The Life She Wanted: A Novel(77)

She would learn so much working at the atelier in Paris.

Pandora took an envelope from her purse. “I can tell you’re homesick, and I don’t expect you to stay. I bought your ticket for an August passage.”

Sally arranged the blankets in Esme’s crib.

“I miss my family. But I can’t let some French nanny teach Esme her alphabet, and it will do Tommy good to miss me. I’ll stay as long as you need me.”

Pandora hugged Sally. “I’m glad. Esme and I would be lost without you.”

Sally hugged her back, and a smile lit up her features. “I’ll return the ticket in the morning. I have an intuition about this kind of thing. One day, you’re going to be a famous sportswear designer. Esme will be so proud of you.”





Maurice wasn’t at dinner. Pandora found him afterward, in the room that served as a library and writing room. Novels were crammed next to a row of encyclopedias on the bookshelf, and there was a walnut desk with an old-fashioned inkwell.

Maurice glanced up from the desk. His eyes were hooded, and his brow creased in a frown. Pandora rarely saw Maurice in a dark mood. He was always humming while mixing a salad in the kitchen or singing as he rode off on his bicycle.

“I’ve been rereading Stendhal,” he said, taking a book from the small pile on the desk. “The Red and the Black is one of the finest examples of French literature. It’s about one man’s bravery during the Napoleonic wars.”

“I haven’t read him,” Pandora commented, sitting in a chair opposite him. “There never seems time to read. The days fly by.”

“I saw you going into the shipping office this afternoon.” He returned the book to the pile. “I thought these last two months were leading to something. Apparently, I was wrong.”

Pandora’s heart thudded in her chest. She and Maurice had never discussed a future. Still, she couldn’t deny that she was attracted to him. He was charming and sophisticated; she found those hazel eyes and the dimple on his cheek irresistible.

“I’m not going to America,” Pandora announced. “Jean Patou offered to let me train at his atelier in Paris. Sally, Esme, and I leave for Paris next month.”

“Paris can be humid in the summer, and the American tourists are unbearable,” Maurice said thoughtfully. “They think the only two places to see are the Eiffel Tower and the Louvre. Other sections of Paris during the summer are charming. The cafés in Montmartre are full of artists, and the outdoor markets sell peaches and apricots. I’ll visit; we’ll have picnics in the countryside.”

Something moved inside Pandora. She didn’t know if it was the way Maurice looked at her, the frown replaced by an eager smile, or how he seemed relieved that she wasn’t going to America. She stood up and walked around the desk.

“We still have a month,” she reminded him. “I don’t want to wait any longer.”

Maurice’s voice was thick. “What are you saying?”

Pandora didn’t answer. Instead, she leaned down and kissed him. His mouth tasted of cigarettes and brandy. She kissed him harder, and he stood up and wrapped his arms around her.

“Pandora, I want you so much.” He groaned when she pulled away to catch her breath.

“I want you too.” She nodded. “Now, tonight.”

Maurice kissed her again, pinning her against the desk. Her body leaned into his, her heart beating so fast, she thought it might burst.

“Not here, not like this,” he whispered into her hair. He took her hand, and together they climbed the staircase. Maurice’s guest room was in the back, facing the garden. He pushed open the door and drew her inside. She started fumbling with her blouse, but he stopped her.

“We must take it slowly,” he instructed.

He pulled out a chair and motioned for her to sit down. His fingers reached under her skirt and traveled down her thighs. A low, guttural sound escaped her mouth, and she bit her lip, embarrassed. Maurice stopped long enough to kiss her. Then his hands resumed their journey, rolling down her stockings and leaving them pooled at her ankles. She tried to drag him up so he would kiss her again. Instead, he buried his head between her thighs. Suddenly, hot waves came over her, and she gripped the sides of the chair. It was only when the shuddering subsided, and she again became aware of her surroundings, that she dared to meet Maurice’s eyes.

“Come.” He took her hand. “Now we move to the bed.”

He undressed her first, unbuttoning her blouse and stopping to caress her breasts. Her nipples were hard against his fingers, and she found herself thrusting them forward, desperate for him to take them in his mouth. He kissed each breast separately and then unhooked her skirt.

She sat on the bed, watching him take off his shirt. His chest was a deep, dark tan, the color of almonds. Dark hair grew over his stomach. His thighs, when he took off his pants, reminded her of a drawing she once saw of Michelangelo’s David.

“Lie down,” he said, pushing away the pillows. “Stay perfectly still.”

Pandora did as he instructed. She waited for him to climb on top of her the way Harley had, but instead he lay beside her. With one hand, he stroked her thighs, with the other, he made small circles around her breasts. Every time the pleasure grew too great and she squirmed away, he whispered in her ear and begged her not to move.