by her silk glove. His body had reacted to her presence in a way he hadn't been able to deny. He knew she had felt it, he knew she had seen the desire in his eyes. He knew that she knew. And so he did what seemed the right and only thing to do. He left as soon as possible. But now she was here, seemingly unable to let him go.

As if she realized what he was contemplating, her voice came traveling towards him through the loaded air. "Joseph, what's wrong?"

He shook his head. "Nothing."

She swallowed. "Look at me, please."

He obeyed, how could he not? And when he looked he saw exactly what he had been so fearful of seeing. That look of hers. That tempting, flirtatious, dark - dare he say it -, erotic look that, the few times that he had been allowed to see it, had left him speechless, full of desire and longing. Damn her.

Despite his nonchalant act when she came in, once again her presence rocked his world upside down. He had gone down this path so many times before and he had become an expert in hiding his feelings for her. But he felt it all right; he had never stopped feeling it.

As he stared at her gracious collar bones, the roundness of her chest, her slim posture and the sheer white fabric of her robe with the thin nightgown hiding beneath it, he felt his head spin. He had often felt as if he was standing on a cliff and any movement would undeniably kill him. Right now, the cliff he was standing on seemed to crumble away underneath him. But this time he had to act, rather than staying motionless, in order not to fall.

"You left for a reason, didn't you?" she whispered.

Her deep blue eyes pierced right into his, begging him to be honest, and he held his breath; this was more than even he could handle. His heart was racing in his chest, rushing his blood through his entire being. Feeding the desire that already was unbearable. "Yes I did," he said. Then, after slight hesitation a slight, sad smile appeared on his face. She had to return the honesty she seemed to be demanding from him. "And you know why I left."