Indiscretions - Elizabeth Adler [109]
Venetia took a gulp of her wine.
“Fitz,” she said, “Fitz … oh, God, this is awful.” Putting down her glass she ran an agitated hand through her hair and paced toward him. “Fitz, I think I’m in love with you. No. I am in love with you. Maybe you think I’m a fool, and that I barely know you … but I do know you, I feel I know you as I know myself.” She took a deep breath. “There, I’ve said it.” Tears pricked at her eyelids and she stared downcast at the golden Persian rug that felt like silk beneath her bare feet.
Fitz had meant to tell her to leave, just to be gentle and polite, but then she had looked at him with Jenny’s eyes, and her mouth that was so nearly Jenny’s, and she had said she loved him. It was the culmination of all his dreams. His arms went around her and her head bent beneath the passion of his kiss. He was kissing Jenny and he was kissing Venetia, those golden breasts and delicate pink nipples that rose to his touch, her scented blond hair, the satiny flesh under his lips. His boyhood longing for the unattainable woman on the screen was assuaged in the silken, entwined body of her daughter.
Venetia ran her hands down Fitz’s back, loving him, loving the feel of his flesh and muscle under her fingers. Her mouth felt bruised from his kisses, her breasts sweetly sore from his caress, and as he entered her she cried out with passion and pleasure, wrapping herself around him, drawing him ever closer, ever closer, until she was climbing to that great height. She heard him cry out, but she was lost in her passion, delirious, confused … of course he must have cried Vennie, not Jenny.
Venetia awoke to the sound of thunder rumbling across the water. A flash of lightning illuminated the darkened room and she saw she was alone. Sliding her legs from the bed, she padded across to the bathroom—he wasn’t there. She found a white toweling robe and knotting it around her she made her way onto the deck. He was standing in the rain, watching the storm.
She watched him for a moment and then walked up behind him, sliding her arm around his waist.
“It’s dangerous to be out in a storm like this,” she whispered.
Fitz turned to meet her eyes. He looked strange, she thought, as though he’d been a million miles away.
“Venetia.” She lifted her face to him and he kissed her on the lips, gently and tenderly. “Thank you.”
They stared into each other’s eyes for a moment, remembering, and then he took her hand and walked her back indoors.
“You must get some sleep,” he said. “It’s late.”
“Can’t I stay with you?”
“We’ll see each other tomorrow. Go on, now, off to bed.”
He left her at the foot of the companion ladder to the upper deck, kissing her fingers, her hand sliding from his as she trailed slowly up the steps. He stayed there until he heard her door close, and then he went back to his place on the deck, watching the storm, listening to the crackle and hiss of the lightning.
In a glow of warmth and love Venetia snuggled into her bed, reliving their lovemaking. There was just one disturbing thought in the middle of all the beauty and happiness. Why, when he’d said, “Thank you,” had it sounded so—so final? Almost like “Good-bye.”
Fitz left before dawn broke, taking the little speedboat and then driving himself to Grantley Adams Airport. His plane was the first to leave that morning—en route for New York.
Venetia read his letter in the bright reality of the sunny morning. It was over, it had never been. He wanted her to forget him, she was young and she was lovely and he’d been carried away. He wanted to thank her, to tell her not to be hurt—that she’d been a beautiful and generous lover, more than he deserved. Would she please forgive him and erase the night from her memory—as he would. When they next met it would be as though it had never happened.
But why? Why, when it had all been so perfect? Was it because of Morgan? Locking her cabin door Venetia hurled herself on her bed and began to cry. Oh, God, why did life have to get so complicated? Why? And why hadn’t she met Fitz