Indiscretions - Elizabeth Adler [97]
“I like that,” he said, kissing her lightly. “It’s a nice color—like island sunshine.”
Raymunda preened herself for him, pivoting slowly, smoothing her silken skirt over her hips. “Good?” she asked with an enticing smile.
“Very.” Fitz put his arm around her and they walked toward the master stateroom. “I’m sorry I was so busy today,” he said, “but something came up that just had to be taken care of right away. God, I’m tired.”
Raymunda watched anxiously as he peeled off his shirt and jeans and headed toward the shower.
“You’ll feel better after a shower,” she said soothingly. “I’ll bring you a drink—bourbon and water, just the way you like it, two cubes of ice.”
Fitz glanced at her in surprise. What was up with Raymunda? Why had she suddenly changed her tactics?—for tactics they were, he knew her well enough for that. In fact, he thought, soaping himself in the shower, their entire relationship was like a battleground. She marshaled her forces and worked out her tactics against him, and he had his own unassailable defense—work—and his Achilles heel—his liking for feminine companionship and pretty women, not just sex. That was a part of it, of course, but he enjoyed women, he liked being around them. Perhaps their feminine wiles, ruffles, and perfume provided the needed contrast to the stark reality of his business world; he didn’t know. What he did know was that no woman could ever come between him and that true reality—he was quite sure of that.
Raymunda handed him the bourbon as he stepped, dripping, from the shower.
“Here, let me,” she said, taking the big white towel and drying his back. “There, now you must feel better.”
“About fifty percent,” admitted Fitz. “All I need now is dinner.”
“Dinner? But you are forgetting, Fitz, we have no cook.”
“That’s right, I had forgotten. Well, a sandwich, then … or I’m pretty good at omelettes if you prefer. And there must be smoked salmon and stuff in the refrigerator. We’ll do it ourselves until our new cook arrives.”
“No need.” Raymunda smiled. “Fitz, I’ve arranged something else … we’re going to a party.”
“Jesus! What party?” Fitz stood naked, the glass of bourbon in his hand, an angry gleam in his eyes.
“We got a call today from Prince Bendor Grünewald—he’s at the Villa Osiris. He’s giving a Bajan barbecue party tonight. Oh, it’s all completely casual, darling,” she reassured him, seeing his irritation.
“I can see that,” remarked Fitz, eyeing her elegant silk dress. “Damn it, Raymunda, I’m beat. I’ve just done that round trip to Miami and I was on the phone all day—I need a party and a load of strangers to make conversation with like a hole in the head.”
“Damn you, Fitz McBain.” Raymunda’s temper rose. “I’ve been stuck on this damn boat for four days now without seeing a soul—I’m bored out of my mind. You’re on the phone all the time … there’s not even any dinner because you have no cook!”
“And it’s too much to expect you to slice a little brown bread, take a little salmon out of the fridge, perhaps even prepare a little salad, and open a bottle of wine?” Fitz was tempted to tell her he wouldn’t go. He really didn’t want to—he’d warned her when they left that he was coming for a rest—a complete rest, the doctor had advised. But she had a point; maybe he had been neglecting her the past few days, though he hadn’t noticed it. Perhaps it was just that Raymunda had become a little bit boring with her demands, her tempers and tantrums.
“All right,” he said to her sulking back, “I’ll go. But no more parties, Raymunda. I’m here for a rest. There is no one here—especially at Prince Bendor Grünewald’s party—that I want to see.”
“Fitz”—Raymunda turned with a triumphant smile, snaking her arms around his naked back—“you’re so sweet when you want to be. If you weren’t so wet I’d show you how very sweet you are.” She backed away, brushing imaginary droplets from her skirt.
Fitz drained his glass. She could have taken off the dress. She would have, had he made a move—Raymunda knew how to play her game—but he didn’t feel like making the move. Pretty