Lessons and Lovers (12 page)

It won’t make the slightest bit of difference to the way Starr behaves if I really
do
parade around naked. And I’m sure Darryl would still fancy me if I wore a feed sack!

Shaking her head, she slid her body into a thin black wrap and her feet into flat sandals. Grabbing a bottle of sunblock and a towel, she left her clothes half unpacked and made her way down the stairs and along the length of the main hall.

She felt an intense longing to take the bull by the horns, and to find Starr and confront him. Speak her mind and her heart while the urge was upon her and before she could lose her courage—but neither the kitchen nor any of the utility rooms revealed him. And when she backtracked towards his quarters and knocked on the door, there was no answer there either. He was most probably working somewhere else around the house, or in the garden. Or maybe he’d even gone into the local village for additional provisions. But wherever he was, it
felt
as if her tall, blond servant had simply vanished off the face of the Earth!

“Screw you, then!” she muttered. Her sandals flapping angrily against the tiled floor, she strode through the house, heading for the terrace, where they were supposed to be having lunch. That was if the elusive Starr had made the preparations before he’d gone his own sweet way.

The terrace was an inviting stone-flagged area that hugged one side of the house and was flanked by a broad flat-topped parapet. A set of shallow stone steps led down towards the swimming pool and the tiered and landscaped gardens beyond, and a trellised canopy at the far end provided a welcome area of shade on sunny days.

Some instinct or premonition made her pause on the path by the garden wall. She stopped and slid off her sandals, then clutched them in her hand with her sunblock and her towel. Moving barefoot on the narrow grass border that ran beside the gravel path, she padded along stealthily, managing to reach the stone-flagged terrace without disturbing its single, sun-worshipping occupant.

In the open, unshaded portion of the terrace, Darryl was stretched out on a lounge chair. He was naked, but for a skimpy pair of black bathing trunks and virtually motionless. He’d clearly not spent as much time dithering in his room as Hettie had because his lean bronzed back was shiny with sunblock and his steady, even breathing suggested he’d already fallen asleep. Silently putting down her belongings, Hettie moved as close she dared risk without waking him.

Standing like a statue, she had an intensely female urge to stroke his glistening shoulders, and simply worship his youth and his sun-graced perfection. He was male and he was beautiful. And he was
here
, in front of her. Unlike that other glorious man who kept making her so angry and confused.

But before she could do anything rash, Darryl stirred, then tensed and suddenly turned over.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” he gasped, sitting up, “I didn’t mean to fall asleep. It’s just that the sun felt so good on my skin and it made me feel drowsy.” Swiftly, he reached for his towel and flung it across his hips—but not before Hettie was treated to an eyeful of a magnificent stiffening hard-on straining at the shiny fabric of his trunks. Looking swiftly away, she felt her blood surge in her veins as if fired by lightning.

“Come on let’s sit in the shade for a bit,” she said quickly, “It’s better for me, and I could do with a glass of something.” She nodded towards the seating area and the rustic table spread out with buffet food set over chill packs, and to the bottles that stood cooling in a stainless steel ice bucket. Clearly the ever-efficient Starr had already been here and prepared the lunch, although God alone knew how he’d managed so much in so little a space of time.

Darryl was quite pink-faced when he followed her into the shade, a pair of baggy, multicolored surf shorts now preserving his modesty. “I really am sorry,” he apologized again, biting his lip, a picture of horny bashfulness, “I didn’t mean for that to happen. I hope I haven’t embarrassed you.”

“Don’t worry. No problem,” said Hettie, attempting to sound unperturbed but knowing she wasn’t doing a very good job of it. The afterimage of his perfect male body so obviously aroused was doing wicked things to her nervous system, “You’ve got a wonderful body, you shouldn’t be ashamed of it,” she went on lightly, “Now…do you want water, or wine or fruit juice? We seem to have everything here, thanks to Starr.”

Darryl requested water and she handed him a bottle, then poured a glass of wine for herself. She wasn’t much of a drinker, but right now she needed it.

The wine tasted dry and light but its crisp, almost sharp tang couldn’t cut through her thoughts and distract her from them.

What the hell is wrong with me? I think I’m in love with Starr and yet here I am with Darryl and I find him attractive too. How can I be like this? It just doesn’t make sense.

Things would be so much more clear-cut if I could force myself to speak to Starr. Make him listen. And make him answer me and tell me what
he’s
feeling… Rather than the two of us continuing to dance around each other in this nonspeaking, all-fucking puppet show!

Recklessly, Hettie drained the whole glass at once, and as she reached out for a refill she nodded that should Darryl drink his water.

As he raised the water to his lips, his gorgeous mouth suddenly captivated her, and to her acute consternation, she found herself imagining what it would be like to kiss it.

Stop it!
She glowered at the bottle of Frascati she’s just picked up and put it back in the cooler.
Enough already, or you’ll do something you might regret, Hettie!

But when Darryl put down his bottle, his face suddenly paled beneath the gold of his tan. He stared at the wine bottle in the cooler with a look pure shock on his face.

“
Frascati
,” he said, the words barely more than a whisper.

Why would the name of the wine bother him? Hettie glanced at the bottle too, but there was nothing unusual about it.

“Yes. It’s very nice,” she said, at a loss, “Would you like to try a taste?”

“I’ve drunk that wine before,” Darryl murmured, almost as if he hadn’t heard her.

She looked at him closely. Beneath his tan, his face was pinched and taut. Was something coming back to him?

“At Renata’s?”

“No! Before!” Like an automaton, he moved closer, picked up the bottle and tried to refill Hettie’s glass. But he was shaking so much that the golden wine spilled all over her hand.

Hettie took the bottle from him and mopped up the mess with a towel. Then she guided Darryl to one of the garden couches and hunkered down beside him.

“What is it, Darryl?” She put an arm around his bare shoulder.

“We had Frascati. We used to sit at this old wooden table and eat pasta and drink a glass of wine together. All day out in the sun… Or digging…somewhere… We’d be tired by suppertime…but so happy. Full of a sense of achievement.” His handsome face crumpled suddenly and to Hettie’s horror, she realized he was fighting tears. “Oh Hettie, I miss him so!” Moved by his plight, she hugged him closer.

He’d obviously remembered his adoptive uncle. And from the depth of his anguish it was also obvious that Darryl was now aware that his beloved relative—his father figure—was dead.

Hettie felt tears well in her own eyes.

Oh Piers!

Suddenly an immense bolt of loss stabbed at her heart. It was the same. It hurt so much. The pain of knowing that the most important person in your life was gone forever. That was the pain that Darryl was feeling right now—the same pain she’d felt when the doctor had pronounced Piers finally at peace.

As she held the grieving Darryl, Hettie suddenly wondered again where Starr was.
He
was the one who’d been there when
she’d
needed a pair of arms around her. Without him, she would have fallen apart she’d been so lost and alone.

Confused urges jostled her. Unconsciously, she began to rock Darryl in her arms, just the way she would have done with anyone who was suffering. And yet at the same time she was acutely aware of his intense masculinity. The heat of his skin. The strong musculature of his lean but well-shaped limbs. The perilous proximity of that splendid cock she’d been unable to tear her eyes away from just a few moments ago.

Darryl smelled good. He felt good. She couldn’t imagine it
not
being good to make love to him and have him make love to her. And she knew from personal experience the healing and restorative powers of good sex.

She was trembling. In another world, she might have welcomed this beautiful man into her body to help heal his sadness.

But of course she couldn’t. This was the real world, and to sleep with Darryl was beyond unthinkable. Because of her own memories of being comforted the same way while Piers was ill. She couldn’t do it because of the man who’d comforted her then.

She patted Darryl’s sleek back, aware of the perfection of his skin but also imagining of the touch of another man’s skin and the intense, burning blue of his eyes as she seemed to watch her.

A soft cough made Hettie jump and she jerked back from an equally surprised Darryl, expecting to find that man—and those blue eyes—to be right there on the patio
really
watching her.

“Is everything all right?” inquired Stevie. Her voice was gentle and professional, in spite of the fact she was wearing a skimpy olive green T-shirt, a floppy hat and a pair of voluminous ex-army shorts.

Hettie was more relieved than she cared to admit to see her friend right at that moment and flashed Stevie a welcoming smile. She expected Darryl to be awkward, having been caught in tears by an unknown woman, but quite the reverse. Composed and graceful, he rose to his feet, rubbed quickly at his eyes then held out his hand towards Stevie.

‘Hello, you must be Dr. Madrigan. I’m Darryl di Angeli. How do you do?’

“
Ciao
.
Piacere
,” replied Stevie with a grin. Hettie could see that even though her friend’s smile was warm and friendly, the doctor was astutely sizing up the situation as a clinician and assessing Darryl and his emotions.

A stream of musical Italian issued from Darryl’s lips, but Stevie only laughed and shrugged. “I’m afraid that’s about the extent of my knowledge of your language, Darryl,” she said, taking his hand and shaking it, “And yes I am Stephanie Madrigan, but you can call me Stevie.” She glanced over Darryl’s shoulder and winked. “Any more of that wine left, Hett? I’m dying of thirst here!”

“Lots. Let me get you a glass,” said Hettie, rising to her feet and bustling around to get Stevie some wine.

She felt a great glow of gratitude. The older woman had arrived and immediately taken control of the situation with tact and delicacy. Behind her, Hettie could hear her two companions chatting easily about the beautiful weather and the equally beautiful gardens. They were classic British topics of conversation—but always wonderfully comforting when you were making a brand-new friend.

As the sun beat down, the three of them continued to sit in the shade and talk. It was mostly Stevie who led the conversation, and Hettie smiled to herself as she admired the way her friend was able to draw Darryl out and ask him gentle questions about himself without seeming to be in the slightest bit intrusive or prying.

Years of practice, I suppose.
She caught Stevie’s eye for a split second and saw her nod in acknowledgement. For all her eccentricities and her sexual forthrightness, the doctor was eminent and respected in her profession.

Maybe I should turn you loose on Starr, Stevie.
Hettie said silently to her friend.
I’m getting nowhere trying to break down his wall… Maybe you can do it?

But even as she thought the thought, Hettie knew it was unlikely. Starr was private and impenetrable, locked behind barriers of his own making. He’d give his body unstintingly but never a hint of what was happening in his heart.

The afternoon wore on. Peacefully and amenably. Despite her frustration over Starr, Hettie’s heart warmed to see Darryl so relaxed and at ease with Stevie. And she grinned to herself at his obvious sexual interest in the good doctor.

“It’s just too hot!” said Stevie suddenly, standing up beside her lounger, her hands on the hem of her shirt. “Does anybody mind?” she queried, but before either Hettie or Darryl could speak, she’d whipped off the thin garment and bared her small but shapely breasts to the afternoon heat. Her shorts and the miniscule thong she’d been wearing beneath them quickly followed.

Hettie hardly dared look at Darryl, but as she watched Stevie begin to smooth sunblock over her slender, athletic body, she felt a
frisson
of reaction in her own flesh.

She’s beautiful. And if I wanted to go that way, I know she and I could be together.

It was a piquant fantasy, and for a moment Hettie imagined describing it to the one she really wanted to be with. Where the hell was he? Had he come back from wherever he’d disappeared to yet?

“How about doing my back, Darryl?” said Stevie, lowering herself onto a lounge chair, on her front. Then, looking seductively back over her shoulder, she held out the tube of sunblock to the young Italian. The air was suddenly heavy and charged, and as Hettie watched a play of emotion dance across Darryl’s smooth face, she realized that it was far more than a chance to apply the lotion that Stevie was offering him.

Oh Lord, this is it!
She hid a smile behind her fingers.
Stevie said she’d come down here to help with his “education”…and the first lesson is about to start now!

Time to make herself scarce.

“Er—yes—of course,” replied Darryl, getting up. His voice sounded a little odd, but in a distinctly excited way. His eyes were dark, the pupils hugely dilated and as she watched him take the tube from Stevie’s fingers, Hettie swiftly gathered up her belongings and shrugged into her wrap. Her friend the doctor was looking at the young man with a very direct, inviting smile upon her face. And Hettie guessed that Darryl wouldn’t even notice if somebody dropped a piano into the pool right now, much less take much notice of her own exit from the scene.