Wedding in Venice

Chapter Eleven

It was Justine who turned the embrace into a kiss, putting her arms about Riccardo's neck, so that he could be in no doubt of her intentions.

"Justine," he whispered, "Justine…"

Everything he wanted from her was in his voice. He wanted her, in every way, and at this moment she would have given him all that she was, if only -

If only she was a different person, a woman who wasn't afraid to give her heart, afraid of her own self, her own feelings.

Dulcie had said to her, "When are you going to throw caution to the wind?"

But she had learned that caution over a lifetime, and it was too late for her now.

He murmured her name again against her lips, deepening the kiss in a way that was part plea, part demand. She responded fiercely, longing for the moment when emotion and sensation would take over.

But it didn't come. Try as she might she could not force her heart to rule her head. The knowledge made her want to cry out in despair, but she couldn't change anything.

"What is it?" he asked, sensing her inner struggle and loosening his grip. "Have I misunderstood? You do not feel as I do?"

"I don't know how I feel. How can I know so soon? How can you?"

"I do know."

"You can't," she said desperately, trying to make it true by the force of her assertion.

"Don't tell me how I feel," he said quietly.

"But we've only known each other a few days, and we've hardly talked at all."

"Perhaps it's as well. Talking is when people make mistakes about each other. I have made no mistake. I know what I feel about you. But if you wish, I'll wait a little while before saying it."

"And then I'll be gone," she said, suddenly wistful.

"You must not go before I tell you that I love you."

She surveyed him wryly. "That's very clever," she said. "Very subtle. Very Venetian."

"What do you know of Venetians?"

"I'm learning fast. You're great talkers."

"And you think it means nothing?"

"It means whatever you want it to mean at the time, and then tomorrow it means something else." She attempted a teasing tone. "You can tell me you love me tonight, if you want to."

"Can I indeed?"

"Yes, except that I won't take it seriously. By tomorrow everything will change. But tonight is fine."

"Do you think I need your permission to love you?" His voice was still quiet.

"Hey, lighten up," she said, still trying to turn it all into a joke. "We've got the moon and the stars and Venice. Why spoil it by getting serious?"

He didn't answer, just looked at her strangely, like a man trying to comprehend a baffling enigma.

Justine went very deliberately to the recliner, sat down and reached out to him in invitation. After a moment he came to her and took her hand, then knelt beside her and gathered her in his arms.

Now it would happen, she promised herself. Now the attraction that had drawn them together from their first glimpse outside the airport would take over so completely that she could forget caution.

He kissed her slowly, one hand beginning to trace a path from her face, down her neck to her throat. Excitement leapt in her like fire, sending its message in all directions, to her very fingertips, to the heart and depths of her.

As his hand began to drift lower she took a slow breath, eagerly yielding to her sensations.

And then, just as the world began to dissolve, leaving behind only him, it was all taken away. She felt him freeze, then withdraw from her.

Reluctantly Justine opened her eyes and found him looking at her tensely. His breathing was harsh and uneven, and she could feel the strain that racked his whole body.

"What is it?" she whispered. "What's the matter?"

"The matter is that this is not right," he growled.

"How can it be wrong if it's what we both want?"

"Is it? Can you look me in the eyes and say that you truly want me, as I want you? Or are you saying to yourself, I've gone too far to turn back now? Tell me the truth, Justine. I need to know."