a little and thrilled her. She’d become so used to his gentle, easygoing acceptance of whatever plans she made, that to see him looking so purposeful and determined had touched a little feminine nerve inside her that had made her ache with longing for him.
‘This house is our home,’ Luc told her as he started to undress her. ‘Our home, Belle. We’ll work on it, shape it, share in it together… I know it’s your salary that’s made it possible for us to buy it, but it takes more than money to make a home, and I want our home to be something we’ve both worked for…’
There was a warning there for her to heed, but she neglected to do so, shivering a little in the cool evening air, despite the warmth of Luc’s smoky fire, snuggling up close to him as he removed the last of their clothing, opening her mouth eagerly to the hungry passion of his as he started to kiss her.
The physical attraction between them had been immediate and intense right from the start; Luc, three, nearly four years her senior, had technically at least been the more experienced of the two of them, but, as he had freely and adoringly admitted to Belle, she had brought to their relationship and to him a sexual intensity and an emotional openness that made him feel that everything he had experienced before, everything he had thought he knew, had been merely a pale shadow of their shared reality.
Now, with their kisses growing deeper and deeper, and the warm, silk-rough glide of Luc’s hands over her eager body, Belle forgot how cold it was, how cheerless the empty, unfurnished room; she forgot, too, the hassle she had had over their unconnected electricity supply, the irritation she had experienced with Luc because he had been so engrossed in his studies that he had forgotten to notify the authorities in time to have the supply reconnected before they moved in. What did that kind of electricity matter when the variety they created between them was so intense that it could fuel a whole universe?
The duvet was soft and inviting, even if at the back of Belle’s mind lay the knowledge that it would have to be washed before it could go anywhere near the new bed she intended to persuade Luc to agree to her buying; the glow from the candles was doing wonderful things to the soft curves of her body and Luc’s, and the glow in Luc’s eyes was making her burn so hotly for him that her tremulous, almost panting breath was threatening to blow those candles closest to them out.
‘Luc…’
Wantonly she reached for him, pressing her open mouth to each hollow and curve of his candlelight-shadowed body, feeling him tense and shudder in wild reaction to her sensuous caresses.
Her tongue-tip teased the dark arrowing of hair that spread with delicious invitation down the length of his torso, a rich, fertile valley all excitingly male, yielding a harvest that Belle already knew full well more than lived up to its promise. There was an idealistic intensity about Luc that he brought to everything he did, but most especially to his love for her.
She was his first real true love. He had once told her in the early days of their relationship that she would always be his one true love.
Belle loved him just as intensely, but there was a practicality about her nature which made her sometimes feel just a little impatient of Luc’s idealism and his total lack of interest in anything material.
Of course, like him, she agreed that no amount of money or material possessions could make up for a lack of love; that what they had, what they shared, was worth more than a king’s ransom, a hundred kings’ ransoms, but… But just think how wonderful it would have been tonight if they had been making love in their new bed, the handsome king-sized one she had seen in the small exclusive handmade furniture shop just outside Cambridge, a bed with a wonderful hand-carved headboard. They could have their initials carved into it, and some special symbol to represent their love…
And then, as Luc’s tenderly roving hands touched those most secret, sacred places of her body, she forgot all about the new bed and the mess the dusty floor would be making of their duvet, as a small moan of blissful pleasure escaped her lips.
She remembered about it the following day, though, as she complained to Luc about the dust-marks on the duvet and the candle wax that had fallen on it.
‘It’s a duvet—a piece of fabric. It will wash,’ Luc had defended.
‘Oh, yes, it will wash,’ Belle agreed, tightlipped. ‘But not here and not by me. For one thing we don’t possess a washing machine, and for another, even if we did, we don’t have any electricity supply to run it.’
‘Look, I’m sorry about that. I’ve already explained, Professor Lind wanted to ask my opinion about…’
Professor Lind was something of an idol to Luc, who desperately wanted to emulate the older man’s academic achievements. Belle had met him several times but sensed that, like Luc, he was rather contemptuous of her much more materially based world. She also rather suspected that the professor felt Luc had made a mistake in marrying her, and when she had taxed Luc with this he had looked a little embarrassed and finally admitted that the professor had counselled him against getting married.
‘He doesn’t think any man should get married until he’s over thirty,’ he had told Belle ruefully, adding huskily, ‘But then he’s obviously never met a woman like you…never been in love…’
Discussing the duvet reminded Belle of the bed she had seen but, predictably, Luc objected the moment she had told him where she had seen it.
‘It will be far too expensive for us,’ he told her, his voice suddenly unusually curt and hard.
‘Oh, Luc…I want us to have something special, passed on not from either of our parents, something that’s ours…’ she told him softly, moving towards him, intending to snuggle into his arms.
But to her chagrin he turned away from her, his face unexpectedly grim as he told her sharply, ‘I thought we already had something special.’
‘The house…’ Belle agreed. ‘Oh, yes, but I want it to be furnished as specially as it deserves, and—’
‘No, Belle, not the house,’ Luc told her distantly. ‘I was referring to our love itself…’
* * *
They made up the quarrel on that occasion, but the issue of the new bed remained unresolved—until Belle thought she had found an ideal way of circumventing it.
Christmas was less than six weeks away, and the bed she coveted was tantalisingly on display in the small Cambridgeshire store where she had first viewed it.
One night, after they had made love and then were lying sensually entwined in the cramped space of the old three-quarter bed Luc’s parents had given them, Belle tentatively raised the subject of a new bed again.
‘I really loved that one I told you about,’ she told Luc softly. ‘And it would look wonderful here in this house…this room…’
Their house was old, eighteenth century and cottagey, and it cried out for sturdy, hand-made proper furniture, but of course such furniture was expensive.
‘It would make a wonderful Christmas present to ourselves,’ she wheedled softly in Luc’s ear. He had proved increasingly stubborn of late about her contribution to their household, refusing to allow her to spend her unexpectedly high bonus on furniture, telling her that it was her money—not theirs.
‘Don’t you understand…? Can’t you see…? I’ve seen
