Page 69 of The Virtuoso
“You might.” Val set the plate on the night table. “Are you done napping, and can I talk you into joining me on a blanket down by the pond?”
“You may.” She’d enjoy her time with him and then have the memories and enjoy those too. “Let’s eat our cake before we venture forth so we’ll have less to carry.”
Val nodded solemnly. “Always an important consideration. I thought of some more words.” He took the plate in one hand and Ellen’s wrist in the other and tugged her toward the balcony.
“What kind of words?” Ellen went willingly. The balcony was cool and shady—and safer than the bed.
“Pizzle,” Val said, setting the cake down on a wicker table. “Putz, which I think is a German word, as is schlange. In German it means snake, but the connotation is clear.”
Ellen grinned and did not meet his eyes. “You’ve put thought into this?”
“No,” Val admitted, seating himself beside her on a chaise. “The words keep occurring to me, so I’m passing them along. What have you been thinking about, Mrs. FitzEngle?”
Her past, Ellen wanted to say, but honesty was not going to win this day, not if there were to be happy memories from it.
“Vegetables,” Ellen improvised. “Do you have a favorite?”
He held a forkful of cake before Ellen’s mouth. “At lunch, my favorite was the asparagus with Hollandaise sauce, but the peppers stuffed with potatoes and sausage were also quite good.”
“Naughty man.” Ellen’s mouth watered at the thought of such fare even while Val put a bite of cake on her tongue.
“Very.” He passed her the fork and met her gaze.
He wanted her to feed him. A bolt of heat leapt through Ellen’s middle, and abruptly the cake in her mouth tasted richer, sweeter, and more pleasing to her palate. She took the fork and offered him a small bite. He slipped his lips over the fork and closed his eyes as Ellen withdrew it.
“Delectable.”
“How do you do that?” she asked, passing him back the fork.
“Do what?” Val asked, lashes lowering. “Eat cake?”
“You take a simple moment, something completely mundane, and imbue it with… passion. With subtleties and complexities and unspoken feelings. One feels like one was wading in the shallows, and suddenly, the bottom isn’t there and isn’t anywhere to be found, either.”
“I like the analogy.” Val fed her another piece, sliding the fork very slowly from her mouth, pausing, then removing it entirely. “But I can’t say it’s conscious on my part. Rather like making love or making music—a function of an artistic temperament, I suppose. Let’s fetch a blanket, take these books, and find a quiet, shady spot out of sight of the house.”
She didn’t even think of refusing him but let him lead her at a meandering pace to a spot along a rushing stream where the air was a little cooler and the stream bed a fine, sandy gravel perfect for wading.
He read an Austen novel to her, which was more entertaining than Ellen wanted to admit, and he dozed beside her on the blanket, and he fed her more kisses. The afternoon was turning out to be sweet, lazy, and altogether enjoyable, when Ellen heard Val’s voice in her ear.
“You, my love”—he kissed her neck—“are not wearing drawers.”
“It’s too hot,” Ellen said, smiling at his wicked tone of voice.
“Perhaps.” Val’s hand slid up her leg, hiking her dress along with it. “Perhaps it’s too hot for even the clothing you have on.”
“Valentine.” Ellen opened her eyes. “It is broad, sunny daylight. Will you behave?”
“Misbehaving is always more fun in broad, sunny daylight, and I’m not asking you to take your clothes off, just let me move them aside.”
“Has this been your objective since you came to my room?” Ellen asked, trying to peek over her shoulder to read his expression.
“Honestly?” Val met her gaze. “It became my objective the moment I first kissed you, and yes, I do mean that first kiss, a year or so ago. Lie back, Ellen.” Val’s voice dropped, and his touch became silken. “Let me pleasure you.”
“You will not… spend inside of me?” She was proud of her ability to use such language, though with Val, it wasn’t naughty, it was somehow simply intimate. Wonderfully intimate.
“I will not, though not for lack of wanting to.” His eyes followed his hand where it caressed her knee. “It has been a long week, sweetheart, and though I love holding you and talking with you, I want to pleasure you now while we have the time and the privacy.”
What did he have in mind? Ellen could not guess, though she tried to read his intent in the way his gaze dropped to where his hand now stroked her hip. He looked at her as if he could see through her skirts, as if his eyes could touch where his hand rested.
