Untouched by His Diamonds

‘I’ve made myself memorable, then, Clementine.’ His voice was warm, as if the day had pleased and mellowed him as well as her.

‘I can’t imagine anything more perfect. I can’t imagine I’ll ever forget this for as long as I live.’ She made a sound and screwed up her eyes. ‘Oh, Lord, I can’t believe I said that. I sound so gauche.’

The champagne had loosened her tongue. She was at the end of her second glass, Serge noted, amused.

‘You sound very sweet,’ he replied.

‘Worse!’ She laughed. ‘Believe me, Slugger, no woman wants to be described as sweet.’

‘Incredibly sexy, then.’ He plucked the goblet from her hand and slid his hands down over her hips. ‘Time for bed, Clementine.’

‘It’s still very early, Serge,’ she teased.

‘Yes, but we’ll be having a long night,’ he replied.

He was incredibly skilled, Clementine thought the next morning, as she ate her egg and drank her orange juice on the bedroom balcony and gazed out over the dark forest that shielded the château from the main highway. Once the kings of France had ridden here to hounds, when much of this pastureland had been forest. Serge had told her yesterday afternoon as they explored the grounds. They shared a love of history, along with so much else. He was the best company she’d ever had.

It all went far beyond the sex, which was skilled, but not what she wanted. Not any more. He had been almost driven last night to choreograph everything that occurred between them. Careful was another word that came to mind. He was also romantic in a formal sense, as if searching for ways to please her out of a catalogue of ‘What Women Like’. But she knew how different it could be between them when he allowed himself to let go, to feel something other than sexual gratification. It would have been her best birthday present—she would have forgone everything else: château, earrings, the perfection of the day—for just a few moments when she felt once more like a part of him. But it wasn’t to be, and she had no idea how to change that.

‘Serge …’ she said out loud.

He wandered out to join her, fully dressed in slightly formal attire, as if their returning to Paris merited a modicum of style. Clementine felt a little underdressed beside him in her robe, hair unbrushed, but she had a pretty chiffon layered frock to wear today, and she was wearing her birthday earrings.

Was it her imagination or was he a trifle distant this morning? He’d been up before she had even woken, and the echo of that morning in New York had passed through her before she’d remembered how perfect the last few days had been and how unnecessary it was to worry.

‘What is it, kisa?’

‘Can we talk about last night?’ She moistened her lips. ‘It was amazing, but—is there something I should be doing? Something you want from me?’

Serge had gone very still. In the process of pulling up a chair to sit opposite her, he instead pushed the chair in and stood behind it, looking down at her. It rather put her at a disadvantage.

‘What do you think you should be doing, Clementine?’

‘I—I don’t know. You can just seem a little—distant sometimes—when we’re together—and I want to—talk about it.’

He picked up a piece of toast. ‘Yes, well, dushka, some things can be talked to death. If I wanted a professional in my bed I’d pay one.’

She took a breath. Okay, he was sensitive about this. ‘I wasn’t talking about technique,’ she told the salt shaker. ‘I was talking about emotions. We don’t seem to connect in that way any more.’

He made a gesture of impatience and walked back into the room. ‘You’re talking in riddles, Clementine. What’s the problem? Endless climaxes not enough?’

‘It’s not about that.’ Why was he getting angry?

She understood men could be touchy about these things, so she stood up and went to him, slid her arms around his waist from behind, laid her cheek against his back. He didn’t reciprocate, but he didn’t shrug her off either.

‘Sex isn’t just about an orgasm, Serge. You know that as well as I do.’

His whole body seemed to grow, harden, pull away from her, but she held on.

‘Da, kisa—it is. Between us it is.’

And just like that the bottom fell out of her world.

‘What?’ She gave a nervous little laugh and her arms slid from his waist as he literally stepped away from her.

‘Clementine,’ he said gently, but he didn’t reach for her, ‘this is all very romantic—Paris, dropping out of the world for a while—but we have always had just a sexual relationship. You are an incredible girl, and I’m a very lucky man, but it doesn’t go any further than this.’