English biscuits and cheese.
“You know what I said to those people about your being my wife?” Phil said softly, his eyes holding hers. “It sounded great to me.”
“The woman didn’t believe you,” Kathy said, her voice uneven.
“How does it sound to you?” he challenged. “Kathy, will you marry me?”
“You’re drunk already?” she laughed, but her heart was pounding.
“Only drunk with the pleasure of being with you.” He set down his wineglass, took her glass from her hands and put it on the floor. “Kathy, I’m not drunk.” He chuckled. “The whole bottle couldn’t make me drunk. I want to marry you. I’m not sure of what lies ahead for us; but whatever, I want to share it with you.”
“Phil, I’m not sure. I mean, we’ve known each other only a few weeks.” But her heart was saying “Yes!”
“I know how I feel about you. Maybe we can even get married right here in Paris—” His mouth reached for hers. His hands pulled her close.
Kathy’s eyes fluttered shut as his hands reached beneath her sweater and crept around to unhook her bra. She abandoned herself to the passion that welled within her. No turning back now. His mouth clung to hers while his hands fondled the lush spill of her breasts.
She was aware that he was bringing pillows to the floor from the sofa.
“We’ll have a bed before the fireplace,” he murmured, his mouth at her ear as he manipulated her along the threadbare rug before the hearth.
She waited, devoid of will, caught up in emotions that refused denial. With gentle impatience he helped her out of her clothes, then shucked away his own.
“Cold?” he asked as she shivered faintly.
“No,” she whispered.
His mouth found hers again, and he made his way between her slender thighs. She murmured a startled protest for an instant, but her arms tightened about his shoulders in approval, everything forgotten in the joy of this meeting.
Phil rummaged in the closet in the upstairs bedroom and returned to Kathy with a pair of shabby robes.
“Not exactly Coco Chanel,” he said humorously, “but why bother dressing?”
In a little while they made love again. Kathy refused to allow herself to think beyond this weekend. Had he meant that about their getting married? Or was it just a pitch to make her stop putting up barriers?
Later, he lounged before the fireplace and listened to squeaky old records on the phonograph while she prepared a Spartan dinner.
“Let’s eat in here,” he called to her. “It’s the only warm place in the house.”
“They won’t be happy that we’re using so much wood,” Kathy said uneasily while she brought in a large bowl of noodles and cheese along with a pot of tea.
“I hear most of the French can’t stand the sight of noodles,” Phil said. “That’s what they’ve been eating for years. And where did you find tea? I thought the old broad said they had no tea or coffee.”
“I always keep a couple of tea bags in my wallet,” she told him.
“Don’t tell me. I’m acquiring a shrewd little wife.”
“I can’t believe this is happening.” Her eyes glowed. He’d meant it about their getting married. “Three months ago I didn’t know you existed.”
“I don’t suppose we could get married here in Paris this weekend,” he said wryly. “I have reservations about being married in Germany.”
“I’d hate a cold civil ceremony.” Kathy flinched in distaste. “I want my parents and Aunt Sophie there—and your parents and your sisters.”
“Oh God, I can just hear my father and mother going at it again,” Phil said groaning. “When my sisters got married, you’d think they were planning a royal wedding.”
“We’ll insist on something quiet. Just family,” Kathy decreed. “And let’s don’t say anything to the others. Not until we’re on our way home.”
“I should have reservations for myself in eight days,” he told her and her eyes widened in surprise. “The magazine is arranging
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