Page 43

VICTOR

A single fading crimson-and-purple swipe over the water was all that was left of the sunset. Gino pulled up to Barbara’s new bungalow in Long Beach.

“You’re sure we weren’t tailed?” I asked.

Gino scoffed. “Positive. I took the long way, and the car is a loaner. No trace to you, Boss.”

I glanced around the quiet street before opening my door. “Thanks, Gino. Pick me up tomorrow morning at eleven.”

“Is that enough time, Boss?” he asked with a chuckle and a sideways glance.

“Hmm, make it noon.” I grabbed my leather bag and slipped out of the car.

The sea air was cool and carried the scent of salt and kelp. I liked Barbara’s new place—modest but charming, with ivy creeping up the stucco walls and a small garden out front that looked perpetually in bloom.

I knocked on her front door, smoothed my hair, and adjusted my tie—fidgeting like a schoolboy on his first date.

The door opened, and there Barbara stood, wearing the sleek black dress she’d drawn for me.

The sketch had been lovely, but it came nowhere close to doing justice to the way she wore it.

The neckline dipped lower than any dress I’d seen her in, teasing soft, creamy skin that I ached to touch, to taste.

Golden waves cascaded over her shoulders, framing the blue eyes that had undone me from the start.

A glass of white wine in one hand, she beckoned me inside with the other.

“I was just trying on the new dress,” she said, closing the door behind me. “But if you’d rather I take it off…” A wicked gleam lit her eyes.

“And here I was about to compliment the craftsmanship… But I suppose I’d need a closer inspection to truly appreciate it.”

We moved to the living room, where soft jazz played from a phonograph in the corner.

She handed me a glass of wine and leaned against the doorway, swaying gently to the music.

The dress moved with her, a black silk shadow that clung to her curves.

It was at that moment that I noticed the slit—high on her thigh, teasing me with every sway.

I took a slow sip, the crisp wine a poor distraction from the fire curling low in my stomach.

“Frankie’s with your sister for the weekend?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.

“Oh yes, we’re quite alone.” She flashed me a knowing smile and batted her eyelashes before taking another sip of wine, then walked over and took my free hand. “Dance with me.”

I set our glasses on a side table and took her in my arms. The warmth of her body seeped through the silk of her dress as I placed my hand on the small of her back. Her body melted into mine as we swayed to the lazy, dreamy notes of a trumpet.

Her breath was soft on my neck. “I’ve missed you,” she whispered.

I pulled her closer, letting the music and her touch melt away the tension I’d carried all day. The soft, tantalizing scent of her perfume intoxicated me more than wine ever could.

“I’ve missed you too, darling. Desperately.”

The music slid into silence, leaving only the soft crackle of the phonograph. I cupped her face, her skin warm beneath my palms. She closed her eyes and tilted her head up, lips parting just enough to draw me in.

I kissed her slowly, deeply, savoring the way she softened against me. Her lips were warm and sweet—like the first bite of a perfectly ripened peach.

Barbara pulled back just enough for our noses to brush. “Are you hungry?” she asked softly, her breath warm on my lips.

“Starving,” I said in a low growl. “But not for food.”

A playful spark lit in her eyes. She stepped back and retrieved her wine glass from the side table. With languid grace, she swirled the liquid, watching it slide against the glass before taking an unhurried sip.

“I thought you’d like this dress,” she said, tracing one fingertip along the rim of her glass, then skimming it down her neckline, following the curve where silk met skin.

I loosened my tie with one hand, never breaking her gaze. “You look scrumptious enough to feast on.”

Her soft laugh rang out as she moved around me in a slow, deliberate circle. The slit in her dress parted with each step, revealing flashes of smooth, toned leg—an elegant but tantalizing striptease crafted by nothing more than the sway of her hips.

“You have a real talent for design,” I said, my voice thick with desire.

“The fit is impeccable.” I reached out, letting my fingers trace the seam from her hip to where the silk split at her thigh.

The fabric was cool against my fingertips, but beneath it, her warmth was a low-burning flame.

“It’s exquisite work,” I continued, my voice dipping lower.

“But to truly judge its quality, I’d need to see the seams from the inside. ”

A sly smile curled at the corners of her lips. “And how do you propose to do that?” she asked, lifting an eyebrow in challenge.

I took a step closer—so close I could feel the static of her presence tingling on my skin. Her eyes were locked on mine, daring me to make the next move.

“Carefully. Meticulously. Thoroughly…” I let each word drip with intention.

My hands moved to her shoulders and down along her arms in a featherlight caress. She leaned into my touch, her breath hitching just enough to betray her desire. Her lips parted, but no words followed—only the softest exhale of breathy anticipation.

I slid my fingers under the delicate straps and dragged them slowly over her shoulders.

The fabric resisted just for an instant before sliding down against her skin with a whispering sound, coming to rest half-mast across her arms. I traced my fingers along her neck and tangled them gently in her hair as I tilted her head back.

She was Aphrodite carved from living marble.

Her throat stretched long and elegant before me.

I kissed the hollow at its base, then worked my way up slowly, savoring each inch like forbidden fruit.

She gasped when I reached that tender spot just below her ear.

I nipped gently, earning a delicious shiver from her entire body.

I kissed down along her jawline, then traced a path with my lips over her collarbone and into the valley of her cleavage. The dress was precariously perched, threatening to fall at any moment, yet held in place by some fashion sorcery.

“You’ve designed this so perfectly,” I murmured against her skin. “It shows off your beautiful breasts just enough to drive a man mad with desire.”

Her breathing grew heavy, each rise and fall of her chest an invitation. “I’m glad you approve,” she said, voice tinged with breathless excitement.

I moved my hands slowly down the curves of her sides until they rested on her hips, then pulled her closer so she could feel the exact effect she was having on me.

“It would take a very good man to leave such a masterpiece intact,” I said softly as I kissed back up toward one exposed shoulder.

She laughed—a light, musical sound that dissolved into a moan when I took her tender flesh between my teeth. “Are you a good man?”

I rounded behind her and eased down the zipper at her back. “No, I’m not.”

The dress loosened and slid down her body, like honey trickling over porcelain. Her back was a long, supple line of muscle and bone. I kissed along her spine as it curved like a swan’s neck, each vertebra a delicate pearl in an unbroken string.

She turned to face me, wearing nothing but her heels and a dress pooled at her feet.

“You didn’t tell me you weren’t wearing any silks.”

“They mess up the lines.” She stepped out of the pool of fabric. “You’re certainly taking your time,” she said with a teasing lilt. “I thought you were starving.”

“Oh, I am,” I replied, urgently shrugging off my jacket and unbuttoning my shirt collar. “Show me your new bedroom, and I promise you, darling, I’ll devour you whole.”

Barbara extended her hand, and I took it, the delicate bones of her fingers intertwining with mine. She led me down the narrow hallway, each glance over her shoulder a spark to tinder.

We reached the bedroom door, and she paused, turning to face me.

Her eyes were a stormy blue, churning with emotion and desire.

Without a word, she pulled me into a kiss, fierce and demanding.

Her naked body pressed against my semi-clothed form, creating a delicious contradiction of textures and temperatures.

I kissed her back with equal fervor, hands roving over the curves I had spent the last several weeks craving.

She broke the kiss abruptly and pushed the door open. The room was modest but cozy, with a large bed dominating the center. Soft moonlight filtered through sheer curtains, casting a silvery glow over the white linens and creating deep shadows in the corners.

Barbara walked to the edge of the bed and turned to face me. Her silhouette was art in motion, every curve etched in half-light. I stood in the doorway, momentarily transfixed.

Finally, I stalked over to her, pulling her close and reveling in the sensation of her hardened nipples pressing against my chest through the thin fabric of my shirt.

She slid her hands around my back, then up to my shoulders, urgently gripping.

I kissed her again, more hungrily this time, our lips and tongues clashing like a sudden summer storm.

Barbara broke the kiss and pushed me down onto the bed with unexpected force. I landed on my back, propping myself on my elbows to watch her. She stood over me, a goddess in nothing but heels, breathing heavily.

“I think you’re the one who’s starving, darling,” I teased.

She put one knee on the bed, then the other, crawling towards me with the predatory grace of a panther. Her hands found my belt buckle and worked it free, then tugged at the waistband of my trousers. I lifted my hips to help her, and she slid them down, along with my shorts, in one swift pull.