by Nicki

I was finally living my dream; I was in Provence, in France, my ancestral home. I wasn’t interested in Nice, in the Riviera – that was for other tourists. I wanted to spend my hard-earned summer off wandering through beautiful vineyards, among stately olive trees, eating wonderful food at tiny country restaurants, buying the antique lace that I loved.

My vacation had been wonderful, so far, but not without little problems. My French was good, but since my arrival at the end of June, I had a terrible time understanding the patois of the local folks. They were kind, and understanding, but I was still uncomfortable. There were lots of wonderful little hidden surprises, but just as many ugly houses, horrible drivers, and other visitors who were noisy and rude. I wanted romance, I wanted adventure, and yes, I’ll admit it, I wanted to fall in love. But that hadn’t happened, and didn’t seem likely to.

So, here I was, on a sunny, warm Sunday morning in late August, wandering through the weekly market in my summer hometown of Isle-sur-la-Sorgue. This was the time of year when most the residents of the area fled, to escape summer heat and hordes of tourists, but the market was not crowded. I could find all kinds of antiques here, including a wonderful selection of fabrics for me to drool over, and try to bargain for. The language problem was giving me fits, though, and trying to decide if something (particularly a beautiful scarf of Alencon lace) was really a steal, or if I was the one being stolen from gave me a slight headache.

“M’selle, elle est tres belle,” the vendor cooed as I wrapped the scarf around my shoulders. The old woman behind the table grabbed a mirror for me to admire myself with, and began to chatter in a thick, soupy accent. I stared at her in bewilderment, unable to catch more than one word in three. Great, I thought, how the hell am I supposed to bargain with her? We watched each other warily, she trying to decide if I was going to run off with her scarf, me wondering how I could make my purchase.

“Paulette, bonjour,” a deep voice said behind me. The woman looked over my shoulder, and brightened considerably. “Ah, Ton-ee…” and she once again spoke at top speed. I turned to see who she was talking to, and came face to face with one of the handsomest men I had ever seen. A little taller than me, with long jean-clad legs; muscular arms in a green shirt; dark curling hair and huge, expressive eyes that reminded me of bitter chocolate. He smiled at me and raised a hand to stop Paulette’s speech.

“Please, may I help you with this?” he asked, in accented English – a Spanish accent. “Do you wish to purchase the scarf?” I nodded, and he turned back to Paulette and began to speak rapidly, gesturing and laughing. I stood and watched as the two of them bantered with each other; the man leaning closer to make a point, Paulette flirting mightily with him. “She wants to charge you 90 francs,” he said to me at one point, making a face. “That’s way too much! I will get you a better price.” The bargaining resumed, words and hands flying, and I moved to the end of the sales table to enjoy the spectacle – even though I could hardly understand a word of it! He braced one hand on the table, wagging a finger at Paulette. She glared at him, then beamed and nodded.

“This is better – Madame Paulette says she will sell the scarf to you for the impossible price of 45 francs, but only because you are a friend of mine,” the stranger finally declared. “But, I don’t know you!” I murmured, and watched the tiny smile on his face grow into a grin. “Si, but she doesn’t know that, does she?” he murmured back. His smile was infectious, and I smiled back and opened my purse to hand him the money.

“Ah, that was fun, I love to bargain!” he laughed as Paulette painstakingly filled out my receipt. “Please, since we have shared this special experience, may I know your name? It would help, since I am supposed to be your good friend.”

“I’m Nicki, Nicki Labreque, and you are…?” I answered.

“My name is Antonio Dominguez, Tony – I will not offer to shake hands, so as not to make Paulette suspicious. It is a pleasure to meet you, Nicki.” Madame Paulette spoke once again, smiling at me. “She says that you look truly lovely in the scarf, she is glad you purchased it,” he said. “I must tell you that I agree with her.” He was flirting with me! And I loved it. “Thank you for your help,” I began, as I removed the scarf and folded it to put into my shopping bag. “I would not have been able to do this without you. It was very nice to meet…”

“No, wait, please. It’s almost lunchtime, are you hungry? I would love to buy you lunch, would you be able to join me?” His dark eyes sparkled as he spoke.

“Oh, thank you, I couldn’t possibly, I mean, I, well…” I looked at him for a minute. He definitely wasn’t harmless, he was exciting and his dark good looks seemed almost dangerous. But, then…“I AM hungry, and I would be happy to join you,” I said. He took my arm and steered me across the village square to a small restaurant. “Shall we sit outside? It’s a beautiful day, and you can watch the close of the market.” We were seated at a small table; a waiter who seemed to come straight out of a novel brought us a pitcher of wine and two glasses.

“How long have you been in France? You are American, yes? What is your home city? What do you do?” I laughed at Tony’s questions, and we began to talk. Our conversation was light, friendly, and as he asked more questions, and responded to mine, I could sense that he was really interested in me. When I explained that I worked for Boston University, as a European Studies professor, his eyes lit up. “You must have worked for a long time to achieve such a position.” He frequently touched my hand, or my arm as we spoke, and his eyes never wandered from me.

“You are Spanish?” I asked as our waiter brought platters of chicken and vegetables – and more wine. The food, and the company, was wonderful. Tony told me that he had moved to Provence several years earlier, from Andulasia, to better assist in his family’s antiques business, and that he came to the Sorgue market often to contact other wholesale vendors. His love for his adopted country was obvious, although he said that he was frequently homesick and scheduled frequent trips to Spain. He was beautiful, intelligent, charming, totally appealing – a perfect man.

My head was spinning slightly from the wine, and his smile. I glanced down at my watch, and gasped. “Oh, wow, look at the time! We’ve been here for almost three hours!”

“Do you need to be somewhere, Nicki?” he asked, nodding slightly to the now-bored waiter. “Do you have plans that I have interrupted, perhaps?”

“No, not at all – I am worried that I have kept you from something important,” I replied.

The waiter moved back to our table, carrying the bill. “I need to tell you, please believe me, that the moment I saw you, you became the most important thing in my day,” Tony said, fingers lightly tracing the back of my hand. I laughed a little at the outrageous remark, and then realized that he was serious. “It’s been a wonderful afternoon,” I answered, and slowly moved to gather my bags.

“Listen, it sounds as if you have not seen too much of the countryside. Have you been to Aix? It is a beautiful town, there are so many things to do. And is a wonderful old vineyard there, I live at the edge of it, you must see it.”

“Well, no, I haven’t been there,” I answered. “To be honest, I’m a little afraid to drive. The other drivers are…”

“Crazy? Yes I know!” he grinned. “What are your plans for tomorrow? I can pick you up, we’ll make a day of it – please say yes.”

I hesitated – after all, I didn’t really know him. But he looked so damn appealing, smiling at me, head tilted as he waited for my answer. “Where are you staying? May I call you in the morning? Come on, it will be fun!” The smile did me in, and I gave him the number of the small guesthouse where I had rented a room. “Then, expect a call from me tomorrow, Nicki – I will be looking forward to spending the day with you!” He rose to pull back my chair, one hand lingering on my shoulder. As he escorted me back across the square, he was already planning all the things he would show me.

At the guesthouse, my hostess Madame Ranier looked pleased when I told her that I might be getting a telephone call in the morning. “Oo, from a gentleman? Tres bien, Nicki, tres bien! I will make sure to come wake you – but I think you will already be awake, hmmm?” I laughed and turned towards my pretty garden room. As I sat on the tiny patio outside my door that evening, my doubts returned. It was fine to dream of being swept off your feet by a stranger, but what did he see in me? Would he even call? Probably not. Hey, I thought, you had a terrific lunch and a few hours with a gorgeous man – it will be your best vacation memory…but Mme. Ranier was right; I didn’t sleep well, dreaming of chocolate, cool wine and a smoky voice.

I was awake and dressed by 7:15 the next day. Anxious, feeling silly, I paced for a few minutes, then left the room in search of coffee. Mme. Ranier met me in the hall. “Nicki, he is on the telephone! And he sounds divine! Come, quickly!” I followed her down the hall, stomach lurching a little.

“Good morning Nicki, how are you?” There is so much I want to show you,” Tony said. “Can you be ready at 8:30?” I agreed and sat down at the kitchen table with Madame, trying not to watch the clock and tying to give my full attention to her gentle advice about men. “He sounds so sexy, Nicki – but, please, you must be careful, one never knows…”

“Oui, Madame, I understand, I will be careful,” I replied, while my heart whispered “Oh no, you don’t want to be careful, you don’t really want to.”

She looked at me over the top of her glasses. “Bon. Having said that, have a wonderful time, and do not even worry about returning – I trust your judgement and will not worry about you!” I blushed and protested, but she would have none of it. “I think you will have a most interesting adventure today, Nicki. You should make the most of it.”

At precisely 8:30 we heard the roar of a sports car in the driveway. Madame gave a tiny gasp as she opened the door to greet Tony, and stood back to allow him to enter the house; as she followed him back to the kitchen she smiled widely at me and nodded. He refused her offer of coffee, and after a few minutes of conversation, took my hand to lead me outside. Madame stood by the door, still smiling as he helped me into the car and drove off.

Aix is a university town, with shady, tree-lined boulevards and sunny parks. I had read about it and had longed to see it, for it is beautiful, and full of history and treasures to discover. But, to my surprise, our first stop was not at any museum or historic site, but at a farmer’s market!

“I’ll bet you have not seen a French housewife in action at the market, have you?” Tony asked as we left the car and walked across a wide street. Striped canvas awnings shaded various stands selling meat, poultry, produce, herbs, spices – a cooks’ dream come true! “This is what you will tell your friends in Boston about when they ask you about your trip – trust me!” And he was right. It was hilarious, watching the women as they poked at various goods, argued with the vendors, and smiled smugly as they walked to the next stand with their hard-won bargains. We wandered from stall to stall, looking at the incredible varieties of food that the local farmers offered. And I was amused to watch the reactions of every woman who crossed our path, eyeing my companion, then me, then him again. He seemed to be oblivious to them.

“Nicki, do you like to cook”? Tony asked as I lingered in front of the herb vendor, stroking a ribbon-tied bunch of basil to release its’ fragrance. “Oh, yes!” I replied, smiling. “If I could come here to buy my food, I would be in heaven!”

“I have an idea – what if we buy whatever looks good to us and cook dinner together? I think it would be – fun – and I want to see what you can do with all of this delicious stuff.”

My heart skipped a beat… “That sounds wonderful; what should we get?” I said. And we were off. We bought jewel-colored peppers, huge ripe tomatoes, eggplant, the basil I had admired, garlic, onions, lettuce for salad. “Are you a vegetarian?” he teased, watching me struggle with my armful of produce. A farmer smiled at me and handed me a large paper sack for our purchases. “Oh! No, no, what else should we buy?” I laughed, and we walked down the aisle to inspect fat chickens, cuts of beef, fish…”Do you like lamb?” he asked, stopping in front of an ice-laden table. “Sure, that would be great”. Tony pointed to several pieces, which the butcher obligingly wrapped.

“Wait! How are we going to keep all this food from spoiling?” I asked. He looked at me in mock horror. “Oh NO – what are we going to do?” he teased. “Well? What ARE we going to do?” I asked sternly. Tony thought for a minute, asked the butcher to hold our purchase, and then grabbed my hand. “Come on, we can take care of this.” He led me back across the street to what looked like an old-fashioned American five-and-dime store. The interior was cool and dark, and it made me a little nostalgic. The store was a hodge-podge of stuff, with no organization and merchandise spilling from bins to the floor. As we prowled the aisles, Tony scowling and muttering under his breath, I started to giggle.

“What are we looking for?” He turned and mock-glared at me. “Well, what do you think? Fishing line? Maybe some stationery? Something to hold the food, of course – aah, here we are!” He triumphantly lifted a Styrofoam cooler and grinned at me. “See? I am so clever – we will beg the butcher for ice, and our purchases will stay chilled while we play!” My giggles increased at the look on his face, and he abruptly dropped the cooler. “Oh, and now you laugh at me? I do not think this is proper behavior for an American woman…” he moved close to me. “You will pay for this insult, pay dearly.” I was now laughing so hard that as I turned to move away from him I twisted and stumbled, falling against him. “See, you can’t get away – and now, for the payment, senorita.” I looked up at him, still laughing, and watched him smile slightly, eyes darkening. He gently grabbed my arms and bent his head to kiss me, a light, teasing, butterfly of a kiss. “If you cannot behave properly, there will be more of this, I promise you!” he whispered.

My eyes widened. “More? Well, I…don’t know…it will be awfully hard to behave…”

“Does that mean you will behave awfully?” he laughed, and turned to find the cashier. I was slightly disappointed – I had given him a hole the size of a crater and the tractor to drive through it, and he hadn’t taken it…oh well.

As we left the store with our purchase, he was quiet and thoughtful. “Tony, what is next? What do you have planned?” I asked, feeling a little unsettled.

“I thought lunch – it’s almost noon, you know, and then there are many different things we can do. Would you like to visit a museum? There are shops all along the Cours Mirabeau, we can walk. Anything that you want, anything at all,” he replied. Oh no! I thought; please, let this continue.

Purchases packed in the donated ice, we drove to the Cours. Lunch was at a charming café; to his dismay, I ate little. “I want to save my appetite for dinner!” I explained. He was slightly reserved, and I was nervous. Would there be a dinner? Had he decided that he didn’t…like me?

We spent the afternoon wandering the Cours, looking in all the shops. I tried on hats in a small store; he picked out a floppy, flower-child straw one with a huge silk daisy pinned to it, and insisted that I wear it. Slowly, the closeness of the morning returned, and we both relaxed. As we walked, holding hands like the summer students we passed, he pointed out statues, old buildings, and told me stories of the history of the town. Again, my companion turned female heads, all along the Cours. And again, he was oblivious, head bent to me, attention focused only on me…

“It’s getting late, querida, I want you to see the vineyard. Are you ready?” he finally said, steering me back towards the car.

We left Aix and turned onto a country road. Grapevines surrounded us on both sides; I could see the fruit hanging, not ready to be picked, but close. “I wish I could be here for the harvest, it must be so much fun,” I sighed. “Well, to be honest, it is hard work, hot, painful – you might not like it – look, here we are,” he replied, turning into a narrow lane. I could see the an old stone farmhouse ahead of us. “Oh, how beautiful!”

“Isn’t it nice? I was lucky to be able to buy it – the farmer who owns this land built a new house for his family at the other side of the property, and, well, it’s mine.” We parked his car, left our purchases in a huge kitchen and walked to the vineyard. We wandered through the rows of old vines - twisting and curling around their supports, heavy with fruit that was almost ready to be harvested. We stole fat, sweet red grapes and fed them to each other, laughing; he caught my hand and slowly raised it to my mouth, making me trace my lips with one finger to capture the juice from a handful, and then slowly raised it to his own lips. The sensation of his tongue against my finger sent a tiny shock through my body; his slow smile told me that he felt it, too.

The shadows lengthened, but the heat of the day lingered, promising little relief for the evening. “Are you hungry? It’s almost 7.” “Yes, I am,” I replied, and thought, but not for food…for you…the day was turning out to be a dream come true, the kind of dream you keep to yourself…your wildest dream. We walked back to the farmhouse slowly, holding hands.

What fun we had! “What is your favorite music?” he asked, and let me choose a batch of CD’s to play. Cutting the veggies, bumping into one another (accidentally on purpose!), lighting an expensive grill on one corner of the terrace. I admired the china and crystal glasses Tony brought out to set on a glass-topped table, and he told me he had brought it from Spain. Two bottles of wine appeared, along with fat white candles in antique glass hurricane shades.

Watching his eyes in the candlelight, I could feel my heart beating, could feel my cheeks flushing from the wine, from him watching me. The produce, soft and silky from the grill and the fragrant olive oil they had cooked in, the lamb - everything was delicious, and incredibly sensuous. The scent of late roses climbing a wall near the table drifted over us, and I slipped off my sandals to feel the cool stone of the terrace against my feet. Our voices were quiet, with long periods of silence, just looking at one another. The evening had an unreal quality. Something was going to happen…something wonderful.

I stood up and carrying my glass, wandered to the edge of the terrace. There was a warm breeze, and the moon was rising, casting light and shadows over the vines below me. I was a little tipsy from the wine, and the man. Tony followed and stood behind me, hands rising to curve around my shoulders. “It is beautiful here, you are a very lucky man,” I said. “You are beautiful, and I am indeed a very lucky man,” he replied, and slowly turned me to face him. “Nicki, I will not give you a, what do Americans say? A line. I want to make love to you. Do you want me?”

“Oh, yes, I do,” I breathed, as his lips met mine – no teasing this time, but a kiss of passion. “Come with me, corazon.” We moved slowly to the house, stopping to pick up the bottle and his glass, and pausing at a set of doors leading to a shadowy room. “You are sure? You are not playing with me? This is too easy, love,” he whispered, his smile taking away the seriousness of his words.

“I’m sure, Tony I want you.”

The large room was simple, totally masculine, and totally romantic. Long, white curtains moved gently at the doors and at two windows, stirred by the breeze and a lazily turning ceiling fan. An antique bed dominated the room, covered in white linen; pillows were heaped at the head; a dark blue quilt was neatly folded at the foot. We could see ourselves reflected in a huge mirror opposite it, framed in slivers of light as the moon lifted further in the sky. There was a single lamp, on a table to one side of the bed – there were books there, and a small statue or carving; it was so beautiful and I stood and stared for a minute, unable to move.

“What is it? Second thoughts? That’s OK, truly, you know that I will be disappoin…”

My mouth stopped his. “I have never, never felt this way, so quickly, so completely. Please believe me, Tony. It’s just, this room, it’s like a dream come true – I belong here.”

“No,” he said, drawing those two little letters into a caress. “We belong here.” How did we get across the room? I have no memory of it, but we were beside the bed, bottle and glasses on the table, his hands cupped behind my head, moving it, tilting it to mold his mouth to mine, tongues darting and teasing. I heard sounds; they were me, moaning softly. I moved to unbutton his shirt, slide it from his body, and I could feel his breath catch as I touched his chest, his nipples, the muscles of his back. “Corazon, that feels so good, no, don’t stop…” He slid one hand down and slowly lowered the zipper of my dress. “It’s so hot tonight, you don’t need this, you don’t need anything but me covering you. The sundress fell to my feet, he drew my panties down and then stepped back slightly, his eyes sweeping my body, as if he was still touching me. He smiled, his hands moving to unbuckle his belt, unzip his jeans.

“Oh, let me help,” I grinned at him, and my hands moved to tangle with his and then wander across his buttocks as he bent to remove his clothing. We stood, facing each other, touching each other, gently, lightly, exploring. His fingers brushed the hair at the juncture of my legs. “So soft, what does it hide?” My hands moved down to touch him at the same spot on his body – “Nothing is hiding here, Senor.” Eyes sparkling, he grabbed my arms and pushed me onto the bed. No, not hiding, not from you,” he said.

The sheets were cool and soft; the body that followed me down was heated. He moved against me, sighing, and then pulled me slowly across his aroused body, so that my back rested against him, between his outstretched legs. “Did you know that I wanted this the minute I saw you yesterday? It’s all I have been able to think about,” he said softly, fingers of one hand tracing my nipples. I shivered again, and he smiled, that slow, sexy smile.

“What, little old schoolteacher me, wrapped up in a scarf?” I laughed.

“No, no, I saw you as soon as I arrived. You were walking across the square, you looked so lovely, and you looked a little…lonely. I – well, I followed you – I hope you don’t mind I wanted to know you. It was an impulse.”

I tilted my head back and stared up at him, and gasped a little as his other hand began to move, tracing my belly. “Oh…so I am your summer romance? Do you always give in to your impulses?” I said, trying to joke. “Never,” the r’s rolling softly over me – so sensual! “Never have I done this. And the summer is almost over…so you cannot be a summer romance, si? Do you like this?” and his hand moved even lower, gently probing and stroking between my legs.

“Oh, yes, yes…I like this,” I moaned, and, raised a leg slightly to give him better access to me. “I would like it if you would do that for the rest of the night, oooooh…”

“But we have so many other things to do, mi amor,” he whispered, fingers slowly moving into me. “Things that were invented for a hot night, for a night where you are covered in moonlight…yes, move…no you won’t hurt me,” he laughed, as I looked up a little anxiously. “You cannot imagine how incredible that feels…” And I did, feeling his erection pushing gently against me as his hands moved, moved.

“Tony, Tony,” I could hear myself murmuring his name. “Please, I want you, Tony…now…”

“Not yet. I want to play,” he breathed against my mouth, tongue licking my lips, grazing against my teeth, hands never stopping. “I want to play with you until you are crazy, until you can think of nothing but me.”

“I am there, please, are you going to make me beg?” I gasped. “I will, I am, you’re torturing me…” we laughed at each other, and he repeated, “Not yet…”

I finally couldn’t stand it anymore and took the initiative, twisting around to meet him face to face. “I think you need some of your own medicine, Senor Dominguez,” I smiled, slipping my hand between our bodies to find what had been tickling me. It was his turn to moan, as I stroked and teased him.

“Nicki, all right, you have had your revenge,” he groaned, trying to reverse our positions. “Nooo, not yet”, I responded, smiling. “I want to play now…what do you taste like? Do you like that? Oh, Tony, I can see that you do!” And I paid him back, tenfold, for the exquisite torture he had inflicted on me, running my tongue the length of him, over and over, hearing him call my name as he had made me do.

He finally outmaneuvered me, grinning, and pulled me to the middle of the bed. “Are you crazy yet?” he said. “I am; are you?” I answered, and he once again moved over me, his hands sliding underneath my hips to lift me, to drive into me. Heaven…

We didn’t sleep, well, little catnaps, one of us always waking and turning to the other. The moon moved slowly across the bed and out of sight, making us use our hands and mouths to find one another. The wine helped a little, but helping each other drink only led to more mischief. “You are so sleepy, are you sore?” he asked at one point. “Yes, and yes, but I don’t care, I don’t want this to end, don’t let me go,” I sighed, pulling his head down for a drugging kiss. “Don’t let me go…”

It was late the next morning when I woke. Making love with Tony had been the wildest night of my life, and the most wonderful, corny as it sounds. I stretched and turned to find that the rest of the bed was empty. WAS it a wild dream? I was so tired, I couldn’t think, where was he?

He was suddenly at the door, carrying a tray. Smiling at me, moving carefully to sit next to me, leaning down to kiss me again (and almost tipping the tray over!). No dream, not at all. “I brought you coffee, are you hungry? I seem to always be asking you that, querida! Good morning…opening my eyes and finding you in my arms made this a terrific morning!”

The hot coffee helped me to wake up, and as I listened to him planning the day, I started to think ahead…oh no. Today was Tuesday…”Nicki, I need to ask you something and to tell you something,” he suddenly said.

“Uh, what?”

“I want you to know, this has been special, very special to me. I do not want it to end. I won’t let it end. But corazon, tell me, I know you must go home. When are you scheduled to leave? How much time do we have?”

My heart sank. “Well, um, oh God, Tony – I feel the same way, I…” my voice trailed off, I suddenly felt like crying. He took the cup from my hand and put it and the tray on the floor.

“Nicki, it’s OK, really. How much time?”

“My return ticket is for Sunday afternoon,” I whispered, lowering my head, miserable. “I wish it wasn’t. Oh, what are we going to do??”

“Six days…aah, so little time.” He gently grasped my chin and made me look at him. “Nicki, I want you to stay here with me, until you have to catch the flight. Will you do that? There are so many things I want to tell you, to show you. Something has happened to us, we need to be together. Please say you will.”

“Tony, I don’t know,” I said. “It will be so hard to go – maybe we should just…there’s an old song, “Kiss and Say Goodbye”, maybe that’s what we need to do…but it will hurt so much.”

“No it won’t, because it will not happen. Nicki, this is too important to let it go. So I refuse to, and I will not let you, either.”

I looked at him, smiling at his vehemence. “How?”

Well, do you think that you will be on the only airplane to ever cross the Atlantic Ocean, ever again? And, Europeans love American antiques…” he laughed. “We can make this work, and in the meantime, we can be together until you must go. What do you say?” He took my hands and looked at me, waiting.

“Do you really think?” I began, still not daring to believe. “Of course I do!” he interrupted, “It will work, trust me.”

I looked at him for a minute more, smiling at me, his eyes dancing. “You are very persuasive, look at what you’ve gotten me into in just 48 hours! I think that we owe it to ourselves to try…”

“YES!” he yelled and grabbed me one more time…

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