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‘I would like to have known him then.’

‘He was exactly the same as he is now. He’s still an innocent – we both are when we shouldn’t be. He’s still very much the naive American in spite of all his years away. We are in many ways simple souls, artists, who see too late when people are taking advantage of us. We still suffer for the love of art, and take care of each other. Our relationship is designed to further our careers. Sometimes it’s Jarret’s we work on. Sometimes mine.’

‘You sound like partners in art and crime against anyone who threatens your alliance.’

Amy hardly realised what she was saying until it was out and then she had no time to consider her words because Fee jumped in with a laugh and told her: ‘Jarret kept raving on about how quick and clever you are. Well, it’s certainly true you don’t mince your words! Be assured you are absolutely correct. That is exactly what we are.’

‘Should I be worried about that, Fee?’ asked Amy, who was feeling that she had stumbled into something she was not prepared to deal with.

He rose quickly from his chair to take the few steps to her side. He kissed the top of her head and raised both her hands, kissing one and then the other. Then gazing into her eyes, he told her, ‘I don’t think you have a thing to worry about. I could have not spoken to you in St Mark’s Square. I didn’t have to tell you Jarret is in Venice, nor deliver you to him as I intend to. And if that’s not proof in itself then try this: I like you and hope we will be the best of friends. I already feel that we are.’

His words made sense and the look in his eyes gave her the feeling that he meant them. It prompted her to confide in Fee, ‘I’m nervous about you springing me on Jarret as a surprise. It might be embarrassing for him.’

‘You just leave that to me. I promise I’m going to make you the happiest woman in this world.’

‘An artist, a prophet … what more can I ask for in a man who picks me up in the most romantic city in the world?’

‘It’s the oriental mind, my dear. I am, after all, a Turk. It would be great fun to show you Istanbul. We could travel together. I could show you my country and its wonders. You may not think so now but I can assure you that there are vestiges of the Ottoman Empire that exist even now, and we have a marvellous house on the Bosphorus.’

‘I somehow don’t think of you as being Turkish, more an exotic European: the languages, the houses, Paris, Venice, Istanbul … You have come a long way from the poor starving artists who met in Florence all those years ago. Your life is more glamorous than other painters’ I’ve met.’

‘I think of myself as an oriental by birth and a European by taste. I could never give up one to be the other. I am actually one-quarter English. My mother’s mother. I was educated in Istanbul and Paris. Until I met Jarret I had no interest in America, but he changed all that. I find New York amazing, and like Americans. They are so hospitable.’

At that point Fee dropped names from the social register that she had only read about. He was amusing and gossipy about these people and she sensed that he did not take them particularly seriously. By the time the pudding was served Amy began to realise that Fee took very little seriously, that he played with life. Somehow she had to admire his audacity.

Amy found his ruthless honesty about himself impressive, especially when he told her, ‘I’ve always liked women and the female mind but loved men. I have many
women friends and used to have lots of male lovers, but I no longer do. I’ve been celibate for years. Sex holds no interest for me though it still does for Jarret. I suppose the reason we’ll always be friends and partners in life is because he’s heterosexual and I’m homosexual. We have a life together and one apart from each other. We own houses and things together, pool our money, share our debts, what’s mine is his and his is mine, but the sex thing never looms its irrepressible head to cause any problems between us. That does not, however, mean that I’m not dazzled by beautiful young men – I am. I just never bring them home.’

It seemed that once Fee started talking about himself there was no stopping him and Amy was riveted by all he revealed. Here was a character the like of which she had never met before. His was a world of which she had scarcely any knowledge. It was not at all hers or the way she wanted to live, and yet she could appreciate it, was fascinated by it.

At last he got round to Savannah. ‘It was I who introduced her to Jarret. It is usually I who am the one to find people to amuse us. Jarret is quite shy as I’m sure you have already noticed. I feel very sorry that I no longer see Savannah. We were great friends and had many good times. She is a delicate thing, and oh, such a beauty! A real southern belle from one of the South’s most aristocratic families. Savannah Lee was her name before she became Savannah Sparrow.

‘When we first met her she was rather a pathetic little thing with a very handsome mother who dominated her.
Well, she had to really, Savannah had been born with a heart murmur and always lived a rather restricted life. Her mother, Aurora Lee, a doyenne of Southern high society, really never quite knew what to do with Savannah. Then Mummy Lee found Europe, and I found them. The rest is history, but I’ll let Jarret tell you about that. All I will tell you is that after a lavish wedding she left her mother and the South behind her and practically overnight in Jarret’s arms became a new woman. We set her free and they had a wonderful life, buying houses and fixing them up. We all had a marvellous time and then it was over. Well, hey ho.’

Amy couldn’t resist asking, ‘And the heart murmur?’

‘We healed her. After the divorce it vanished.’

‘And where is she now?’

‘London. She works in a shop on Bond Street, as manageress. Christian Dior got her the job.’

‘She lives in London?’

‘In a small rented flat off Berkeley Square. You see, her mother disowned her after she went through all her inheritance and divorced Jarret. The Lees never divorce or botch up their lives, which was what the dragon lady expected of Savannah – I always call Aurora Lee the dragon lady. She should have told us how dependent a wife Savannah was going to be. Oh, well, she seems happy enough living in her modest circumstances and travelling in the most illustrious of European society, playing the penniless, desperately injured Southern aristocrat done wrong by her husband. That does on occasion cause us problems … Silly woman. None of it
is true. A woman scorned and all that, I suppose. Still, I’ve always hoped that Jarret and she will make it up, find love again. That is, I did until a few weeks ago when I returned to Venice to find out about you.’

Chapter 8

Amy felt herself being carried along by Fee’s enthusiasm at being the instrument of her and Jarret’s coming together again. And why not? It was true. If not for Fee, would she be walking through the narrow street to their house? But much as she wanted to see Jarret and hear in his own words how much he’d missed her and wanted her, she was incredibly nervous about this reunion. More than anything else because she might be let down, the chemistry might no longer be there. She wanted it to be the same as it had been when she was struck by love for him the moment she laid eyes on him in Rimboccare.

Fee and Amy had taken the motor launch from the Lido to a canal only a short distance from the
palazzo
. ‘Jarret would be certain to hear us if we arrived home by way of the canal and used that entrance. The element of surprise would be spoiled,’ had been Fee’s explanation.

The sun was out and the light a miracle, like no other Amy had seen. It had a magical, unreal quality to it; made her want to raise her arms and grab it, hug it to her. She wanted never to forget it. Its warmth seemed more intense than it had been because the day had barely a whisper of a breeze left in it. She walked arm in arm with Fee through the streets and felt like one of the children who had followed the Pied Piper. Unable not
to. Charmed by Fee, grateful to him for leading her to her heart’s desire, she felt giddy with happiness as those same children might have.

Several times she had suggested to Fee that they might accomplish this reunion in some other way than surprise, but to no avail. Now, as they approached the
palazzo
’s door, she stopped short, stricken with nerves.

Fee fussed with her hair, adjusted the violets on her jacket, then graciously kissed her hand and said, ‘Be very quiet, on tip toe so to speak, and not a word. I’m going to take you into the garden. He’ll meet you there.’

Fee opened the ancient wooden door and they stepped into the hall. Amy was surprised by how little she had remembered of the beautiful hall and briefly took notice that there were fewer of Jarret’s paintings there now. Stealthily they crept through the hall and from there, after pushing Amy out of sight into the library, Fee called out, ‘Jarret! Jarret, are you in?’

No answer. Fee walked Amy through the library and into the garden, to its very centre. ‘Here. You stand here – he’ll come to you.’ He smiled at Amy and patted her shoulder then mounted the stone staircase that led to the open arched loggia on the first floor. Once more he called out, this time asking, ‘Jarret, where are you?’

Amy heard his voice and had to close her eyes to calm herself.

‘In the studio.’

‘Come down to the garden. I’ve brought you something, something you’ve been wanting.’

There was no reply. Several minutes went by before
Amy heard a door open, and another close. In those several minutes she was alone in the garden, she experienced the strangest sensations: disorientation, emptiness, child-like dependency.

Jarret opened the door to his studio and stepped out into the loggia. Walking straight to one of the half walls set under each arch, he sat down on it and looked into his garden. There was nothing child-like about the Amy Ross he saw. The sun shone on her hair which gleamed like silk. Once more that tall, slender but voluptuous figure he had longed for these last few weeks took possession of him. She had removed her jacket, rested it on her shoulders, and her full breasts, the shape of their nipples through the fine silk knit of her jumper … she might as well not have worn anything at all. Amy had been looking in a different direction. She turned and gazed directly up at Jarret and smiled. Her eyes were filled with a wild passion, matching his own sexual desire for her. Neither of them seemed capable of saying a word. It took several seconds for Jarret to collect himself. When he did, he rose from the wall and dashed down the stairs, taking them three at a time.

He was half running through the garden to her. Amy wanted to dash into his arms but felt too unsteady on her legs to move. He wasn’t less but more, much more, attractive even than she had thought when she had been with him before. The chemistry between them was if anything more potent. There was an intensity between them that was undeniable. All that Fee had told her about Jarret’s feelings for her was true. It was right
there in his eyes, on his face, in the way in which he was moving in on her. She wanted to call out his name, to say something, anything, but words wouldn’t come. And not for him either. He rushed into her arms.

That first kiss, lips trembling with passion, was a foretaste of sexual delight. His lips against hers set them aflame. Wrapped in each other’s arms, it was as if their entire beings were focused in that meeting of lips and mouths and tongues. Amy felt like molten gold, all fluid and out of her normal form. Everything she did in that kiss was more natural, more real and genuine, than she had ever experienced before. Involuntary almost, without thought, prompted by pure instinct. She was sensitive to the tiniest thing, as if the skin had been flayed from her body.

He placed his hands on either side of her face. He held her and studied her face as if to make sure she was real. Then slowly he pulled her towards him and placed his lips upon hers once more. She felt his tongue licking the inside of her lips, searching. He sucked her tongue slowly, pulling strongly on it, into his mouth and out, into his mouth and out. Oral sex by way of a kiss. Amy felt such exquisite sensations, she wanted to call out as she came in a short sweet orgasm.

He slipped his arm round her waist and walked her through the garden and up the flight of stairs. ‘Speak to me. Say something, anything, just so I know this is real,’ he said, choked with emotion. There were tears in his eyes.

‘It’s real enough,’ she told him, neither one of them taking their eyes off the other.

He placed his free hand to his forehead and shook his head. ‘I was here waiting, every day waiting for something to happen, and I didn’t know what. Now I know it was you. Fee found you and brought you to me. He said he would. I claimed it was impossible, that you were not returning to Venice. But you’re here, Amy, and I’m the happiest man in the world.’

He swept her off her feet and into his arms and carried her over the threshold and into his bedroom. Putting her down on her feet, he closed the doors to the loggia and stood looking at her. He watched her put her jacket on a chair and unbuckle her belt. Jarret went to her and removed the belt from her trembling hands, tossing it on to a settee. He pulled the silk knit jumper up over her head and dropped it on the floor. She waited for his hands to caress her breasts. They ached for him. Her nipples were long and slender, the nimbus round them a halo of a creamy peach colour, provocative for their nearly blending in colour with the heavy, firm, and magnificently shaped breasts that looked ripe with milk or honey – something delectable. But he didn’t touch her breasts. Instead he tore off his own clothes.

He was erect. Amy did not play coy, the thought never entered her mind. Her eyes remained riveted on his phallus. It was as noble as the rest of Jarret’s looks. His penis was long and thick, its head a very large knob. She could think of nothing else but being possessed by Jarret and his more than ample penis. She had not known what she expected but his sex was so perfectly formed and beautiful, so forceful, the succulent-looking
scrotum that hung voluptuously beneath, so handsome and dignified, so incredibly sexy, that she could not think of anything else. She undressed with only Jarret’s sex in mind, Jarret’s sperm taking possession of her until they both dissolved into puddles of their own come mingled together.

She was down to her white lace garter belt holding up sheer cream-coloured stockings. She walked backwards to the bed, actually retreating from him in the hope that he would follow her quickly before she came again. That was her signal to Jarret that she was ready for him, that she wanted him.

He did follow her. She lay down on the bed and he followed her again, to lie quietly next to her for a very few seconds before he picked up her hand in his and kissed it as he slipped on top of her. Skin to skin, their scents mingled. The weight of him on top of her, even that was unimaginably erotic for Amy. It honed her lust for him to the point where she had to hold her breath not to call out in the pain of her desire.

She opened her legs wide and he raised them and placed them high on his shoulders. She lay there, open and vulnerable to him, and trembled with anticipation. With one hand he gripped her shoulder and with the other he slid his penis teasingly up and down her soft pink cleft. He was there, ready to plunge. He gave her no comfort of words or declarations of love to ease her lust but moved his hand to her other shoulder. He caressed it and then held both her shoulders in a tight grip as if to reassure her that she was safe, he was in
control. He lowered his head and laid his cheek against hers, caressing her face with his.

Jarret watched the tears form in her eyes and knew he had possession of Amy. That excited him further. It fired his love for her even more. Now his lust was as much out of control as hers. He pressed his lips upon hers. They parted. Their tongues and mouths moved together and he thrust the knob of his penis very deliberately into Amy’s soft and warm vagina. Jarret eased himself slowly into her. He filled her tightly but continued plunging deeper and deeper. A more exquisite sensation he had never felt. She was so very much alive for him, using herself to grip him, creating a rhythm of her own to please him.

Jarret pulsated with life, throbbed with lust, and for Amy it was as if she had never had a man before, so marvellous was the sensation of having sex with him.

Jarret rested for a few minutes inside Amy before he began, slowly, with finesse and controlled lust. Deep and languid penetrations for a very long time, getting the feel of every morsel of warm, moist, satiny flesh, marking her for himself for ever. That was what he was most deliberately doing and that was what he was whispering to her.

Amy could not hold back. One orgasm followed another and another. He had her relaxed into sexual submission to a man, a phallus, and sex, as she had never known it. With every orgasm she had, he seemed to be renewed and continued, changing his pace when it suited him. It was as if it were impossible to get enough of her,
as if they had found it impossible to get enough of being locked together in sexual oblivion. Half a dozen times she asked him to come with her but he didn’t.

He would answer her with, ‘Not yet. This is what you want, isn’t it? This is what you came back for. This is what I’ve been thinking about since you left me. This is what we should have done that night we met and the next day.’

Time and place vanished. Lost in lust for each other, they entered another realm of being, a place Amy had never been before. They had achieved a kind of sexual nirvana. And there they lived on a higher plane than either of them had ever known. Far after they reached that place of no return and had dwelt in their lust for as long as they could maintain it, it happened. They came together in a powerful, long and blissful orgasm. It was like the moment of creation for them and they spilled forth in love.

Jarret slipped from Amy’s body and lay quietly on his side next to her. She turned to face him and searched for his hand. He brought their hands to his mouth and kissed her finger tips. They gazed into each other’s eyes. In his moment of orgasm, Jarret had called out again and again, ‘I love you! God help me, how I love you,’ and that’s what she saw now in his eyes – that he did indeed love her. Amy wanted to hear him tell her again that he loved her, but he remained silent.

She was spilling over with love for Jarret. She had not held back during intercourse. Repeatedly she’d told him of her love for him, how wonderful he was. She
needed to know that what they felt, what they had said to each other, was not said in the heat of passion, although she knew in her heart that they were more than in lust, they were in love with each other. Yet he said nothing.

Instead he kissed her lightly, sweetly, on the lips, then moved his mouth from hers to her nipples. This was the first time he had touched her breasts. He sucked deeply on one then the other. The sensation set her tingling, made her lustful enough to forget her need for words of love and commitment.

Amy had nipples that were extremely sensitive and reacted to a man’s mouth, to deep and sexy sucking. They became rigid and seemingly longer and she squirmed with pleasure. It was as if Jarret wanted to suck her breast whole into his mouth. He too was lusting again. Now, for the first time, she felt his large rough hands cupping her breast while he fed himself on it. He caressed and squeezed it and Amy could see that he derived tremendous sexual pleasure from it. He was driving them both into a sexual frenzy. Amy was writhing in lust. He tried to hold her still with his hands on her waist while relentlessly clinging to her nipple with his mouth. Amy’s body stiffened and she came in a long and intense orgasm. He could hardly not have noticed it. Only then did he remove his lips from her breast and speak.

‘I wish that your tits were filled with a rich creamy milk for me, milk sweetened with honey. That I could suck nectar from your nipples, that you could nurture
me from your breast in the same way you gave your orgasms up to me.’

‘Would that I could,’ she told him. And her heart melted that little bit more for Jarret Sparrow.

Amy saw him rampant and ready for her and caressed his penis with her hands. Only moments before he took possession of her nipple again, he raised her leg to drape it over his hip. He covered her hand that held him with his and together they directed it. They teased her soft moist flesh and found the entrance they were looking for. Together they pushed and both gasped with pleasure as he sank to the hilt inside that place he wanted to be. Only then did he tell her, ‘Amy, I love you. You’re like some exotic forbidden fruit that I can never have enough of.’

Then his lips wrapped themselves round her nipple and he sucked and licked ravenously for the milk that could only come as orgasms. Much later, when the moon and the stars had come out, to satisfy his thirst for her, she taught him how to drink her come, the milk of her lust, using her as a cup.