Indiscretions - Elizabeth Adler [58]
Venetia scowled at her reflection. She had decided to wear the violet shift again—after all, that had seemed to do the trick the first night. Bending forward she shook her thick blond hair free, tossing it back and running her fingers through it until it looked like a rough mane. She’d really layered on the eyeshadow tonight, changing her usual wide-eyed look into a deeper, sultry gaze; she’d emphasized her cheekbones with a darker blusher, and now she colored her mouth a deep violet-pink, glossing her lower lip the way Paris had said you should for a sexy look. Then just a final spray of Penhaligon’s Bluebell scent. There. If that didn’t do it, she didn’t know what would. She had to admit that she looked terrific—she only hoped Morgan would appreciate it!
Venetia, you’re ridiculous, she told herself with a laugh; one minute you’re not sure whether you want him to make love to you, then you’re not sure if you’re feeling the way you should when he begins to make love to you, and next you wonder why he isn’t making love to you! She couldn’t wait to ask her best friend Kate Lancaster what she thought. Picking up her bag she glanced around the room. Clothes were scattered across its length, and grabbing them up quickly she flung them into the bottom of the wardrobe, smoothing down the bedspread and removing her pajamas from the chair—just in case, she thought, eyeing the room with satisfaction, just in case he decides to come back with me tonight.
Morgan was waiting for her at their favorite table in the bar, next to the cheery glow of the fire, drinking whiskey and soda. He noticed the heads turn as she paused at the entrance, smiling as she caught his eye. He’d be willing to bet that she didn’t even know that every male in the room had turned to admire her. That was one of the nicest things about Vennie, she was so unaware of her own beauty. Tonight she looked different; she was walking a little more slowly, a little more self-consciously, and her glance was not her usual frank gaze. She looked tempting, damn it! It hadn’t been easy resisting his natural impulses all week and now here she was looking as lovely as a wild violet and smelling of summer meadows with that sexy Lolita look. Jesus, what was she trying to do to him—?
Vennie kissed his cheek as he stood to greet her, sliding into the seat next to him in a gale of bluebells.
“I like it,” said Morgan, coughing as it engulfed him. “That scent you’re wearing, I mean.”
Venetia gave him her best sexy glance. “Do you?” she murmured, wishing it were called something like Passion Flower instead of Bluebell.
Morgan stared at her in amazement. What had got into her? “Do you feel all right?” he asked solicitously. “You’re not too tired, are you?”
Oh, God, I’m obviously not doing this right, worried Venetia, he thinks I’m tired and I thought I was looking sexy!
“Of course I’m not tired—I’m not tired all the time, you know, Morgan!”
“No. No, of course not. Well, then, how about a drink? Your usual champagne cocktail?”
Venetia sipped her cocktail, wishing she were sophisticated enough to drink martinis or vodka gimlets, or some other exotic drink that she knew would only make her feel sick, but might have made her seem older and more glamorous. Worldly wise was the right term, she thought. God, she wished she were more like Paris, she would be able to handle this scene perfectly. Why hadn’t Jenny sent her to the Swiss school instead of the English one! But Paris can’t cook, she told herself defensively—and Paris doesn’t need to, she replied, she probably gets taken out to grand restaurants every single night by wonderful, sophisticated men!
“Are you bored?”
“What?” Venetia dropped her pose and took his hand. “Oh, no, of course I’m not, whatever made you think that?”
“Well, you were just sort of staring around and not saying anything, and that’s not at all like you.”
Venetia grinned. “You’re quite right,” she agreed, “it’s not! Anyway, I’m starving, aren’t you? I’m going to have the snails again tonight.”