The Temptress (19 page)

I was hot, sticky and exhausted, but I held out
my arms as the midwife handed over my little boy, carefully swaddled in a blue
blanket. Coco was bawling her eyes out as she stood next to the bed and I felt
tears dampening my cheeks as I looked at his little pink face, all scrunched up
and felt my heart expand.

‘Hello, Tristan McQueen,’ I whispered, kissing
his forehead.

‘I’ll let your family in for five minutes, but
that’s all until you’ve had a rest,’ warned the midwife. I nodded with a smile,
without even looking up at her. I couldn’t tear my eyes off him.

‘He’s so cute, look at all that dark hair,’
Coco sniffed as she blew her nose in a most unladylike fashion. ‘It’s darker
than yours.’

‘Just like his daddy’s,’ I whispered, wondering
whose eye colour he’d have, my amber ones or Luc’s rich chocolate ones. Odds
were it would be Luc’s, as the more dominant colour. I smiled sadly at the
thought “dominant,” which brought back so many memories. Nine months on hadn’t
lessened my desire for him, or the nightly appearances he made in my dreams. I
hadn’t had sex since, I’d had plenty of opportunities in the early months of my
pregnancy, before I was showing, but I hadn’t been ready. It felt wrong when I
was carrying his baby and I also wanted to get him out of my system first, but
as of yet it still hadn’t happened.

‘Lulu, baby, are you ok?’ came Mum’s voice. I
looked up and smiled with a nod as she approached the bedside, Dad and Dom in
tow. She kissed my forehead and stroked my hair as she looked down at him and
started crying, which set Coco off again, then me.

‘O God, it’s like I’ve walked into my worst
nightmare,’ Dad moaned. ‘Give me a torture chamber any day, a group of crying
women, no way. Dominic, pull yourself together, show some male solidarity,’ he
uttered, as Dom wiped his face too.

‘We’re so proud of you,’ Mum whispered, as she
looked at me expectantly. I sighed, I couldn’t hold him forever, they all
wanted a turn. I kissed him again and relaxed my hold and let her take him from
me, hating how suddenly empty I felt, hoping that would diminish in time. Coco
squeezed my hand as we watched my parents and Dom cooing over him, Dad
muttering something about dust in his eyes as he pulled a tissue out of his
pocket, making everyone laugh.

‘You ok?’ whispered Coco. I looked up at her
with a smile and nodded.

‘I’ve never felt so tired, but I’m ok. Thanks
so much for being here for me. Did I hurt your hand?’

‘What’s a few bruised fingers compared to
that
coming out of your vagina?’ she replied with a roll of her eyes, making me
giggle. ‘I’m
never
having children after watching that, I can tell you.’

‘You will, one day you’ll be sitting here and
I’ll be holding your hand.’

‘Well, if I ever find the guy that I want to
settle down with, maybe,’ she nodded. I bit my lip and she grimaced. ‘Shit
sorry, me and my big mouth.’

‘It’s not the way I thought I’d have a baby,’ I
admitted, as I looked back over at him, being passed from Mum to Dad, ‘but
right now I don’t care. He’s here and he’s not going to want for anything, I’ll
make sure of that.’

‘O my God,’ exclaimed Dom, making my heart race
as I checked no one had dropped him. ‘He just opened his eyes.’

‘No!’ I moaned, gutted to have not been the
first to see them. ‘What colour? Are they blue? Everyone says babies are born
with blue eyes.’

‘No,’ he replied, ‘really dark brown, but he
has flecks of amber in them. He’ll be really good looking, you can tell.’

‘Well duh!’ Coco replied, as she went to have a
look too. ‘His dad was an eleven and so is his mum, of course he’s going to be
a looker.’

‘I wonder whether he’s thinking in French or
English,’ Dom mused, as Dad rocked Tristan back and forth.

‘He’s not thinking at all, dumbass,’ Coco
sighed. ‘He’s a baby. Are you going to teach him French, Lulu?’

‘Yes, of course,’ I smiled. My French was
pretty good now, I’d been practicing before we went to Paris to try to find
Luc. But even without him in our lives, my son still had French blood in his
veins. He should learn it, as well as English, it was part of his heritage. I
sat up looking concerned, as Tristan let out a startled cry.

‘Come on, he probably needs feeding, then Lulu
needs a rest,’ Mum advised, giving me a reassuring smile.

‘But I haven’t held him yet,’ moaned Dom. ‘You
two were being selfish with the cuddles.’

‘He’s our first grandson,’ Dad objected.

‘He’s my first nephew.’

‘And my first Godson, I haven’t had cuddles yet
either and I had to endure all the screaming and breaking of my fingers,’ added
Coco.

‘You’ll all get turns, lots of turns, but he’s
my first baby, he needs me right now and I need him.’ I stretched my arms out
and Dad sighed and handed him back over.

‘Come on you lot, let’s give her some time
alone, coffee and cake’s on me. We’ll bring you something back, ok? Lulu, ok?’
he repeated. I reluctantly looked up and nodded, before looking back at my
little boy.

‘Ok,’ I whispered, as I put a finger in his
little hand and smiled as he tightened his grip. I didn’t even notice everyone
leave the room, I was too distracted with him opening his eyes and seeing those
gorgeous brown ones looking back at me. Dom was right, he looked just like Luc,
with a tiny bit of me in those rare amber flecks. ‘You are gorgeous,’ I told
him, as I kissed him again. ‘Mummy loves you so much, never forget that. You’re
my proof of a magical weekend in Paris, a weekend I’ll never forget now that I
have you.’ He nuzzled against my chest and I opened my gown to let him feed. ‘A
breast man, just like your father,’ I sighed.

Luc

The
Present

I watched the Mercedes
speed away with her in the back, my heart beating like I’d just done a 10K run.
Damn it. Six years, six whole years and I’d not been able to stop thinking
about her. Waking up that Sunday morning to find her gone had hit me hard. I
spent the entire afternoon at her hotel, I’d even raced to the airport that
night and purchased a plane ticket to London, giving me access to all outgoing
flights’ departure gates, in the hope that I’d spot her, to no avail. I’d
fucked a lot of women in my life, dated a few too, but there was something
about her that had captured my attention, in a way that no other woman had. It
was safe to say that she’d ruined me, sex after her felt empty, I gained no real
satisfaction from it. Even picturing my later conquests as her did me no good
at all. She was the one I wanted. She was the one I craved, like a drug. The
longer I went without her, the deeper my cravings ran. Alcohol didn’t numb the
pain either, so I focussed on work. Work became my priority, I ate, slept and
breathed it, fucking countless women in the rare free time I had, hoping to
find another to make me feel the way that she had, with no success. It was
about a year later when I was invited by Monsieur Bouchon, head of the Bouchon
banker family, to discuss a merger, I’d assumed it was one of a financial
variety. It was of sorts, just not the kind I’d imagined. Marrying his
daughter, Myrtille, would solidify our companies, I’d have the backing of one
of the largest financial institutions in the world, they’d have my finance management
expertise, it was a win win for everyone, but for Myrtille and I.

I’d never met a woman to whom I was less
attracted, and it wasn’t just her looks or physique. She radiated toxicity. She
was spoiled, entitled and cold. I was well aware that my business was the only
thing in life that brought me any form of satisfaction lately, so if marrying
her meant I could expand, then that was what I was prepared to do. The marriage
was arranged within months, I spent my bachelor night with a brunette, the
closest girl I could find to resemble Lulu, my last hurrah I suppose. I knew I
wasn’t the type of man to break my bonds, no matter how fake they may be. My
lookalike brought me no consolation either. So when I woke the morning of my
wedding, I decided that if I was sexually doomed, I may as well gain
financially, so we’d gone ahead with it. I was so drunk on our wedding night
that I slept with her, it was quite possibly my rock bottom. There was no
connection between us at all, no warmth, no passion, no desire. I had a vague
recollection of her coming a number of times, naturally, before I admitted
defeat and faked it. The next morning I moved into the spare room and we never
spoke of it again. The more my business grew, the more I died a little on the
inside. Five years living with a woman, without feeling for her, was a long
time.

Until recently, only two women had peaked my
curiosity, had made my cock stir in my pants, their faces conjuring images of
my classic English beauty. A chance meeting with the girlfriend of my business
rival’s son, while I was in Paris, some new movie actress with a kind of
innocent beauty to her, she reminded me a lot of Lulu. Then tonight, this woman
that had sat with me at the bar. My stomach had performed somersaults as I’d
turned and laid eyes on her, for a second I’d truly believed I was looking at
Lulu, until I saw the hair and the brown eyes. She’d walked out of the bar,
leaving her drink and book. The resemblance was uncanny, even the way she
walked, with that sexy sway to her hips. Her voice was different too, she had
an unusual accent, but talking to her had brought a spark of life back to me,
as if I was with Lulu herself, but in an alternate universe. It wasn’t until I
witnessed her reaction to the photograph that I carried in my wallet, that I
realised there was a connection. That this Isabelle knew her, that maybe they
were related.

When she started crying, all my worst fears
were brought to life. She had known her, I was too late, I’d truly lost her. When
this woman touched my face though, suddenly everything became clear. I’d felt
some chemistry when she touched me earlier, but as I looked into her eyes and
she cocked her head to look up at me, the way Lulu had all those years ago, no
matter what accent she had, what hair or eye colouring, I just knew. The woman
who had haunted me for all of that time was standing right in front of me and
from the look on her face, I knew that she felt the same loss that I had for
all the years that had followed. I didn’t have time to question what was going
on, the minute I’d ripped that blonde wig off her head, all I cared about was
kissing her, holding her in my arms, dragging her up to my suite to reconnect.
Then she’d run from me. Until her, no one ran from me. Kissing her again had
brought me back to life, the passion I still felt for her suddenly firing up
the cold blood that had run through my veins for years, rendering it scorching
as it tore through my body. Passion that made me feel, that made me hard. But
then she’d run.

Again.

I stood there with her shoes and clutch in my
hand, the taste of her lips still lingering on mine, my heart beating out of
control in my chest, with the most painful erection I’d ever experienced,
wondering what the hell was going on and cursing myself for losing her again. I
only moved when a car behind hooted loudly, letting me know that I was blocking
their exit. I slowly walked up the path, stooping to pick up her art book that
had landed in the flower beds when she fell. Somehow I found myself in my
suite, I had no recollection of how I’d even made it here. I was in some sort
of hypnotic trance, such was her power over me. I poured myself a drink and sat
on the bed with her clutch bag in my hands. Maybe there was something in here
to help me find her. I needed answers. Why was she wearing a wig and those
lenses? Why didn’t she tell me who she was? Why had she run from me? But more
pertinent, had it been co-incidence that she’d been there in the bar? I could
drink alone in my suite whenever I wanted, but the night before I had to return
to live with my wife for another four nights, I got so depressed I chose to
drink in the bar, to listen to other people talking, to feel and witness normal
relationships. What were the chances of running into her there?

I opened her clutch, surprised to see that there
was very little inside it. A mobile grabbed my attention straight away and I
quickly pulled it out. There was no password protection, but when I checked for
messages, emails or contacts, the entire phone was empty. Not even recent or
missed calls or any photographs, which was puzzling. I tipped the remaining
contents onto the bed. A lip gloss, small mirror and some English currency. The
only thing I saw that may be of use was a small business card. I picked it up
and examined it.

Lulu McQueen
. At last, I had something to
go on, a surname. But what was this card? She owned a cake shop? I remembered
her saying that she owned her own business, maybe a patisserie was what it was.
I turned the card over and smiled, there was a mobile number, an email address
and a website. Now I was really in with a shot. Lulu McQueen had nowhere left
to run. When Luc Le Grand wanted something, he got it. And she was my next
target. I took my mobile out of my pocket, my heart racing wildly and dialled
her number immediately, jumping as the phone lying on the bed started ringing.
Strike one. I sent an email, asking her to contact me urgently, that I needed
to see her, we needed to talk. I left her my mobile, email and office number
and the room number at the hotel. She would have no excuse not to get back to
me now. Finally I typed in the website address, the welcome page matching the
business card. I tapped on the home page and started to read. The more I read,
the more tense my muscles became. She was no maker of cakes. Lulu McQueen ran a
honeytrap agency. Our meeting hadn’t been a fluke. She’d come with the
intention of seducing me. If I thought I was mad when she ran from me in the
bar, now I was furious. I hurled my glass across the room, watching it splinter
on the wall, the amber liquid spraying all over the cream and gold wallpaper.
The colours reminding me of her skin and beautiful natural eyes.

I closed mine and shoved my shaking hands
through my hair as I tried to calm myself down. I focussed on the moment Lulu
had first looked at me downstairs in the bar, when the waiter had dropped his
tray of drinks. She’d been shocked, her reaction was only there on her face for
a fleeting moment, but yes, shock had been there. She was not expecting to see
my face. That was why she’d made a hasty exit. She’d been sent to seduce me,
without knowing that it was me, which in itself seemed strange. Why would
someone want evidence of me having an affair? Or not provide her with a
photograph? Why when she realised it was me, had she continued with this
charade? No, it didn’t make sense, unless whoever had hired her wanted to drive
a wedge between Myrtille and I. Not that we needed any more reason for a
divide. Our marriage was a sham, a total front for social engagements and
mutual financial gain. Myrtille herself had no need for my assets, not when she
had even more than I did. Merde, this did not make sense at all.

I needed to speak to Lulu.

I needed to see Lulu.

I needed Lulu beneath me again.

Everything came back to her, all my wants and
desires since the moment I clapped eyes on her in Paris all those years ago.
She was my swan, of this I was sure. The woman I was meant to mate with, for
life. I checked my schedule for the week ahead, damn it, I was needed in Monaco
for one of my high net worth clients. I would get Bertrand on the case, a
private investigator used by my firm to provide background checks on new clients.
I’d tasked him with finding Lulu some years ago, soon after I’d got married,
when I realised how empty my life was. With just a first name, photo and the
city she lived in though, he stood no chance. Now I had a surname, the name of
her business and a website, he’d find her in no time at all. Lulu McQueen was
going to have to face me and give me answers, one way or another.

She was not running from me for a third time.

I called Bertrand and gave him her surname and
office information, offering whatever fee he required to get me answers as to
her whereabouts by the morning. I cleared up the broken glass as well as I
could, stripped off and headed for a hot shower, my hand finding its way to my
stiff cock, stroking myself to the thought of her, crying out her name as I
came with such force it even took me by surprise. I secured a towel around my
waist as I packed my briefcase and a small suitcase for my trip in the morning.
At least I had two consolations. I would not be seeing Myrtille for another
week and before I saw her, maybe I’d be seeing Lulu.

Lulu