CHAPTER TEN
I sent my regrets for dinner and retired early. Not that it did any good. I certainly did not sleep well, and when I did, Fletcher was there, a constant presence, confusing and at once aloof and irresistible. And certainly, in my dreams, he did not hesitate to kiss me. It was most annoying. I rose the next morning in a foul mood. Even Margaret dared not cross me. She was wiser than she looked.
I decided it was best to avoid Fletcher for the time being. At least until I decided what I really wanted of him. I took my meals in my room and, as the skies were clear, wandered down the treacherous path to the beach. I perched on a boulder trying to read the exploits of Belinda. But the heroine was tiring and her hero spineless, and the story of true love gone awry was more annoying than entertaining. It did not engage my attention, and therefore I spent much of the day composing in my head a strongly worded letter to The Weekly Review of Art and Literature disputing its account of the novel as encompassing brazen wit and stormy passion. I found the wit dull and the passion even duller.
Still, my displeasure at Belinda did take my mind off my displeasure with Fletcher. I assumed he spent the day painting, but he made no effort to cross my path, and I did not seek him out. By the time I retired for the night, I had reached the inescapable conclusion that he had made no promises to me—either said or unsaid. Nor had he done anything whatsoever, except be thoughtful and generous, to make me think there was more to our friendship than appeared. The fact that he did not know that I had decided to pursue him for strictly immoral purposes could not be blamed on him.
It was for the best, really. I wasn't the type of woman to throw myself into a man's bed. I'd never been that type of woman, and I would wager I would not be that type of woman in the future. Just because I had borrowed Veronica's name, and she was outspoken about her own preference for being a mistress instead of a wife, did not mean I could follow in her path.
Tomorrow, I would be cordial to Fletcher, and we would resume our friendship and enjoy the rest of our time together. No matter what unsettling thoughts or disturbing dreams I might have about him tonight.
***
I bolted upright in my bed. My heart thudded in my chest, blood roared in my ears, panic stole my breath. My stomach twisted and lurched. The rumble that had awakened me sounded again, and I leaped out of bed.
Dear Lord, this was it! All my fears realized! We would be engulfed in ash and flames at any minute! Even now it was probably too late! I tore out of my room and raced down the corridor to Fletcher's door. I pounded with my fist for what seemed like an eternity but was probably less than a minute.
He flung the door open, wild-eyed and completely disheveled, exactly like a man just dragged out of his bed.
"What! What is it? Are you all right?"
"It's happening, Fletcher! Just as I feared!" I was ranting and making no sense, but I couldn’t stop. Nor did it matter. "I knew this would happen! I just knew it!"
He stared at me. "Huh?"
"Fletcher! Wake up!" I grabbed his shoulders and shook him.
"Bloody hell, you haven't even kissed me, and we're going to die! We're doomed, Fletcher, doomed!"
"Doomed?" he said slowly.
"For God's sake! Vesuvius is erupting! Can't you hear it?" Why didn’t the man understand? "We have to flee! Away from the coast!" On one of the first nights here I had determined that was the best route to escape Vesuvius. I believed in being prepared. "Now, Fletcher—now! We have to wake up Silvestro and Agostina, and we can't leave Margaret! We have to hurry!"
It was obvious that the man wasn't sure if he was awake or just dreaming.
"Fletcher, wake up!" There was only one thing to do. I drew back my hand and let it fly. He caught my hand right before I made contact with his cheek.
"I am awake," he said in a far more lucid voice than I would have expected.
"Thank God! But we must—"
"Vesuvius is not erupting." He glanced up and down the hall, grabbed my hand and yanked me into his room, then shut the door behind me. "Good God, woman!"
"Don't be stupid, Fletcher, of course, it is! What are you doing?" I tried to wrench away, but his grip tightened. "We have to leave here at once!"
"Come with me."
"Fletcher!"
"Portia!" He pulled me across the room to the French doors that opened onto the balcony and threw open the door. He grabbed my shoulders and spun me around to face the bay. "Look out there. What do you see?"
"No! I can't look!" I turned my head back against his chest, squeezing my eyes tightly closed. I had no desire to see doom spewing from the volcano. "I don't want to look! I don't want to see death approaching!"
"Death is not approaching!" His voice rang with assurance. Poor deluded creature. "Open your eyes, Portia."
"No!"
"We’re not going anywhere until you do." A threat sounded in his voice.
"Fine!" I braced myself and opened my eyes. "But only to save your life!"
"What do you see?"
"I don't see anything," I snapped. "It’s dark and raining." At that moment, lightning flashed and thunder cracked the night. I jumped, and the oddest sound came out of my mouth, a sort of squeaking, squealing noise.
"I assume that's what you heard." Amusement sounded in his voice.
The truth struck me like yet another bolt from above, and my breath caught. "Vesuvius is not exploding, then?"
"I can assure you it isn't."
"And we’re not going to die?"
"Not tonight."
Relief rushed through me and with it awareness. At once I was acutely conscious of his body against mine. His grip on my shoulders eased, but his hands remained. It struck me how safe I felt with him, even against the threat of approaching annihilation. At that moment, I remembered everything I had said and realized as well there was nothing more humiliating in the world than having a man you were attracted to know of that attraction. Especially when he had not indicated any attraction on his part. Now that I knew we weren't facing imminent death, I truly wanted to die.
I should have pulled out of his embrace, but then I would have had to face him, and I would rather face Vesuvius.
"I have not been sleeping well of late," I said at last. "I have had the most disturbing dreams."
"Of volcanoes?"
I nodded. "And of you."
"Oh?"
"It's not important." I uttered an odd sort of laugh and moved away from him to stare out at the night. "Obviously, I confused thunder with volcanic eruption." Again, that awkward, self-conscious laugh sounded. "I was sound asleep. As I said, I haven't been sleeping at all well, but tonight I think I was simply exhausted. I was sleeping quite soundly until the volcano erupted."
"It was thunder."
"Yes, well, I know that now." I hadn’t thought at all about my state of undress or his, I in my nightgown, he in men's silken pajamas. One didn't worry about proper clothing when the world was coming to an end. Nor had I considered the fact that we were in his room, alone together in the middle of the night. Until now. Yet another thing to be embarrassed about. "I do apologize for waking you." I inched toward the door. "I should be going."
"I would like to hear about those dreams."
I finally looked at him. He was clearly amused. And he had every right to be. I had just made an enormous ass of myself. I drew a deep breath and met his gaze. "Honestly, Fletcher, if I were to tell you, it would make you even more arrogant than you are now. Why, it would go straight to your head, and you would be unbearable."
He chuckled. "That's a distinct possibility."
"I really should go. This isn’t at all, well, appropriate."
"Completely inappropriate, I would say." He shook his head. "Not the least bit proper."
"Dear me, no." That strange little laugh burst from me again. Good Lord, why did I keep doing that? I sounded like a madwoman. "I do want to thank you for being so, well, strong and gallant in my moment of—"
"Insanity?"
"I was going to say utter terror, but I suppose insanity is just as accurate." I smiled weakly. "So you do have my gratitude. I'll be going now." I moved toward the door, but he stepped into my path.
"Not quite yet."
"No?" I adopted an innocent expression.
He studied me closely. "About that other matter."
"Other matter?" I had hoped that had slipped by him in the midst of my panic-stricken tirade.
"Yes." His eyes narrowed. "You mentioned that I have not kissed you."
"Did I?"
His dark gaze caught mine. "I distinctly heard you say I hadn’t kissed you."
I wanted to deny it. To utter that odd laugh again and claim he had not heard me correctly. Surely I would not say something so outrageous. So improper. But denial did seem rather pointless. Apparently, when one had faced death, even if only in one's own mind, one could muster a certain amount of courage.
"Very well, then." I blew a long breath. "My initial inclination at this moment is to deny that I said that, but I have decided not to." I raised my chin and met his gaze firmly. "Admittedly, while it has been a long time since I have engaged in anything more than casual flirtation, I was fairly certain you harbored some interest in me. An interest, I will confess, I shared. However, you have been nothing but a perfect gentleman, and it is now obvious to me that I was clearly mistaken and–"
"Good God, Portia." He stepped close to me and framed my face with his hands. I held my breath. "I have wanted to kiss you from the moment you spoke bad Italian on the beach."
"But—"
"Shut up, Portia." And with that, he pressed his lips to mine in a kiss ridiculously slow and gentle. Nothing more than a hint or a promise, and yet heat spread from the touch of his lips to mine, washing through me, curling my toes. His breath lightly caressed my lips, teasing and drawing me closer.
His hands slipped from my face, and I wrapped my arms around his neck. His hands slid around my waist, and he pulled me close. The thought flitted through my mind that the appropriate thing, the right thing, would be to pull away. But I had no desire to do so, as nothing had ever seemed so right.
At last he drew his lips from mine and stared down at me. "There hasn't been a day that has passed that I haven't wanted to do that."
"Then why haven't you?" The words came of their own accord, but I did not wish to take them back.
He shook his head, his gaze boring into mine. "I would never do anything that you did not want me to do."
"Goodness, Fletcher." I drew his lips back to mine and murmured against them, "you are going to have to learn to read me better than that. We have wasted a great deal of time." Again, I pressed my lips to his, and passion exploded between us.
Within moments, we had discarded our clothes in a frenzy of desire too long denied.
The heat of his naked flesh against mine stole my breath. Without conscious effort, we tumbled onto his bed. I explored his hard body with my fingers, my mouth. I was mad with hunger, wanting him, needing him. A madness he shared.
His mouth was everywhere at once. The line of my jaw, the hollow of my throat. He worshiped at my breasts until I moaned and my back arched. His hands caressed me, stroked me, gentle yet demanding. And I demanded in return.
I rained kisses on his neck, tasted the salt of his skin, reveled in the male scent of him. My hands explored the planes and valleys of his chest, his stomach, his hips. I ran my fingers over his erection and reveled in carnal satisfaction when he sucked in a hard breath. When his hand slipped between my legs, I thought I would swoon from the sheer ecstasy of it. Every touch of mine, every caress of his only heightened the yearning need that threatened to consume me. Consume us.
At last he joined with me, my legs wrapping around his. And we moved together in a rhythm, natural and right and forever. Tension wound tighter and tighter within me until at last my body convulsed around him in an explosion of sheer sensation and utter ecstasy. Dimly, I felt him shudder against me, and he moaned.
For a long time, neither of us moved. I had no desire to do so and wasn't sure I had the strength. I had experienced release before, but infrequently, and never as consuming as this. I had thought I would surely die and die gladly.
This was not the time to compare intimacy with David with what I was discovering with Fletcher, and yet I couldn’t help myself. Relations with David had been most pleasant, but never had I felt uncontrolled, wild with desire. That had not been David's fault, nor had it been mine. After all, in lovemaking as in everything else, we had been content.
At last we lay together, our hearts still beating as one, his arms around me. I could not recall ever feeling quite so decadent, quite so wonderful. There was nowhere in the world I would rather be than wrapped in his arms. And no other arms I would rather have around me. Tomorrow I would no doubt give this feeling a great deal of thought and due consideration. A voice in my head would point out that the all-encompassing passion of tonight was obviously attributable to the immorality of it, forbidden fruit, as it were. That Fletcher and I had no future together, our worlds were too far apart. That we would indeed probably never see each other again. But right now I wanted to do nothing more than savor it.
"Portia," Fletcher said at last.
I curled tighter against him. "You have the sound of a man who has been thinking."
He chuckled. "I'm afraid I have."
"No good can come of that, you know."
"Perhaps not." He paused for a long moment, and I held my breath. "But it has occurred to me—"
"No." I rolled onto my side and placed my finger against his lips. "I don't want to hear it."
He caught my hand and kissed my palm. I shivered with renewed desire, leaned forward and replaced my finger with my lips. "Unless you are going to say it has occurred to you that we should take full advantage of being naked together in your bed to continue to explore each other in all sorts of ways we haven't yet thought of . . ." I nibbled on his bottom lip and trailed my hand lightly down his stomach to his growing erection. "Then I really don't want to hear it."
"Portia." He groaned my name against my lips, and he grew harder in my hand. The oddest sense of power washed through me and with it need, renewed and unrelenting.
I wanted him again. Wanted to feel him inside me. Wanted him to take me, fill me. I had never been this wanton, this wicked. I surrendered to decadent passion and pure bliss.
I slid my leg across his and shifted to lay on top of him, then sat up. My legs straddled him, and I could feel his erection nestle between the cheeks of my derrière. In the dim light, I sensed more than saw him smile. I leaned forward and let my breasts brush against his chest. His harsh intake of breath sent a shiver of satisfaction and something far more delightful through me.
"Unless you are going to say that it had occurred to you that we could continue what we started here well into morning, I'm not interested."
"Well, it was not what I was thinking . . ." His hands wrapped around my waist. "But that had occurred to me . . ." With a swift movement, he shifted, and I lay beneath him.
"Good," I murmured and again claimed his lips with mine. And once more joined my body with his.
We scarcely slept at all, save in short, deep stretches. Barely time to recover before reaching for each other again. By morning, we were at once exhausted and yet not entirely satisfied. We were, I believe, insatiable. The very thought made me want to giggle. Whoever would have imagined? Portia, Lady Redwell? Insatiable in a virtual stranger's bed?
Still, I sighed, there were things that needed to be said. Decisions that needed to be made. I slipped out of bed and found my nightgown. I threw it over my head, then stood in the open balcony doorway, wrapped my arms around myself and gazed out at the rain.
"You have clothes on, Portia," Fletcher's sleep-weary voice sounded from the bed. "I thought we had agreed not to do that today."
I laughed. "I don't recall any such agreement."
"I can see where it might
have slipped your mind. You were otherwise engaged at the time." He chuckled. "Come back to bed."
I resisted the urge to do exactly that. "I have been giving a great deal of thought to what you said the other day."
He groaned.
"What?" I glanced at him over my shoulder.
"The last time one of us made that statement, it did not go well."
I smiled. "Unless you intend to be irate, irrational and indignant, I suspect it will be fine."
"I'll make no promises." He threw back the covers, then got to his feet and searched for his clothes.
I should have looked away. It would have been the proper thing to do, really. But then, I was not aware of the rules of propriety governing the aftermath of a night of wild, impetuous passion, and I quite enjoyed watching the way he moved. Watching the shadows play over the hard, lean lines of him. He pulled on his pajama trousers and moved close, standing behind me and enfolding me in his arms.
"Very well, then," he said softly against my ear. "Go on."
"I think you're right." The rain had eased since last night, but I could see no farther than the end of the garden. "It is only practical to accept that we may never see each other again when this holiday is over."
He was quiet for a long, silent moment, and his arms tightened slightly around me. "Is that what you want?"
"What I want, Fletcher . . ." I drew a deep breath. I had no idea what might happen in the future and, in truth, no idea what I wanted in that future. For good or ill, I knew only what I wanted today. "What I want is to ignore what might happen tomorrow. What I want is to enjoy what we have found together here and now." I twisted in his arms to face him and slid my arms around his neck. "What I want is to savor every moment with you. I know I for one am having an unexpectedly wonderful time."
His arms wrapped around my waist. He pulled me close, and his heart beat against mine. "Probably because you had no expectations."
"Exactly." I smiled up at him. I could have said so much more but thought it wiser to refrain.
I was unsure of my feelings, my emotions. And unsure as to what it all meant. I had spent a great deal of my life thinking that what I truly wanted was what was expected of me. In recent months, possibly longer, I'd had a growing awareness that that was no longer enough.
Same Time, Next Christmas Page 10