| |
AT DINNERTIME, WITH the intense indigo blue of the evening sky turning the lights of Positano into a fairytale dream, Hazel thought she would go for the gusto on her evening wear.
This location and this man demanded she turn up the volume, and she relished the chance to, once again, be the focus of all eyes as she flowed from their suite and out onto the dusky terrace.
The sun was going down reluctantly, but with an air of temporary absence, as it gave way to a pale, faded, much smaller moon trying to establish some competition to the brilliantly burning glow spreading out over the horizon.
The bay delighted in the battle, and the small waves reflected first the scarlet of the dying sun, and then the cool romance of the soft moonlight.
Jeffrey, who was already seated, stood up politely at her approach. His unguarded expression told her all she needed to know about her choice of attire, but still it was nice to hear him vocalize his thoughts. “My dear Hazel, you look beautiful. Truly beautiful.”
Quietly thrilled, Hazel settled across from him onto a brilliantly patterned cushion softening the formal wooden chair. “Thank you. I love dressing up for a special occasion, and I love your suit.”
She took a moment to gaze around the terrace, admiring the big amber globes casting a flattering light all around. It was strong enough to illuminate their table but soft and romantic. Simply perfect. “You’ve been here before, I think you told me.”
“Yes, I’ve been here a couple of times.”
Jeffrey was shaking out his napkin pretending to be all business about dinner although his eyes were gliding over Hazel like a painter’s studying his model. “You do like this place ... yes?”
He was suddenly seized with the unthinkable possibility that someone might not and, although incredulous, he wanted confirmation so he could dismiss the idea. But he also sought conversation that would give him a more in-depth look into the psyche of this lady he was finding increasingly fascinating.
“Yes, of course! Who wouldn’t like this. I mean it’s like heaven on a stick.”
She suppressed a happy laugh for fear of overdoing it and tempered her response to end with a demure and elegant smile. She could hear Arabella’s voice in her inner ear, counselling, “Nice one, girl, but get on with it ... don’t let this one get out of your sight! He sounds like the real goods.”
Jeffrey caught the distraction in her expression. “Is lobster okay with you? I was thinking Lobster Thermidor, or even grilled, but I don’t want to eat a whole one myself, so if you would like lobster we could split it.”
His eyes looked even bluer now with the tan bringing out all the richness in his gaze. In this light, she could clearly see that the iris held a complex pattern, like flower petals blooming from the dark pupil.
Hazel heard her own voice from somewhere far off agreeing, “Yes, lobster would be fine.”
Her subconscious kicked in again, teasing her. ‘Lobster would be fine.’ Listen to you! She could almost see Arabella’s eyebrows lift in humorous astonishment.
“Great!” Jeffrey leaned over the beautifully set, intimate table to kiss her cheek, and she caught the drift of his devastating eau de cologne. It was warm, complex, and just destroying her.
“That’s a nice after-shave.” She smoothed the bodice on her dress in an unconscious gesture and felt her stomach muscles ripple in reflex response to her inclination.
“Well, since you mention it, I was about to ask about your perfume. It’s bewitching.”
He got up and stood just behind her chair as he bent to inhale her sophisticated jasmine-heavy scent, caressing her neck gently with his lips.
Hazel felt a delicious tingle run up her spine. “Jeffrey, can I ask you something? Something that has been puzzling me slightly?”
He returned to his chair, sat down, and looked at her with an attentive, open expression.
“Definitely ... go ahead, shoot.” Jeffrey sipped his water and then, with a little mischief dancing behind the boyish twinkle in his eyes, he added, “And I might even tell you the truth.”
Hazel smiled at his charm. She gathered her thoughts into logical order and, brushing a strand of her long and still shiny chestnut hair from her face, she relaxed back into the most basic of her questions. “Why me? I know I’ve asked you before, but that was just dinner. This is different, at least for me.”
Hazel had noticed the eyes of young, attractive women follow Jeffrey and certainly, with the added glamour of travel and affluence, it was obvious he could easily be the object of many a girl’s romantic imaginings. He was tall, well-built, handsome, and those eyes and that hint of greying at the temples made him any female’s idea of the cultured, suave, mature man-about-town.
Jeffrey took another sip from his glass and deliberated for a second over his response, but he knew. He knew he didn’t want to play games with this one because there was just something about her.
“In one word, sensuality.” He watched her face and saw a hint of puzzlement wrinkle her forehead ever so lightly but so attractively.
“Well, to be honest, I’ve seen how women look at you, and I know how men’s minds work. Most men like younger women, and I don’t blame them as such, but I’m well aware of the fact that age does diminish desirability in the eyes of most men ... wish it were different but it’s not, and one must be realistic, no? So again, why me?”
Hazel wasn’t sure why she was obsessing like this with a line of questioning that any man might well find irritating. It was certainly a mood killer.
It’s just that she could not understand how her luck could have changed so dramatically. She had come to accept that she was not one of life’s lucky people – quite the opposite. So what had changed? Or maybe nothing had. Although she was enjoying his courteous seduction, she knew it might just be a charming game. Pleasurable, even glorious – but come the end of this week and their return to London, would she become another number in his phone book and a vague memory in his past?
Jeffrey straightened a little in his chair feeling the seriousness of her concern and its implication. “You know it’s funny ...” He let his gaze drift to a distant point out over the bay, now bathed in cool moonlight, and the soft glow outlined his profile like one of those old movie posters from the Casablanca era.
He turned back to look understandingly into her eyes with an almost caressing warmth. “Yes, I find it curious that ladies ... women ... females of otherwise deep understanding ... don’t quite get it.”
He seemed amused at his awkward phrasing but continued, his voice deepening slightly, “Oh, some do, but not quite all of it. You see, young girls, marvellous as they are, have the appeal of basic sexual attraction.” His head tilted an acknowledgement of his own admission. “It’s strong and arresting, but also one-dimensional. But ladies a little bit older – say late thirties, early forties – have that most arresting of qualities ... sensuality.” He smiled his personal experience and evaluation.
“Sensuality is much more than just sex appeal. It is a dance of experience mixed with a heady cocktail of enticement and suggestion. A forty-year-old woman knows where she’s going and also how she wants to get there, and she oozes sexuality in a smooth, seductive assurance that is so ... so very hot!”
Having let his thoughts flow out genuine and unedited, he took another sip from his glass and smiled a little pleasure in having shared his truth with her. “And, whether or not you know it, Hazel, you have it in spades.”
Momentarily speechless, she blushed inwardly but managed to appear simply complimented as she basked in the glow of being the object of such heat and desire.
“Aragosta alla griglia, prego.”
The smartly uniformed waiter arrived with the silver salver held high, letting the aromatic steam rising from the dish make small vapour tracings against the star-sprinkled sky.
The food was spectacular. They ate it on their intimate, private terrace watching the occasional calamari fishing boat criss-cross the softly cresting waters of the bay, with their lights shining down on the surface to lure their catches.
It was so calm and the night so soft and the air so sweet that Hazel couldn’t help wondering with amazement once again at the fact that only a few days ago she had been toiling in the day-to-day gloom of London’s less than buoyant weather. How could two so fundamentally different places exist on the same planet?
* * * * *
BACK IN HER ELEGANT bedroom, Hazel reflected on the sophisticated conversation that had floated around the delicious dinner and acknowledged an underlying tension.
Jeffrey’s goodnight kiss had been just as intense as the night before but much shorter. He had almost torn himself away from her with a brusqueness that suggested an iron self-control.
With unerring feminine intuition, she had sensed the curb he had applied to his own inclination and was aware of a growing respect for this devastatingly attractive man.
Hazel went to sleep with a smile on her face. Tomorrow the next move would be hers.
