The meeting is almost finished and I know his eyes have returned to me again and again the whole time through. He's well above me in the ranks and not someone I speak to on a regular basis - knew who he was long before he invited me into his room to learn who I was, what I did and what my thoughts were on where the current organization is going. He's got the same dark, piercing eyes today as then - looking as if he knows exactly what he wants.
For a fleeting moment I meet them only to look away almost at once, it's hard to keep eye contact with him for some reason. My stomach contracts out of pure lust, a thread connecting everything in my lower body, a thread he is pulling at his leisure. 'Damn, this is not good', flashes through my head. A smile is playing at the corners of his mouth, as if he knows what is happening inside me.
He carries himself with the ease, security and arrogance that power brings. Impeccably dressed in white shirt, tie, dark suit - despite the lingering heat of late September. I can see a hint of sweat on his forehead, the moisture creating small unruly curls in his hair. He has to be hot in here, as hot as I am. I remove a paper from the notepad on the table, fold it in half and fan myself. Trying hard to concentrate on what is said, follow the rapid discussion in French and block out the thought of his eyes.
His eyes are scanning the legs under the table, stop at mine and move from the shoes up to the hem lying across my thighs. I shiver. It makes me feel slightly uncomfortable - seen and at the mercy of his eyes. Move slightly in an attempt to get the hem closer to my knees when I notice the almost imperceptible shake of the head and stop. My cheeks are glowing. I breathe out a short puff of air over the nose and forehead to cool off. It doesn't help, the heat wave spreads throughout the body, centering on the hot ball in my stomach. I cross the legs in a vain attempt to stop what is happening.
As the ball explodes, spreading its warmth throughout the body the folded paper floats down towards the floor and the feet of the chair squeak as I involuntarily move. Sweat gather at the nape of the neck, underneath the hair and I lightly bite my lower lip to keep quiet. My nipples are erect, longing to be released from their confining clothes. The wetness pools between my legs. A quick glance at the laughter in his eyes makes me realize that he has seen, understood and with that knows exactly how he affects me.
"Mme. Landrie, are you alright?"
The heavy Italian accent of my immediate boss is filled with concern.
"Yes, yes, M. Mazzini, just this late summer heat making me a bit dizzy. I will go get some water from the fountain outside."
My legs feel shaky as I stand up and move towards the door. The air in the corridor is slightly cooler and I greedily lap it up, feeling the pulse return to near normal. Bathrooms are empty, the mirror revealing my flushed cheeks and neck. Cold water running over the wrists only make the bulging veins on my hands reduce somewhat in size. The whole body is still tingling as I quickly reapply some of the lipstick that has gone missing.
Getting back inside my colleagues are already gathering their papers, rising and heading for the door. I move towards my spot to collect the papers, laptop and suitcase. As I push in the chair the heat of another body closes in on mine. Too close to be a coincidence or a purely professional distance. His scent is heavy, masculine, intoxicating. I try to move forward but am stopped by his hand on my elbow. The touch is almost electric, spreading throughout the body.
"Ma petite... comment ça va?"
He is close enough that I can almost feel his breath on my neck. The voice is low and smooth; no one can hear him but myself. Somewhere there is an undertone I'm not able to pinpoint. Demanding? Appreciating? Wanting? The hairs at the back of my neck rise - hungry, afraid, willing, a bit ashamed, ready. The heart picks up pace again. I nod and feel my cheeks flush again.
"Oui monsieur, je vais bien."
"Bon, vous ne pouvez pas vous évanouir."
I can feel his body lightly touching mine as he moves away and a low friendly chuckle fills the air. The heat lingers in my skin, almost burning. As I get out I see his back moving away from me in the corridor. I follow him, feel the need to explain myself and desperately search the brain for french words - this was never something they taught in language school. Frown at the confusion inside and my brain stumbling over itself - both with the language and the situation. I reach him and his secretary at the far end of the corridor just in time to catch the last words of their conversation.
"...pourrais-tu commander un taxi? Je doir être a l'aéroport dans deux heures."
"Ah, Mme. Landrie. Vous avez besoin d'un taxi aussi? Je me rappelle vous allez revenir cet aprés-midi."
"Oui, mon vol est à six heure."
"Bon, venez avec mon taxi."
Our eyes meet and it's not just a suggestion. I see the unspoken demand to come, know that I have to follow, can't do anything but follow. Brain still screaming at me that this is a bad idea and I should move far away, now - but the body has taken on a life of its own, separated from free will and reasoning. He removes the laptop case from my shoulder and takes my bag in the other hand. The heels of my shoes feel thin and unsteady when I try to keep pace behind him as he walks quickly towards the front desk.
The taxi is already waiting at the main gate. He puts down the bags by the trunk, opens the door and helps me into the backseat. No room for questions, no room for hesitation. His eyes track the movement of my hand as I try to keep the hem from riding up when I step in. That same almost imperceptible head shake as before. I remove the hand, blush and feel something stirring between my legs again.
The door closes with a muffled thud and I hear him talk to the driver, probably giving directions. A couple of seconds later he's beside me on the other side of the backseat. There's still a distance between us with the empty third spot separating. I keep my eyes planted at the seat in front of me, knowing that if I look him in the eyes again I will lose what small part of self-control I still have. Then his hand under my cheek, turning and lifting so have no choice but to look straight at him. The fire burning behind the eyes is almost hypnotizing.
