He stood up and looked at her with his dark, fawnlike eyes.
“Come sit down, I’ve been waiting.” The waiter in the white jacket pulled out the chair for her.
“I wasn’t sure you’d come. Finally I can breathe easier.” He snapped his fingers in the direction of the waiter and ordered a bottle of champagne.
She laughed and he smiled. A full set of broad, white teeth she hadn’t remembered when they had spoken so intimately in her apartment.
“You must realize by now, women find flattery hard to resist,” she teased.
“I was not lying when I wrote that our first encounter restoredsomething in me. It is not easy to find such scintillating conversation in the military.”
“Don’t your brothers-in-arms speak adoringly of the wood and shades of varnish of their pistols? I’ve heard some are quite beautiful, with inlays of amber and tortoiseshell...”
“Ah, and now you tease me, Madame de Florian.”
Again, she laughed. “I don’t mean to mock you. I’m happy to have the chance to have dinner with a gentleman and an officer.”
He smiled.
“Well, I’m equally delighted. It’s a rare occasion that I have the opportunity to dine with a woman, much less one of such beauty and sophistication. And one that obviously selects the colors of her dress the way a painter chooses his pigments.”
He reached underneath the table, to touch her thigh through the silk.
“Peacock blue,” he said. “A perfect choice to offset the red in your hair.”
How she loved that he shared her language of color. Their flirting was a dance with all the right artistic notes, just as it had once been with Boldini. But this time the romantic chemistry was as strong as it first was with Charles. As Marthe sat across from the young major, her imagination took hold of her. She saw in her mind’s eye her fingers running through his dark, black curls. She saw him unbuttoning her dress. She saw him sliding her black slip from her shoulder, before unlacing her corset and peeling off her final layer, her chemise. She could see herself standing naked in front of him, waiting for his touch. All this while sitting across from him sipping champagne.
“I am nearly old enough to be your mother,” she whispered, her lips coming closer to his ear. Beneath the table, she now squeezed his hand.
“Beauty is infinite. It has no age,” he whispered as he leaned in to her.
She felt the heat of his fingers, and her skin tingled at his touch.
“How long are you in Paris?” Marthe asked. Her hand now moved toward his trousers.
“Sadly, only the weekend.” She could see him struggling to maintain an expression of control. “As you know, we are in the middle of a great war.”
She closed her eyes. She wanted desperately to pretend the war did not exist. She wanted only to focus on the pleasure, no matter how fleeting it was.
“A short reprieve, then?” She smiled.
“Yes, too short, I’m afraid.”
“Then we must make the most of our time together, Major.” Her eyes came alive, and beneath the table, she caressed him yet again.
***
Their flirtation escalated as the hours passed. Marthe circled around him, not knowing whether to unleash herself or bridle her passion deep inside. How wonderful it felt to be desired by someone so much younger and with such dark, handsome looks.
She could hardly believe he could desire a mature woman who was closer in age to his mother than a lover should be.
So, after they shared a plate of oysters, dined on roast chicken, and ended with two pots de crème so dark and sinful, she knew there would be no better way to end the evening than to take him back to her butterfly bed.
He stood there undressing her in her bedroom, just as he had in her imagination hours before.
The dress was unfastened. The slip was removed, the satin laces of her corset untied, and finally he took off her chemise. Only then did the major take two firm hands around her waist, and lift her toward the bed.
***
