Читать книгу A Paris Affair - Adelaide Cole - Страница 6

The day before their departure, Valérie was packing Philippe’s and the children’s bags for their holiday in Bretagne. She was going through a mental checklist of what they would need for their beach days when the cell phone rang.

She walked into the hallway, found her bag and dug through it for her phone. “Yes, hello!”

“Valérie?”

“Yes?”

“You don’t recognize my voice? Of course, it’s been so long. It’s Oscar from New York….”

“Oscar…Nathalie’s friend? Yes, of course…Oscar, how are you? It’s been a long time.”

“Yes, it has, but I had such a nice time at that dinner, and I’ve never forgotten you both. How is your husband, your children?”

“Fine, fine. Are you here in France?”

“I am. That’s why I’m calling. I’m in Paris for a few days. We had such a nice dinner in New York, so I got your number here from Nathalie. She told me you had moved back. I was going to ask if you and Philippe could meet me for supper while I’m in the city.”

Valérie was stunned to be getting this call. Her heart began to pound and she started to sweat. Thank God this was over the telephone and not in person! She had to concentrate in order to keep her voice sounding offhanded and light. Oscar, of all people! During their Los Angles posting a few years back, Philippe and Valérie had flown to New York to visit Valérie’s sister. Nathalie had married a New Yorker, and worked as a private French tutor for firms that did business abroad. Oscar was a senior manager in an international sports federation, and needed to be multilingual, since their business was done around the world. He became one of her students, and eventually a friend, and had been a guest at the dinner party.

Valérie was instantly attracted to him. She had been seated across from him and they’d chatted throughout the meal, which his wife hadn’t attended. Oscar was not a big man, maybe 5’6”—which accounted for his talent at soccer when he was young—but she liked his size, and beneath his sharp business suit his build seemed compact, lithe and muscular. She’d sensed a fierce sexuality under those executive clothes. He had light olive skin, and his face looked toned and angular. She even liked the shape of his neck, which made her wish he hadn’t been wearing a tie, so that she could peek at his chest.

She loved a man’s fit, lean torso, and how it made her eye travel down to his sex, and she still remembered that the lines of his shirt suggested he was strong and muscular. He sat comfortably, with his legs apart and his elbows resting on his thighs, and exuded the alpha confidence of an athlete. Philippe, though very attractive, was not particularly fit, and he held himself the way intellectuals and businessmen do, with their heads somehow disconnected from their bodies. But this man was different. She had felt that he was in his body, and that his mind and body were a powerful team. He had an aura that seemed to knock other men out of the room.