Part 37 (1/2)
He followed her directions and came into a large bedroom only steps from the sand. The sliding doors to the beach were open, and a breeze billowed the sheer curtains. She unlocked her legs and dropped to the floor, tearing at his clothes. Together they got him undressed and her robe disappeared. They dived at the bed.
Stone had been erect since she'd answered the phone, and Charlene wasn't interested in foreplay. He was inside her before they were fully on the bed, and she was already wet. They made love hungrily, rolling about on the king-size bed, he on top, then she. There were no words, only sounds-yells, bleats, cries, moans. The breeze from the Pacific blew over their bodies, drying their sweat, keeping them going. She came slowly to a climax, and Stone followed her more swiftly, penetrating her fully. More sounds, followed by gasps for breath, then they were both lying on their backs, sucking in wind.
”Good G.o.d!” she managed to say finally. ”I've done a lot of f.u.c.king in my time, but I don't think I ever had a running start before.”
”I was in a hurry,” he panted.
”Oh, I'm not complaining, sugar.”
He turned and reached for her. ”Again,” he said.
She pushed him onto his back. ”Now you take it easy,” she said. ”My call for tomorrow isn't until eleven, and you've got to last until then. I don't want you to leave in an ambulance.”
Stone burst out laughing. ”Oh, I feel wonderful,” he laughed. ”First time in I don't know how long.”
”You've been wound a little tight, haven't you?”
”You wouldn't believe how tight.”
”Well, I think I've just had a demonstration, and if it took you that long to start unwinding . . .”
”I think I may live now, if Dolce doesn't shoot me.”
”Dolce? Is there somebody I don't know about?”
”My wife wife, G.o.d help me.”
”Sugar, I believe we've skipped a part of your bio,” she said, rising onto one elbow and tossing her hair over her shoulder.
”Paper marriage,” he said. ”Piece of paper, nothing more. Trouble is, it's an Italian Italian piece of paper.” piece of paper.”
”Baby, you're not making any sense. Did you get drunk in Vegas, or something?”
”Happened in Venice,” he panted. ”The real one, not the Vegas one. Glorious place to get married.”
”Did she Shanghai you?”
”I went voluntarily, I'm afraid. I don't know what what I was thinking.” I was thinking.”
”So, what's the next level of that relations.h.i.+p?”
”The next level is divorce, and I have a feeling it's not going to be easy, since it has to happen in Italy.”
”I don't understand how . . . wait a minute; you came out here just to help Arrington, didn't you?”
”Yes.”
”Were you in Venice when you heard about Vance?”
”Yes. We'd had the civil ceremony; we were due for the big one, in St. Mark's, the next day. When I heard about Vance, I dropped everything.”
”Including Dolce?”
”Turned out that way.”
”How did she take it?”
”Badly.”
”And now you think she wants to shoot you?”
”Oh, no; she'd rather have me drawn and quartered and the pieces barbecued.”
”What does she want want?”
”Me, dead or alive.”
”You mean she still wants to be married to you?”
”Apparently so. She's been introducing herself to the world as Mrs. Stone Barrington.”
”Oops.”
”Yeah, oops.”
”Who is this girl?”
”Her last name is Bianchi.”
”Wait a minute: at Vance's funeral I saw you talking to . . .”
”Her father.”
”I've heard a little about him,” she said. ”Sounds like this could be tricky.”
”Well put. Tricky.”
She pushed his hair off his forehead with her fingers and kissed him. ”I could hide you here for a few months,” she said.
”I don't think I could survive that.”
She giggled. ”Probably not, but you'd last a while. What made you show up here tonight? Where were you earlier this evening?”
”I went to Arrington's house for dinner. Dolce was there.”
”Well, that must have been a teensy bit awkward.”