CultOfTheBlackVirgin (8 page)

Two dangerous words kept going round and round in her head.

If only. If only. If only.

After breakfast, bags packed and loaded in the van, the group walked across the road to the entrance of the
Grotte de Lacave
and boarded the underground train that took them deep inside the mountain.

Jo was looking forward to her trip underground. When the train car began to move, she was transfixed. The temperature dropped and all sounds disappeared, except for the mechanics of the train and her own breathing.

The illumination was eerie, and she couldn’t tell how fast or how far they were traveling. After a few minutes, motion stopped, the door opened automatically, and Luc led them out to a dark, wet platform.

The group huddled together, trying to get oriented to the cool and humid semi-darkness. Carol complained she was cold. Jo, too, shivered inside her walking shorts.

Luc noticed.

“Yes, it seems cold in here. The temperature remains a constant forty-five degrees year round. Don’t worry. You’ll grow accustomed to it very soon. Stay close to me and walk carefully. All the paths are lit, but some are quite dark and the floor can be rough and wet in places. Wet limestone is slippery,” he warned, “so move slowly and stay together. I have a flashlight, and I’ll help you over any dangerous ground.”

They followed him along the path to the first large chambers. Jo was instantly enchanted. The cave was beautiful and eerie. Yes, there were plenty of the requisite stalactites and stalagmites, and lots of dripping all over the place, but it was the pseudo-architecture of some of the rooms that thrilled her.

Jo had read in the
French Escapes
brochure that the cave’s formations would evoke familiar shapes and objects. Some of the tall, delicate forms flowing down the walls made her think of massive pipe organs. It was like standing inside one of the great stone cathedrals of Europe. She’d been to Seville, York, Chartes.

But even more evocative were the great billowing limestone shapes that hung from the ceilings and draped over walls. The looked like giant lips, labia, women’s genitals ten yards high and three yards wide. The more she looked at them, the more sexual they seemed. It was as if they weren’t made of hard cold stone at all, but of enormous soft warm wet folds of flesh. Engorged. Glistening. Dripping. She smiled at the likeness.

Am I the only one who sees these slabs of limestone as sexual? Am I seeing the world through the eyes of a woman in lust?

Clearly I am,
she decided with some amusement.

As she stared hard at the room full of giant vulvas, she heard Luc’s playful voice close beside her.

“This room is nicknamed
La Salle des Femmes
. Can anyone guess why?”

A few chuckles were his answer, and Jo felt slightly disappointed that her private thoughts were not unique. But then she blushed at the knowledge that Luc was thinking the same thing she was.

He quickly adopted a more professional tone.

“The primitive people who once lived in this region believed that caves were sacred places. Because they are deep inside the earth, Mother Earth, if you like, caves were seen as symbols of wombs—the place from which all life springs. You must admit that the entering of a large cavern through a narrow tunnel does have a sexual parallel.”

Peter guffawed, Edward said, “Oh. Right.” Duncan, deadpan, said, “Okay, I admit it.”

“Yes,” added Professor Arnold, the group’s private Oxford scholar. “There is much evidence to suggest that the female’s ability to bring forth life has been revered in primitive cultures worldwide. Today we don’t place much stock in it, do we?”

“I should say we don’t,” Marcie piped up. “As a mother of four I could use a little more respect.” She threw a sideways look at her stoic husband and the rest of the women laughed.

Marcie was a timid and tired-looking creature, Jo thought.
Is that what motherhood is going to do to me?

But then she was pulled back into the present as Luc moved slightly closer to her. He had given the floor to the professor, who was elaborating on caves’ symbolic significance to primitive peoples. In the semidarkness, she closed her eyes and imagined she was alone with Luc in this giant room full of engorged labia. The enclosed space made it easy for her to pretend that the two of them were separated from the rest of the world by a mile of solid rock. She allowed herself to feel a subtle shiver of pleasure as she sensed Luc’s large presence close by.

When Thomas was finished, Luc thanked him and went on to explain how and when these particular caves were discovered. His voice seemed even deeper as it resonated off the stone walls, his accent strongly appealing. Jo indulged in another little shiver of pleasure as it pulsed through her body. Then she sensed that Luc had shifted his body even closer to hers, and she opened her eyes in surprise. He was almost touching her. She thought she could feel his warmth. In the low light, no one could see how closely he was standing to her. Almost holding her breath, she stood perfectly still.

Then his body did touch hers, ever so slightly, as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. She thought his chest brushed her arm and shoulder—or maybe it was just his shirt—and she felt another, deeper, shiver of pleasure, causing her nipples to harden.

Did that really happen? Or did I imagine it?

He looked down at her and gave her a devastatingly sexy smile before moving off to the next room. No one else could have seen the look on his face. She caught her breath as if the wind had been knocked out of her. Although there wasn’t much light, she’d read his message. His smile spoke it. His eyes seconded it. Subtly but unmistakably, he was flirting with her. Teasing her. Challenging her.

This has to be
more than just a little harmless flirtation. My smiles and questions to him over breakfast were perfectly innocent
.
And so, possibly, were his smiles and answers to me. But this is something else!

It spoke quite clearly of different, not-so-harmless things. And at this thought her chest swelled with guilty pleasure. She allowed herself to indulge in a little fantasy of running ahead to trip him, to have him fall on her, right here on the wet, cold stone floor.

He would be so hot and heavy on top of me. So strong.

Not only had she forgotten all about James, she’d conveniently forgotten that Luc was a married man.

While she was deep in fantasy land, Luc moved the group slowly through to the next set of galleries. Each was equally beautiful, full of wide pools of sparkling clear water that gave the illusion of being bottomless. Although the water was only a few inches deep, it reflected the ceilings so clearly that their height turned into depth. It gave Jo the odd sensation of being turned upside down. Crystalline forms glimmered in the dim light, and the tips of some of the stalactites shone like glowworms. She snapped some photos but knew that the camera could never capture the cave’s surreal quality.

They moved on, the path suddenly narrowing and the ceiling dropping low.

Luc took command again. “Now, everyone, please form a single line and be very careful of the water on the ground as we continue. I don’t want anyone to slip.”

It was quite dark now. He stood at the narrowest part of the path, with his flashlight on, waiting to take the arm of anyone wanting help negotiating the pools of water covering it. Jo deliberately hung back so she could pass through last.

When it was her turn, she walked up to him confidently. He looked down into her eyes, the corners of his mouth curled up, and after a brief pause that caused her stomach to flutter again, he said, “Ah, Joanna. It’s your turn. Please allow me.”

The way he said her name—Jo-
a
-nna—with a deliberate slowing down around the first
a
, made her knees weak.

He put his arm around her back and took her elbow in his great warm hand. Then he drew her tightly towards him, his strength shocking her. Shining the light ahead of them, he pulled her slowly along the path. She could smell him. After breakfast, he’d excused himself from the table to shower, and now he smelled of warm soap and sweet, fresh sweat. She felt the heat of his arm as it pressed into her back, the heat of his side where it touched hers. It was intoxicating. Now she knew what the word
swoon
meant.

Not loosening his hold of her body, he lowered his head towards her ear and asked softly, “Are you enjoying yourself so far, Joanna? I’m doing my best.”

A French accent had always seemed sexy to Jo, and Luc’s voice was seductive even when it wasn’t meant for her ears alone. But these suggestive words sent fire to the very marrow of her bones.

Heart racing, she stammered, “Oh. Yes, um, of course, thank you very much. I appreciate your efforts.”

She knew she sounded like an idiot, but that was all she could manage. The confidence she’d felt at the breakfast table had disappeared as she realized he was, carefully and respectfully, initiating a serious game. Or did she start it? Either way, it was clear they were now both playing.

But do I know the rules?

He released her only after it was clear he could no longer hold her without being seen by one of the others.

What’s going to happen now? Omygod! Am I really in control of the next move in this game?

His touch ignited a desire for more. She wanted to reach out and put her hands on him. Her mouth filled with saliva at the thought of pressing her mouth to any part of him. Her fingers tingled with the urge to stroke his flesh. She wanted to push him to the floor and lay down on top of him. Cover his long hard body with her own
.

Let everyone else go look at the stupid caves. I just want to stay behind and fuck the guide.

Oh my God…what am I thinking? Am I insane?

She stifled a giggle.

After Luc released her, Jo felt even colder. The next hour passed in a blur as she moved in step with the others. She heard nothing but his mesmerizing voice. She saw little else because she was thinking about what had just happened, and what it could mean. More fantasies sprang to mind—vivid fantasies with her and Luc together, alone, naked…

She was being a very bad girl.

Oh God—I have to stop this insanity
.
I have eight more days of this!

But it felt so good.

* * * *

Putain de merde! Holy fuck!

Luc couldn’t think of a French phrase to express himself any better than the crass old English standby. After last night and this morning he knew Jo was not only intelligent, but well-read, well-travelled, articulate, with a charmingly playful side. He couldn’t tell what was pulling at him more strongly—wariness or happiness.

He finished the tour through the caves on automatic pilot, speaking in monotone as if he were reading from a brochure.

“This part of the cave was discovered accidentally when…” and on he went as he battled an absurd desire to turn around, tell everyone to fuck off and get out, so he could be alone with Joanna underground.

He had always found that the cool, damp atmosphere of caverns made him horny. And a few times, with other lovers, he’d been able to indulge himself. But now he really wanted sex, with that damned American woman. The beautiful, sexy, smart, funny woman who couldn’t have been an iota more attractive to him. She was perfect. And he was in trouble.

Last night had been a surprise to Luc. Out of the blue, Jo began flirting with him. He thought it was just the wine talking, but this morning she started doing it again. It was as if she were a completely different woman than the nervous one he’d first met in Souillac. Or the quiet one he’d drawn out on the trail yesterday afternoon. And now he was even more deeply in thrall. He couldn’t not reciprocate.

Like any stupid male moth on the wing
.
I’m caught.

* * * *

When she stepped out of the caves, Jo saw that clouds had moved in to make the temperature perfect for walking. They followed Luc along the course of the Dordogne for an hour or so before stopping for lunch. The landscape was mostly natural, with very few signs of habitation. Groves of black walnut and oak opened to fields full of herbs and wildflowers. But, like yesterday afternoon, Jo was too preoccupied to appreciate what she saw. She dutifully snapped a few photos, and then put the camera back in her bag.

She did, however, stop to pick wild rosemary and oregano sprigs from the hills for her picnic, which she ate beside the rushing waters of the blue-green river. That morning she’d bought her lunch at a small shop in Lacave, treating herself to an expensive luxury—a small piece of goose liver pate. Despite her dancing hormones, she was able to enjoy it with the herbs, a fresh baguette and some baby carrots with the green tops still on. For dessert she savored a delicately formed pastry filled with marzipan. It was one of her favorites.

Time was a little tight that afternoon so they didn’t stop to bathe but pushed on to Rocamadour, situated in a magnificent gorge formed by the Ouysse River. Luc didn’t sit near her during lunch, nor did he walk alongside her during the afternoon, and she was grateful, for she was all abuzz inside.