The Woman With the Bouquet Read Online Free PDF

my consternation, with a strong hand he seized a clump of grasses and placed them in front of his sex.
    “Young lady, please, don’t be afraid.”
    Far from being afraid, I was thinking of something else altogether. The truth was that I found him so strong, so virile, so incredibly desirable that it took my breath away.
    He held out his hand in entreaty, as if to reassure me regarding his intentions.
    “Would you help me, please?”
    I noticed that his arm was trembling.
    “I’ve lost my clothing,” he stuttered.
    No, he was not trembling, he was shivering.
    “Are you cold?” I asked.
    “A bit.”
    The understatement was proof that he was well brought up. I was trying to think of a quick solution.
    “Would you like me to go and get you some clothes?”
    “Oh, please, yes . . .”
    In the meantime I worked out how long it would take me.
    “The problem is that I need two hours, one to go, one to come back; by then you’ll be frozen. Particularly as the wind is picking up and night is about to fall.”
    Without further ado, I untied the cape I had been wearing as a coat.
    “Listen, put this on and follow me. That’s the best way.”
    “But . . . you’ll get cold.”
    “Go on, I still have a shirt and a sweater, whereas you have nothing. In any case, I cannot possibly go along the beach with a naked man at my side. Either you take my cape, or you stay here.”
    “I’ll wait here.”
    “You’re so trusting,” I said with a laugh, because I suddenly realized how comical the situation was. “What if, once I get home, I don’t go back out?”
    “You wouldn’t do that!”
    “How do you know? Has anyone ever told you how I ordinarily treat the naked men I find in the bushes?”
    It was his turn to burst out laughing.
    “All right. I’ll take your cape, then, thank you.”
    I went up to him and draped the cloth around his shoulders, so he wouldn’t risk revealing his sex on raising his hands.
    Relieved, he wrapped himself up, although the woolen garment was not enough to cover his tall body.
    “My name is Guillaume,” he said, as if he considered it time for an introduction.
    “Emma,” I replied. “Let’s not talk anymore, and let’s go home as quickly as possible before the weather turns us into icebergs. Is that all right?”
    We headed into the wind.
    Once you assign a destination to your walking, there is no more unpleasant means of locomotion. Strolling aimlessly turns out to be a pleasure, but going from place to place seems interminable.
    Fortunately, our strange couple did not run into anyone. As we were silent, I grew more and more intimidated by the minute, and hardly dared glance at my companion; I dreaded the wind might lift up the cloth and he might think my gaze was indiscreet. As a result, I made my way with effort, my shoulder blades were tense, my neck stiff.
    Once we got back to the shelter of the Villa Circé, I wrapped him up in the afghan I had in the living room, rushed to the kitchen, and heated up some water. I was learning on the spot to be a good housewife, and I’m generally so clumsy and inept. While I was putting some cookies onto a plate, it occurred to me that I had just brought a stranger into my home on the very day when I did not have any servants about, but such petty mistrust annoyed me, and I returned briskly with my tray of steaming hot tea to the library.
    He was waiting for me, smiling, shivering, curled up on the sofa.
    “Thank you.”
    Now I could take a closer look at him. His face was smooth, his eyes light, his hair long, curly and golden; his lips were full, and his neck sloped tenderly to strong shoulder joints. One of his feet was sticking out from the afghan, and I noticed his leg was smooth, tapering, hairless, like a marble from antiquity. My living room was hosting a Greek statue, the Antinous idolized by the Emperor Hadrian, that splendid young man who, out of melancholy, threw himself into the blue waters of the Mediterranean; now this morning