"It's beautiful," Edith said. Ned's fingers tightened on Nancy's and she wondered if he was remembering. Edith turned to Nancy. "You designed this?" Nancy nodded. "From memory." The cold line crept over her skin like ice water. She knew the question, could have mouthed it along with Edith. "And what made you remember a place like this?" "Oh, Ned and I..." "We spent some time in a place like this," Ned said. *We kissed and I took him back to my hotel room and told him I wasn't ready for a commitment while I was still shaking from his touch.* Iris ran her fingertips over a leaf. "Drew taste is excellent, isn't it," a faint smile on her face as she turned to her stepdaughter. "Oh, Carson's waving..." The grill had been delivered the previous day, and Ned made their lunch on it, much to Edith's delight. James and Carson were watching the game, drinking beers, and utterly unconcerned. Iris went back to look at the zen garden, after Ned and Edith went to check on the food. Nancy followed her back, the silence between them comfortable. "She looks at you..." Iris shook her head. "You weren't here," Nancy said. "Edith remembers Ned with a heart broken by my hand." "Is that okay with you?" Nancy shrugged. "I don't have much choice," she said, sitting down on the bench. "It's either that or mother to her grandchild." Iris looked over at her. "I can see it," she said. "If I thought someone felt that way about me, it would be a bit difficult to... maintain a healthy relationship." "Yeah, well, Ned's going to start looking for a child," Nancy said. "That should firm the relationship right up." "Aren't you two...?" Nancy shook her head. "Maybe we should go to doctors. But maybe he and I just weren't meant to have kids." "That would be a damn shame," Iris said. "He'd make beautiful babies." Nancy shrugged. "He's going to Asia in a few weeks, maybe he'll just find us a beautiful baby." Iris glanced over Nancy's shoulder and sighed dramatically. "Let's go save the guys from themselves." The meal passed without incident. Nancy kept her hand resting lightly on Ned's right thigh, as though drawing strength from him. She kept waiting for Edith to make an excuse to go upstairs, to make some comment about the nursery, but she did not. Nothing had happened, again. Carson made plans to meet Nancy the next time she had a lunch hour free. Iris gave Nancy a long hug before she left. James and Ned had tickets to the same game, so they would be attending the next weekend. Her briefcase was on the table. She had casefiles to be looking over before the morning. Instead she lay with her head cradled against Ned's thighs, staring at but not actually watching the game. A rare leftover hamburger sat cooling on the kitchen bar. During a commercial break she left the warmth of his lap and mechanically dressed the hamburger, cut it in half with a sharp knife, brought him an unopened beer. She handed over half of the burger without even asking if he wanted it. "Thanks," he said. George called Nancy's cell and she left the house, the sounds of chanting frustrated fans that echoed around their living room, walked out to the garden. "Wilder hired me. I'll be coming down to teach a few courses, in the summer, and if things work out they'll option me for the next school year." "That's great!" Nancy said, her body curled in on itself on the bench, as she looked down at the bobbing goldfish. "So when will you be back around here?" "Next month." "We should do something," Nancy said. Her eyes traced the calm surface of the water. "We should go sailing." "Where?" "Oh... I don't know. Maybe Maryland." George laughed. "Has Ned kept up with Andy all this time?" "Yep. I'm sure he wouldn't mind, what with that mansion he and Annabel have." "Hey, and if we're lucky maybe Bess can inflict her children on someone else for a weekend and go with us." "You gonna bring a date, too?" "Probably not," George said. "But who knows, maybe I can dig up someone in a month." The sun was setting as she walked back to the house, bare feet on cool grass. Ned was rummaging around in the refrigerator. "Hungry?" he asked. "No," she admitted, her hand resting on the writhing warmth of her belly. "When are you going to China?" "It's up to you whether I go," he reminded her, stacking sandwich supplies on the countertop. She closed her eyes, resting in a chair at the kitchen table. "Go," she said. "I'll stay with Bess. Bring back pictures of cute babies." He didn't make any noise for a moment, and she opened her eyes, to find his gaze steady on her face. "Nan," he said. "I mean it," she said, drawing the barely realized tears back before they even touched her eyes. He held her gaze for another minute, then opened the loaf of bread. "All right," he said. "You don't want to come with me?" She gazed out the window, into the gathering dark, at her empty garden. "Of course I do," she replied. "But you said you'd be busy the entire time." He sighed. "I will," he admitted. "If I go. But at least you'd be back in the hotel room to keep me warm." "Assuming I didn't get into any trouble," she said, her lips curving up in a smile. He grabbed a dishcloth off the counter and tossed it at her. "You'd better not," he said. She picked it up off the floor, where it had fallen short. "George says she's coming to stick around for a while, next month," she said. "Let's go to Maryland and stay with Andy." "I'll call him and see," Ned said. "Is this a family vacation?" Nancy ticked them off on her fingers. "You, me, George... think Bess and Nate, maybe?" "Long weekend," he said. "Andy might be more okay with that." He was deep in sandwich-making as she crossed the room, dishtowel still hanging from her fingertips. If he was serious... ahh yes, he was digging around in the cabinets for the sandwich press. He plugged it in, as she tossed the towel into the laundry room, and she slipped her arms around his waist. "Thanks," she said. He rested a hand over hers. "So you don't want me to bring you back a Chinese infant?" "Pictures," she said, softly. "Bring me back pictures of girls. I want a little girl." "Okay," he said. -- Domestic adoptions. He had researched it one day, on his laptop, with Nancy on the opposite end of the couch reaading a book, her cold toes curled under his thigh. The two of them had been married, legally, for under a year, even though when he tacked on the time they had started living together, it had been over a year. The marriage that only they and their witnesses acknowledged would have given them sufficient time to prove stability of the relationship, but they had spent the majority of that five-year span, nearly all of it, apart, irreconciled. The money wasn't the issue. The issue was that they had not been together long enough. When he added up in his head how long they had been dating, the idea seemed ludicrous, but a year and a half ago she had been a stranger to him. That was sobering. Even if they could have managed to sweet-talk some agency into handing over a child, he remembered the cases of fathers coming back years later to claim the children they hadn't even known existed. Father's rights were sticky. He had glanced over at his wife then, serene, her hair twisted up on her head, not a trace of makeup on her face, and had wished again that he could have the right to call some living breathing child theirs. His anger at her secretly planning to take the pill seemed almost ludicrous. Pill or not, every month it was the same. He wondered, again, if maybe it was him. If she wasn't pregnant by their second Christmas together, then he would at least know why. He'd subject himself to the tests, the prodding, the indelicate questions. But in the meantime... International children, especially Chinese, those abandoned by their parents, had little to prevent their adoption by American parents. So many of them were little girls. Nancy wanted the glossies, something she could hold in her hand, read a dossier, pick and choose who might come to their sunlit nursery. Ned, on his next trip, could see them in the flesh. That was, if the trip itself weren't going to be so packed. He sent off for an information packet, of children meeting Nancy's vague criteria, and had it delivered in her name. One night he had come in late, tie loose, having dragged himself away from the more insistent female population of the secretarial pool who said just one more drink wouldn't hurt. The presentations were almost ready for the conference, slides and figures and statistics and full-color handouts and he just wanted to draw a breath that wasn't laced with some cloying perfume. Not a spare inch of their bedspread was visible. She had arranged the papers, the gleaming photographs, in a mosaic monument to the lost, her robe half-hanging on one shoulder, her eyes bright. He dropped his briefcase, took off his coat. "They're beautiful," she said, with a sweep of her hand. "There are so many of them. We could have a little girl taking her first steps in this house, calling me her mother." He curled an arm around her, and at his touch she started slightly. "You want to go to sleep," she said, and started gathering the papers into her hands. "Nan, it's okay," he said. He stepped out of his clothes after she had stepped out of his embrace, putting the papers down on their dresser, flannel robe stretched against her skin. He pulled back the covers and slipped beneath, reaching around her waist to swing her in with him, feeling incredibly weary. "We'll make a pretty baby," he murmured, arms around her. She reached up and traced a fingertip over his lips. "Have," she said softly. "Sure," he replied. "Any one you want." -- The game ran late, traffic was terrible, he told her, not knowing she was curled like a cat in the papasan chair, in a square of sunlight, finger marking her place in the book while she talked to him. Anything in the world she wanted for dinner. She pondered for a second, and told him she wanted something Asian. With his father in the passenger seat, a tone in Ned's voice that Nancy knew James would probably recognize, he asked if she wouldn't prefer something American. She described to him in explicit, hushed tones, exactly what she wanted, where and how many times and if he would be so kind as to oblige. Sunday afternoon, quickly fading into evening, was heavy with dread of Monday morning. Nancy mentally made time to take the dry cleaning on her way to work, went through her closet thinking about what she wanted to wear for the week. He was playing his game, and if his accuracy was any indication, he was stone sober. Nancy climbed into a t-shirt, under the covers, and settled in to watch her favorite show. Ned bounded in, the lethargy of the afternoon spent reading and his spent unwinding after the game (and her rather exuberant welcome) having given way to a second wind she found incredibly ill-timed. "Is it a commercial break?" he asked, tossing his clothes into the laundry basket. "No," she responded, affording him a brief glance. "Tell me when it is," he said. She couldn't help but laugh. "I'll make you a deal," she said. "Watch it with me, and I'll give you the entire hour afterward if you're good." "Only if you strip right now." Nancy shook her head stubbornly. "No, you'll distract me." "Oh, I plan on distracting you as it is. That'll just make it easier." "Not if you want to get lucky again tonight." He gave her a mock pout. "At least the shirt," he said. "Then will you shut up and let me watch?" "Sure." He did shut up. And if she'd put her mind to it, she could have watched, even while he pulled her on top of him, her back against his front, propped up so she could see the television, the blankets pulled over their bare skin. Even while he was very carefully removing her bra. Between his hands and toes he had pulled her panties off, while the main character on screen was giving the climactic revelation of the episode, and the screen faded to commercial. "Fuck it, I'll catch it on rerun," she said, turning around in his arms. The next morning she was still half-asleep as she crept into the relative cool of the shower, her husband still inside. She had dragged herself downstairs for the coffee, and despite an impassioned effort she still couldn't feel any effect. He was quick, predatory in the mornings, his requests for her marked by little to no subtlety. They had sex so often in the shower that it seemed natural in the mornings, when she had no need to be in on time *except the damn dry-cleaning* and he pulled her up, wet tile at her back, legs wrapped around him, short insistent thrusts, the sound of artificial rain in her ears, as her face contorted with silent climax. She hurried through the rest of her shower, gave him a quick kiss which he definitely wanted to turn into an encore performance, dressed in pastels and summerweights and was just packing her briefcase when he came downstairs. "Lunch?" "Hotel?" he returned, shaved and glistening, a grin on his face. "Can't get enough, can you," she said, suddenly stilled, her awareness of the passing time growing faint. "I can," he said, leaning down to kiss her softly. "You are." "One o'clock." -- When he first mentioned it, she wasn't very enthralled by the idea. She didn't like the fact that he had to go on business trips, she didn't want him to make the trip any longer. "Hey," he'd said one morning, watching her pull her stockings up her legs while he adjusted his tie. "Paris in a month. Wanna go?" "Business trip?" He half-smiled. "Of course." "How long?" He shrugged. "I think right around a week. But the end of it will be on a weekend, they're telling me, so maybe we could see a bit of the nightlife. More than we already have." Nancy grinned. "So how much Paris nightlife have you seen, pray tell?" He leaned over and planted a kiss on her scalp. "If you go with me you'll be the best part." -- They didn't travel that much, not together. She was always momentarily startled when he started speaking something fluently that he hadn't when they had been together before, and she was sure he felt the same way. They had talked about it extensively but it was always different to hear it, to see the evidence. And wonder what he had been doing during those five years when he thought she was lost to him. The things she was afraid to ask, the questions she didn't want to repeat. He told her about women at the office, but in a rather gossipy way. Who was doing what with whom. No one in particular, no one especially, except people she had met before, people who came to the weekly poker nights with their wives. She liked most of them. And she didn't sense that he was being careful with her, that he needed to hide anything or his relationship with anyone from her. She knew she didn't have to be careful with him. Absolutely nothing to hide, except the occasional twinge when she thought of certain things. Because it wasn't serious, wasn't enough to bother him, she would be fine... She decided she would go. They hadn't gone somewhere together in a while, and she hated being home while he was away. Not the entire time, though; she'd take off for the long weekend and leave the business dealings to him. Maybe get a nice French chateau near Johnny Depp's house and lounge around all weekend. -- Ned was still in a meeting when Nancy arrived, so she took her time on the way from the airport. She found a gorgeous black silk dress and a new perfume, and when she called him during his break he asked if she'd meet him for dinner. "A lot of the people here haven't met you," he said. "So I'm gonna tell them I'm meeting someone later and not mention who you are. I think we should both just speak French. It'll be great." Nancy giggled. "You have an odd idea of a good time, Nickerson. Cheating with your wife." "Il n'y a personne que je tricherais plutot avec, mon amour." There's no one I'd rather cheat with. "Merci," she whispered. -- He had no idea what he had bargained for. He recognized her by her wedding rings. She hadn't taken those off, and the charade would work just as well if his date were also married. Her clinging ankle-length gown was black silk. Her hair was done in curls, cascading down her bare back, and her lips were a shade below bloodred, her eyelids smoke grey. She was chatting with the older, balding bartender in fluid, liquid speech, and he could tell by the speed and the bartender's relaxed response that her accent was nearly flawless. Between her slender fingers, ending in red-polished nails, was an unlit cigarette. He knew that she had seen him somehow. Without appearing to do so (but of course not, not with years of experience trailing suspects under her belt) she knew he was behind her as she slipped the cigarette between her lips and raised an eyebrow. "T'as besoin d'un feu?" Need a light? "S'il te plait," she murmured, looking at him from beneath lowered eyelids. "Merci." After he lit her cigarette she turned back to the bartender, but Ned noticed both the look she gave him and the look the bartender was giving him. Appraising. She'd been in the bar a while and he was being protective. But he was called away by another customer, and Ned slid onto the next barstool. Nancy took two drags off her cigarette and then fitted it carefully into the ashtray near her left elbow. "Je pense que nous devrions danser." I think we should dance. She raised an eyebrow, holding her head erect. She wasn't staring into her drink, ignoring all the guys in the room, and they definitely weren't ignoring her. She looked like she knew exactly what she was doing, but it was all casual, without deliberation or calculation. She allowed a small, faintly amused smile to cross her tinted lips. "Nous ne dansons pas maintenant?" Are we not dancing now? If he had run into her while she was on a case, in that time apart, like this, he would not have been able to resist her. Not the way he had while they were in Hong Kong. No hint of hesitation or uncertainty marked her manner now, no hint of vulnerability. She was completely, fully, undeniably feminine, aloof and charming and full of grace, and he wanted her. He was the only man in the room who knew whose bed she would be in later. He wanted her in his bed immediately. She accepted his hand and Ned could feel the psychic sigh from every other man in the room, the disappointed return to their drinks, the bartender's gaze on her back. She could handle herself, he knew that. This Nancy could, at least. This Nancy could handle anything and more. "Pouvez-vous tango, cheri?" Can you tango, darling? "Pour vous, ce soir, je pense que je pourrais faire beaucoup de choses." For you, tonight, I think I could do many things. He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry, as he drew her close to him on the dance floor. In her eyes he saw a spark of pure amusement. She was thoroughly enjoying this, enjoying his being off-balance when confronted by this tigress in black silk. "Le manquez-vous?" Do you miss it? "Mlle ce qui?" Miss what? "Pas tellement le travail mais la chasse, glissant dans la peau des autres. Vous la faites tellement bien. Je presque ne vous ai pas identifie." Not so much the job but the hunt, slipping into someone else's skin. You do it so well. I almost didn't recognize you. "Mais vous m'avez identifie," she said, her eyes sparkling. "C'est qui je suis, aprs que quelques boissons et la connaissance que je ne peux pas tre touche. J'appartiens l'homme le plus bel dans la chambre, et lui moi. Je n'ai aucune crainte." But you did recognize me. This is who I am, after a few drinks and the knowledge that I am untouchable. I belong to the most handsome man in the room, and he to me. I have no fear. They danced, aware of eyes all around the room on them, the mona- lisa smile still on her lips. Even the band was watching, and when they played one fast number after another the two of them braved it out until Nancy finally cried out for water, brushing her hair back from her flushed face, laughing. "Tellement bientot?" So soon? "Ne vous inquietez pas, je ne suis pas fatigue encore." Don't worry, I'm not tired yet. They were still swaying together, from habit more than the audible urgings of the band. Nancy reached up and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt, then smoothed the collar away from his neck. His head spinning, Ned leaned over and rested his forehead against her cheek, his breath shivering straight down her spine. "Je vous veux prs de moi." I want you close to me. "Je serai toujours ici quand vous revenez. Mais j'ai besoin de quelque chose de humide avant que vous puissiez m'avoir dans des vos bras encore." I will still be here when you get back. But I need something wet before you can have me in your arms again. He could hear the smile in her voice, and her fingers were cooler than his skin as she loosed another button. He traced his tongue over the edge of her earlobe and felt her pulse jump, and he was smiling as he pulled back. "tes-vous sr vous n'tes-vous pas humide dej?" Are you sure you're not wet already? He released her suddenly and spun on his heel to walk back to the bar, then risked a glance over his shoulder. She stood alone on the floor, in the golden and red chaos of the tableaux, a faint blush creeping over her glowing cheeks. Her blue eyes were glinting dangerously from between thick lashes as her gaze followed him. In response he let his eyes wander down the fitted curves of her dress, tracing the rise and fall of her quickened breath by the shifting of the gleaming fabric. "Vous decouvrirez," she called to him, her lips parted in invitation. You will find out. Ned grinned broadly as he returned to the bar and ordered a water for her, in English this time. "Hey," he heard, and looked over his shoulder to see the table full of his conference buddies. He nodded to the bartender, who still looked slightly wary, and walked over to the table, clapped the guy closest to him on the back. "Hi." Peter nodded toward the dance floor. Nancy was laughing at something another guy was saying while his date, looking slightly pissed, looked on with her arms crossed and a pout on her lips. "You walked in and picked up the prettiest girl in this place." Ned shrugged, deliberately casual, a smile twitching on his lips. "What can I say, I just got it." Ryan, who had given a talk about IT progress earlier in the day, sat next to Peter with his tie loosened and a few empty shot glasses at his elbow. He peered at Ned through his wire rims. "I don't think so," Ryan said. "You might got it, but you've had it with her for a while. I didn't know you'd been in Paris enough times to have something going on the side." "You think that's the only way I could have picked her up, she's already my girlfriend?" "And married, too." Derek, sitting across the table, also had more than a few empty shot glasses in front of him. He'd divested himself of tie and glasses, and the solemn expression he had worn for the majority of the day. "If one guy isn't enough for her, maybe two isn't either. She interested in a little extra company, Nickerson?" Ned felt his chest tighten as he looked down at the smiling man, the muted lighting shining off his shaved brown scalp. His eyes narrowed and he reminded himself that if their situations were reversed, he might have said the same thing. Especially with most of a fifth in his belly. "I'll be sure to let you know if I can't keep her satisfied," Ned said, mock-serious. Then he leaned in and lowered his voice. "But definitely don't hold your breath." The sound of their hooted laughter followed him back to the bar as he picked up the water glass and walked back toward Nancy. Her new friend darted a glance over his shoulder and caught sight of Ned, who had dropped the mask of cordiality and was positively glowering. His date, her thin face hard with rage, was tapping her foot on the floor, and Ned heard it sound in time with his speeding pulse. As they retreated, Nancy accepted the glass and took a long sip, then smiled at him. "Ma tte demarre pour faire mal, j'aura besoin d'une autre boisson bientot. Ainsi tels sont vos amis?" My head is starting to ache, I'll need another drink soon. So those are your friends? Ned bent his head to hers and traced his fingers up to the nape of her neck as his tongue slipped between her lips, into the iced cool of her mouth. Her eyes widened in shock, and then her eyelashes fluttered down as his fingers pressed into the base of her skull, his tongue insistent as it tangled with hers. Her free hand groped for him and she curved her arm around his back, pulling him closer to her. "L'un d'entre eux a juste demande s'il pourrait nous joindre plus tard ce soir," Ned gasped into her skin as he pulled back. One of them just asked if he could join us later tonight. "J'ai besoin d'une autre boisson maintenant," she replied, her eyes darting back and forth between his. I need another drink now. She downed the rest of her water on the way back to the bar, and as Ned ordered her a vodka caramel she smacked the empty glass down and walked carefully back to the table, smiling down at the group of wide-eyed guys. Each one of them felt the weight and consideration of her gaze, but she settled at last on Derek. "Vous ne pourriez pas me manipuler, petit garon." With one last wide grin, predator to insignificant bystanders, she turned on her stacked heel. Ned escorted her back to the floor, one of her hands wrapped securely around her drink, the other in his. Derek looked around. "What did she say? Peter, what did she say?" Peter took a long swig of his drink before he replied, a smirk on his face. "She said you couldn't handle her." Derek looked around and noticed that a few of the guys were staring down into their drinks, trying not to smile, though it twitched the corners of their mouths. "That's not all she said..." "Little boy," Derek heard translated just as Ned mentally translated Nancy's whispered repetition into his ear, and his laughter mingled with that of the rest of the table as he dipped her. His eyes glowed in adoration as he pulled her up and close to him again. "Une plus danse," she murmured. "Prenez-alors moi votre lit." He didn't want to wait for one more dance. He wanted to lift her into his arms and carry her out now, in full view of that entire table, as she laughed up into his eyes. He wanted to hear their groans of envy as they heard her cry out for him, with him. He settled on curving a palm around her hip and resting his thumb against the tattoo he could find even though the fabric, through the memory of touching her in the dark a thousand times. The mask slipped enough to allow her a startled gasp, a shocked gaze, and the suggestion of movement into his touch. "Une plus," he repeated, his voice rough, pride swelling in his chest as her eyes fluttered shut again. He traced his tongue over the seam of her slightly parted lips and tasted caramel. "Je peux sentir leurs yeux sur moi, je peux sentir vos yeux sur moi. C'a ete un moment." I can feel their eyes on me, I can feel your eyes on me. It has been a while. "Vous sentirez plus que mes yeux." You will feel more than my eyes. She released a trembling breath and he claimed her mouth again, tasting the sugar on her tongue as the music tried to urge their barely moving bodies into motion. His fingertips traced over her upper thigh, sliding over the silk, and she moaned. They pulled apart and she rested her forehead against the side of his neck, her eyes narrowed in concentration as his fingers stroked against her. He felt the tempo of her breath change with the shift of his fingers, and an inadvertent smile curved his lips. She leaned away from him so she could finish her drink, and as she started to move her hips in time to the music she planted a kiss under his chin. "Une plus," she reaffirmed, and pushed him away from her, her eyes sparkling. She was in control again. "Vous me tuerez, femme," he growled, returning her good humor. You will kill me, woman. "Pas encore. J'ai autre chose l'esprit." Not yet. I have something else in mind. Her smirk dissolved into shocked laughter as he grabbed her around the waist and twirled her, just as the next song began. He could feel their eyes too, the way she had. As he twirled her around the floor and watched her toss her hair back, eyes closed, lips slightly parted, he was in awe of her again, in awe of the fact that he could possess this. He was so accustomed to the eyes of women that he had tuned it out over the years, but he was hypersensitive to it again, the way she had been at the gaze of his "friends" back at the table. Separately, they turned heads; together, Nancy and Ned commanded the attention of the entire room. She was right. It had been a while since he'd felt it. Right now he wasn't her husband, they were not some demure married couple who had tired of waking up next to each other every morning, and never would be. Right now he was the man who had claimed her a lifetime ago on a moonlit beach as his and his alone, and she was the exotic creature who only existed in the darkness of their bedroom, sure of but never bored by his touch. He may have never seen her this way in the light, but he had given her the self-assurance and the confidence, the knowledge that made her the smoldering vixen who could have him at the crook of her finger. And she had given him back that same confidence the day she had married him again. He dipped her again and melted a little at her delighted smile, when he drew her back against him. "Vous regardez tout fait beau ce soir," she said. "Je peux sentir les yeux de chacun sur vous." You look quite handsome tonight. I can feel everyone's eyes on you. Ned smiled softly, shaking his head. "Non, cheri, vous sentez leurs yeux sur vous, parce que ni eux ni moi n'avons jamais vu une creature plus exquise." No, darling, you feel their eyes on you, because neither they nor I have ever seen a more exquisite creature. She blushed again, but met his eyes steadily for a moment before she stood on her tiptoes and drew his face to hers. The music rose and he lifted her against him in his arms, her feet leaving the floor as he twirled them around. He returned her kiss, but she pulled back from him slightly and touched their noses together, still resting with her weight supported by his arms. "Je t'aime," she whispered. "Je t'aime aussi, mon bel, mon seulement." I love you too, my beautiful one, my only one. The bartender's gaze followed them to the door, and Ned acknowledged it, but he didn't acknowledge the envious gaze from the table nearby. A cold gust of air made Nancy gasp and huddle into his side, and Ned wrapped an arm around her as he raised his hand for a taxi. After making sure the cab was headed in the right direction, Ned pulled Nancy onto his lap. The can driver didn't say anything; Nancy was giggling despite her cries of "Arrt, attente, attente," telling him to wait until they were safe in their hotel room. Ned had a passing, disconcerting thought that maybe he believed her a more expensive escort, but it evaporated as Nancy wrenched off his jacket and pressed kisses down the side of his neck. "J'ai pense que vous avez voulu attendre," he said playfully. I thought you wanted to wait. "Vous tes ainsi chauffez et je suis si froid," she murmured into his skin. You are so warm and I am so cold. "De sorte que soit tout que je suis vous?" "Vous savez pas," she retorted. You know not. "En outre, bientot vous mettrez cette chaleur l'interieur de moi." Besides, soon you will put that warmth inside me. He closed his eyes and rested his face against hers as he traced a hand down over the undulating rise and fall of her chest, down to cup her breast. She released a sigh and flicked her tongue out, to run over his earlobe. "Je suis nu sous ceci," she breathed. I am naked under this. He shivered, and one of his hands found a zipper down the side of her dress. "Maintenant," he replied urgently, tugging it down even as she tried to push his hand away. Her protests, both verbal and physical, faded as his hand slipped under the silk, over the skin rising and falling with her quickened breath. He bent his face to hers and kissed her, finding her unresisting as her eyelids fluttered down. When the track of his fingertips slowed, she moaned in protest and leaned into his touch. The taxi driver's lecherous chuckle broke through the haze in Ned's brain, and he pulled back from his wife with an audible pop and focused on the man's unshaven face. "Nous sommes ici," he announced. "Mais je vous donnerai encore quinze minutes librement si vous voulez finir ce que vous faisiez." We're here. But I'll give you another fifteen minutes free if you want to finish what you were doing. Nancy blinked a few times, but Ned could read the smaller signs. She smiled at the taxi driver in a vague, friendly way, then reached up to the side of her dress, watching him follow her every movement with hungry, expectant eyes. She held it closed. "Pas mme si vous me payiez," she replied sweetly, then crawled over Ned, grabbing his jacket on the way and draping it over her bare shoulders. Ned emerged a moment later, chuckling to himself. "Not even if you paid me," he repeated, then shook his head. "He might have paid pretty well to see you naked, too." "If you have to ask the price, you can't afford it," Nancy replied, waiting until the taxi had pulled a safe distance away before she kissed him again. "Maintenant, voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir?" In answer he lifted her into his arms, and she snuggled into his jacket as he carried her into the hotel. -- "Wait," she gasped, pushing him back as they stood in the middle of the room. She bent her head and he pulled back, taking the opportunity to look around. He had booked this room from his previous hotel, sight unseen, choosing a highly recommended chateau over the business-class rooms he'd used during the trip. He zeroed in immediately on the clear-faced refrigerator, through which he could see a bottle of champagne, and the two flutes above it. As Nancy unpinned her hair, Ned popped the cork and poured them both glasses. She met his eyes in the muted light from the bedside lamp. "Thanks," she said softly, taking a sip and closing her eyes. He did the same, but kept his open, feeling the beginnings of a mild headache dissipate as he swallowed the mouthful of bubbles. "I'm going to go wash my face." He nodded, and she went into their bathroom, pulling the door nearly closed behind her. As he heard the water splash in the sink he took off his clothes, tossing them at one of the armchairs as he explored the room. He had had his luggage delivered earlier in the day, and Nancy had put his clothes away for him, left the laptop on a table utterly bereft of a data port. He didn't plan on doing much research for the remainder of their trip. He turned off the lamp and poured himself another glass by the fairy lights shining through the windows. The light in the bathroom clicked off and Nancy emerged, padding on bare feet, still in her gown. Ned stood before her, naked and unashamed, and cupped her cheek in his hand. "You want to take it slow?" he whispered, and leaned down to kiss the corner of her mouth. She was smiling when he pulled back. "Not really," she replied. She reached up and unfastened the back of her gown, and it flowed off her like black water, pooling at her feet. She stepped toward him and the heat, the perfume of her was almost too much, the glow of her bare smooth body by moonlight. She didn't ask what he was doing as he placed her on her stomach on their bed, kneeling over her, stroking the skin over her ribs. She moaned when he found a particularly pleasant spot, but otherwise kept her eyes open, thoughtful. Then he lifted her onto her hands and knees and she felt his body, warm, crouching over hers. He nudged her hair to one side and pressed a kiss at the nape of her neck, and she shivered at the feel of his breath, the tiny hairs rising at its touch. He trailed kisses down her spine. She closed her eyes, waiting for it, bracing the heels of her hands on the bed. He slipped his hands up her stomach to cup the weight of her breasts in his hands and she murmured, her breath coming in quiet whimpers as he traced his fingertips over her nipples. She could sense him but it wasn't enough, she still gasped in surprise as she felt him slide in between her thighs. He pressed into her urgently, murmuring her name as she groaned his, leaning into his touch as he flicked her nipples back and forth with his thumbs. She trembled as she pressed back against him, tossing her head back to blow the tendrils out of her eyes. He made some incoherent noise and nudged a little more deeply inside her before withdrawing. She made a quiet, desperate pleading noise and he traced a hand down her stomach. She groaned in anticipation and then in relief as he slipped his fingers below her navel, down to the seam, between into the smooth wet skin, over her clitoris. "Yes, yes," she cried out, begging him, and he began to thrust again, rocking into her hips as he traced quickening circles over her clit. She moaned and as his breath became audible groans his fingers slowed, and she reached down to trace his fingers over her skin, gasping as she began to come. He slammed inside her and the pain was exquisite, and the sudden fluttering of his fingers over her made her scream. He murmured reassuringly and then traced his fingers back over her nipples, and she almost cried in relief as they finally came together, his warmth still inside her as he withdrew again. Nancy collapsed to the bed, chest heaving, then turned her head toward her husband. Her eyes were still closed. "God," she whispered, gasping for breath. "Yeah," he replied, and drew the covers up over her. "Yeah." -- The first time she turned, restless, in her sleep, her eyes gleaming, and found his own gaze in the dark, she had climbed on top of him. She traced slow, slumbering kisses over his neck as her hips moved over his, until he placed his flat palms on her chest and shoved her upright. Her mouth fell open, her hair falling in half-curled strands down her back, as he grasped her hips and led her to meet his wordless movements. Her groans and gasps matched his, and they moved against each other, more frantic, until they were both trembling. She raked her hair back from her flushed face, still breathing heavily, and shifted her knees to lean back over him. She rested her face in the point where his shoulder met his neck, and murmured happily as he slipped his arms around her and held her to him. "Love you, Nan," he mumbled, eyes closed, still mostly asleep. "Love you too," she whispered, rolling off him but keeping one of his arms still wrapped around her. When they woke again, Ned rolled over and trailed his hands down to her knees, bent her legs, and gently shoved them apart. Nancy murmured something quietly, her fist opening and closing on the pillow, her eyelashes fluttering. He slipped between her thighs. Nancy's brow furrowed, and her eyes finally focused on his face. "Hurt," she complained softly, her voice thick with sleep. Ned moved back and froze for a minute, staring down at her, suddenly fully and terribly conscious. No other sign of panic or discomfort crossed her face, and when he leaned down and kissed her neck, she purred contentedly. He trailed his mouth down her skin in slow wet kisses, down until he took her open legs and pressed them flat onto the bed. Her moans began as he dipped his tongue and fingers between her legs, caressing her clitoris with his mouth. She gasped, finding the rhythm in his fingers as they slipped inside her, her skin tingling as he rubbed his unshaven chin over it. She propped herself up on her elbows, her eyes closed in concentrating on his ministrations, so much so that she almost forgot to breathe. "Ned," she murmured, her brow furrowing. "I'm ready now, you can stop it, oh God I don't want you to stop..." She bucked under him and he could hear the quickening in her breathing, how close she was. He curled his fingers inside her and she gasped, moving restlessly underneath him. "Ned," she moaned again. "Please, please, come inside me..." He didn't answer her and she didn't ask again. She was too busy focusing on every single movement he made, every touch. She tilted her head back, her breathing quick between her moans, and turned her face into the pillow to stifle her cries. He leaned back. "Don't," he said, his breathing ragged. "Let me hear it." She obliged, and he felt her gasps slide down his every nerve, his momentary panic forgotten in the familiarity of her movements. Before, usually, he would stop; this was all foreplay. She was waiting for him to break down and bury himself inside her, meeting her movements until they released inside each other. Instead he stroked her with his fingertips until she was squirming, writhing, moaning desperately for him, until her screams reached their highest pitch, and he felt her spasm inside. She pleaded for him to stop, to stop touching her, but he trailed his mouth back up to her navel and darted his tongue inside as he held her open and caressed her with both hands, his fingers wet with her arousal. "Stop it," she begged, and her back arched as she came again, suddenly, the muscles beneath her skin clenching even more strongly than before. She breathed a plea like a prayer, moving under him, letting the pure pleasure that was his touch lead her instinctual movements when there was no thought left. Nothing left. Nothing at all. Just the warmth of his fingers. He finally pulled back and rolled off the bed, pulling the bathroom door nearly closed behind him. She sipped in her breath carefully, pulling her legs together, releasing her grip from around one of the rungs of the headboard. She didn't even remember reaching for it. When Ned didn't return, Nancy rose to unsteady feet, took a few carefully considered steps, and pushed open the door of the bathroom. Ned was standing in the near dark, washing his hands vigorously. "Hey," she whispered. He sighed. "I didn't mean to hurt you," he whispered. Nancy's brow furrowed in thought as she tried to remember. "You didn't hurt me," she said. "I just wasn't ready. And you got me there, my God you got me there, I was fine about a minute later. I asked you to try again." She leaned against the doorway of the bathroom, the cool air of the room making gooseflesh rise on her skin. "I didn't want to hurt you..." Nancy sank to her knees on the tile floor. He was still aroused, even moreso than he had been, and she took him into her mouth. Ned rested his weight lightly against the sink and let his lips part slightly, rocking gently against the movement of her tongue. She trailed her fingertips over his inner thighs and felt him twitch in response, and when he felt his control start to slip he leaned over and grasped her arms in his hands, lifted her back to her feet, to face him. "You want it," she whispered, accusing, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "Let me do this for you. You did it for me." He leaned forward, blocking her in from either side, his mouth lowering to hers. She reached up and twined her arms around his neck, leaning into it, their tongues tangling together, tasting of salt and warmth and sex. When they broke for air they still didn't separate, eyes closed, breathing each other's breath, and he stepped so close to her that the tips of her nipples brushed against his chest. She relaxed her arms and let them slide down his body, down below his navel again. He shook his head and picked her up, carried her back to their bed. When they had settled under the covers again, he rolled on top of her, his hands cupping around her hips. Her eyes closed and her mouth opened, waiting for him to sink inside her, but he slipped his tongue inside her mouth instead and her eyes jolted open in surprise. "I didn't hurt you," he whispered, resting his nose against hers as they gasped for breath after his kiss. "No," she whispered, shaking her head so the tip of her nose ran over his. "It just would have been uncomfortable, I wasn't wet like I am--" She sucked in a breath as he thrust inside her, no hesitation, so deep that his hips were flush against hers. Tears rose to her eyes as she gasped, tilting her head back. "Now?" he asked. "God, you're so wet now, am I hurting you?" "No," she whispered, relishing the sound of his gasp as she tilted her hips back. She murmured something unintelligible as he shifted. "You're not hurting me," she murmured. Then she leaned up and caught his mouth with hers, her tongue sliding along the roof of his mouth. He could feel the tiny groans she made against his mouth as he kissed her again, the tiny pleasured noises at his slightest movement inside her. He pulled back and watched the look of concentration on her face grow sharper as he stroked his thumbs over the invisible seams where her thighs met her torso, sliding closer to her hairline, and she licked her lips. "Please," she breathed. Her hand twitched and slid down to his, and she tilted her hips back and opened her legs somehow wider for him, leading his fingers between. He was so, so deep inside her that he felt the answer to the touch, the electric sigh of relief that her every cell gave when he completed the circuit. Her eyelids fluttered open and he felt the irrational urge again, to make her scream, to make her eyes open wide in surprise-- and they did, when at the same moment their hips moved, when he brushed a fingernail over her clit and felt her somehow simultaneously pull away and draw closer. "Yes," she gasped to him, her brow furrowing. He closed his eyes and they were kissing again, hips motionless, his fingers moving in a series of slow circles over her wet skin. He could taste the salt that was them together against her tongue. And then her hands were cupping his hips, and all his control slipped immediately when she rose to meet him. When he was aware again, not simply obeying the overwhelming urge to bury himself completely inside her over and over, her screams were just fading into gasped breaths. He was trembling and so was she. He reached up and smoothed her hair back from her face, then wrapped his arms around her and felt some tiny relief as she buried her face in his shoulder. She had closed her legs slightly, but they were still tangled together. "Baby, I'm sorry," he whispered. "I didn't know." "Shh," she whispered, her fingers against the back of his head, her mind still spinning, eyes closed. "God help me. That was the fifth time tonight." "You okay?" She chuckled, slow and lazy, satisfied. "Way, way better than okay." "Good." He ran his fingers over her cheek, and she finally opened her eyes, to see him staring down at her. She smiled. "What is it about France," she said, her words slurring with exhaustion. "Damn, I could sleep for days." She looped an arm over him and nestled between him and the comforter, and, relieved, he felt his grip on consciousness loosen with the slowing of her heart.