He lifted his head again, his eyes narrowed. She could tell right away that she’d made a mistake. He looked mortally offended. As if she’d just impugned his honor as a lover and a Frenchman. “What do you mean? Do you not like how I make love to you?”
“Of course I do!” she exclaimed vehemently. “It’s just that I’m a little tired—”
Wrong thing to say. He released her as if she were a... box of pink wine. His expression held the coldness that reminded her of his friend Jean Paul’s. “Go to bed, then. But it won’t be with me until you figure out whether you want that. All in—isn’t that how you Americans say it? But you better figure it out fast. I went out on a branch for you, but there are plenty of others who can take your place.”
Limb, not branch. But she didn’t correct him. She’d never seen him so angry. But what was he talking about? “Julien, wait!”
But it was too late. He stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
•••
It was after midnight when Annie realized that she was going to have to find Julien and apologize. In addition to being sensitive, he apparently had a stubborn streak. As that was a character trait she understood, she figured it was up to her to make it right—even though she hadn’t really done anything wrong.
But she was feeling guilty, suspecting that her less-than-amorous response to Julien might have more to do with her illicit thoughts about Captain Dan than she wanted to admit.
She didn’t know what had come over her; she never should have blurted out her request like that. It was easy to see how Julien had taken it the wrong way. She hadn’t been rejecting him or criticizing his lovemaking... exactly. She’d just wanted a little more “rip off the clothes” and not quite as much “romance.”
He’d clearly overreacted—and she didn’t appreciate his threat to find another woman to “replace” her if that was what he meant by that strange comment—but guilt propelled her to throw on jeans and a sweatshirt, head down into the still-crowded bar, where Sergio and Marie told her Julien had gone down to the camp with Jean Paul and some of the others, and venture out into the cool, starry night.
She sighed at the fresh brace of air. She could definitely getused to this. She loved how the temperature dropped at night here even in the summer. Because she had only lived in the South—Florida, Georgia, South Carolina and Louisiana—it was a new experience for her. Summer in the South meant hot and humid—day or night. Although at this time of year, Scotland didn’t have much night. Even though it was after midnight, the sun had set only a couple of hours ago, and would rise again in about four hours. It never really got that dark in the summer—it was more like perpetual twilight.
Unfortunately, despite the more temperate weather, she hadn’t escaped bugs. Instead of annoying mosquitoes, the Isle of Lewis had midges—which might even be worse. The dreaded things had swarmed them on their walk back from the restaurant earlier in the evening.
Conscious of the late hour, and used to big cities, where walking alone at night was never a good idea, Annie hurried down the waterfront street toward the ferry building. She had to go past a bar with a few men standing around smoking outside, but other than stare a little too long for politeness’ sake, they didn’t bother her. Her confident smile and bold “Hi” had done the trick, making them turn away like startled rabbits. Objects weren’t supposed to talk.
Still, her heart was beating a little fast by the time she reached the makeshift campground and started to look around for Julien in the throng of activists. There were probably around a hundred people here now. Her nose wrinkled. From the stench, most of them seemed to enjoy smoking pot. It was a part of activist culture—which definitely leaned toward hippie—but drugs had never been her thing.
Tents filled most of the cement parking lot, but in the center a large area had been left as a communal area for cooking and eating. To one side was a large fire pit—ironically fashioned out of an old oil drum—with blankets, cheap lawn chairs, and a few ratty pieces of upholstered furniture probably recycled from a Dumpster strewn around it.
It took her a while to find Julien. With good reason. He and Jean Paul were off to the side seated opposite each other at a picnic table where the light from the fire didn’t quite reachthem. But she recognized the shadowy profiles of the two men. What she didn’t recognize, however, was the third profile. The third profile that was bent very close to Julien’s and belonged to a woman. The three of them appeared to be deep in conversation.
Thick as thieves.
Annie felt her skin prickle. There was something about the intensity of the conversation that made her uneasy. What were they talking about? And who was the blond-haired woman who was practically sitting on Julien’s lap?
It couldn’t be what Annie was thinking. But there was something intimate about the way they sat together that didn’t feel right.
The woman inhaled from a cigarette before tapping the ash into a soda can. Annie didn’t miss the three bottles of wine and the half-full glasses that were next to them. They’d obviously been here for some time. To Annie’s surprise, the woman passed the cigarette to Julien. He took a long drag before handing it back as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Since when did he smoke?
Strangely it was the sight of Julien smoking rather than the proximity of and the apparent intimacy with the woman that upset her. He’d told her he didn’t smoke. Like her, he’d claimed to have a grandmother who died of lung cancer. Had he lied to her or was there another explanation?
As much as Annie wanted to storm over there and confront him, she forced herself to take a few deep breaths before she made her way around the bonfire.
“Make it happen,” she heard the woman say as she approached the table from behind Julien and the woman. “I have faith in your persuasive abilities.”
Something about the way she said “persuasive” made Annie’s breath catch. Jean Paul, who was opposite her, looked up at the sound.
Clearly her sudden appearance had startled him. His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Overhear anything interesting, Mademoiselle Henderson?”
She didn’t like the way he was looking at her—or his threatening tone. He made it seem as if she were intentionally spying on them. She hadn’t intended to overhear anything. It was they who’d been too caught up in their conversation to notice her.
So much for trying to give Julien’s teacher another chance. She didn’t like him.
But she wasn’t going to let him bully her. She gave him an overly cheeky smile. “Not yet, but don’t stop on my account. You all seemed enthralled by something.” Julien and the woman next to him had turned to stare at her as soon as Jean Paul spoke. Annie turned to the woman, who was older than her long blond hair had suggested. Late thirties or maybe even forty. But whatever number, she was striking, with the ageless beauty afforded by good bone structure. “We haven’t met,” she said to her. “I’m Annie.”
“Sofie,” the other woman said, briefly meeting her gaze in the dim light before turning back to Julien. “Your boyfriend has been telling me all about you.”
