Cat made a little purring noise. "Now that sounds heavenly."

A half-hour later they shared sips from a paper cup after they'd eased their sore bodies into the hot tub. Jessica closed her eyes and let the bubbles at her feet soothe her.

"We were on Lesbos," Cat said again.

In her mind's eye Jessica could picture the time-worn temple and other landmarks of the island's history. Though there was nothing overtly welcoming to lesbian pilgrims, she had no trouble envisioning acolytes in gossamer gowns carrying laurel-scented water to wash the feet of the poetess.

Her reverie was interrupted by the noisy arrival of two young women she recalled from the tour. They plopped in the water and sighed with relief.

"I'm whacked," one said.

"Totally. I'm still disappointed, though. All that dust and ruin and that's what we're all called? Because somebody wrote some poems?"

The other woman fiddled with the spa jets. "Poetry is dead."

Jessica gave Cat a sidelong glance and then looked away with a deep breath.

"Actually..." Cat paused to casually sip again from the paper cup. "Poetry's immortality is what allowed our foremothers to adapt the island's name to describe a society of women for women. Had not Sappho's verse survived, there's no telling what we'd be calling ourselves, and we might still be searching for a collective ident.i.ty that allows us to bond and struggle for the advancement of our rights. Without the word lesbian we'd not be on this cruise, or it would be called something else."

The two women were looking at Cat as if she were speaking Greek, which might not be far from the truth. Jessica wiggled her toes in the bubbles and watched her beloved through her lashes.

"If you think about it, the words we use to describe our gender describe not what we are, but what we are not. Female. Woman. Not male, not man. In contrast, lesbian is an a.s.sertive word that states what we are in relation to ourselves and no other construct. Sappho's work, and that of her contemporaries that survives, indicates that her academy was likely only for women. Certainly, in our modern age, we want to romanticize this as an act of feminist rebellion when she was a member of a family that was overall persecuted into exile. She chose to eschew the power of men thereafter, probably because it was one of them that brought the wrath of the rulers down on her. Societies run by women had nearly disappeared by Sappho's time. We look back at her academy and see it as a continuation of the line of matriarchy. A bright moment in the long, dark fall of women from their place of respect as givers of life."

The poor young things were deer caught in Cat's headlights. That they were ignorant wasn't their fault-they obviously hadn't had Cat for a mother.

"I expected something more," one of them muttered. "That's all I meant. Everybody goes on and on about her poetry."

"So little has survived, it's true. But it has inspired our lives. 'For while I gazed, in transport tossed, my breath was gone, my voice was lost, my bosom glowed-'"

"Sounds like she'd had a very good time at some point," Jessica said drolly.

Cat splashed her with water. "Hush, you."

The other young thing c.o.c.ked her head to one side. "That sounds familiar. The voice lost and bosom glowed part."

"Those lines were used in one of the songs Marcy Chastain did Sunday night. She obviously found them inspirational."

"Marcy's so hot," the other said with a sigh.

They slipped into conversation between them after that, and Jessica stole a glance at Cat, who was basking in the hot water while a satisfied smile played around her lips. Leaning over, she said, "I'm going to tell Herine you used her honor's thesis to scold two baby d.y.k.es in the hot tub."

Cat snorted. "Think they want to hear about how much of dead poetry is in the song lyrics they enjoy every day?"

Given that the two girls were now making out, Jessica shook her head. "They have a few good ideas, though."

Cat gave her an amused glance. "I'm all relaxed now, what about you?"

Jessica drained the cup of the last of the port. "I'm dandy."

Cat was stripping off her swimsuit as Jessica sidled up behind her to nuzzle her neck.

"Wanna be a little late to dinner?"

"Is that what you have in mind?" Cat wrapped Jessica's arms around her waist. They still fit together exceedingly well.

"Port... warmth... thoughts of licentious acolytes and glowing bosoms."

"And you an old lady."

"Dirty old lady."

Cat turned in her arms and lifted her mouth. "Thank goodness, because I'm one too."

The days of romping across the bed in abandon had been over from the moment Jessica had first slipped a disk, and other delights were curtailed because Cat's knees protested forty-five degree or sharper angles. They'd always been au naturel when it came to lovemaking, but sensible crones, as Cat called them, made use of modern science.

They slid between the cool, dry sheets as Jessica retrieved the slender bottle of personal lubricant from the bedside table. "I love this stuff."

Cat grinned. "So do I. When I'm in the mood I do like to be wet."

"And when you're wet..." Jessica gently spread the lube over Cat with sure fingers. "You're in the mood."

"I should insure your hands."

Jessica kissed the lips curved in a fond smile, then pressed more firmly with her fingertips. Cat's response was quite gratifying. A few whispered words and they were moving together, sweet and easy, not forcing the tide, but letting it rise to wash over them. The motion of the ship lulled them into a soft pace, and kisses were long and languid until they were panting more than they were kissing.

"Touching you like this is my very favorite thing," Jessica whispered.

Cat's shivers were so familiar to Jessica. "I'm glad, because if it wasn't, you should have said so before this."

She pulled Jessica down for a wet, deep kiss, and delightful muscles gripped at Jessica's fingers until Cat gasped for breath and made that wonderful sound. Jessica went in a little deeper, drawing out every bit of response she could.

Cat relaxed and laughed. "G.o.d, that's fun."

"Well, if it wasn't you should have said so before this."

"Foo."

"Is that the best you can do? Got no brains at the moment?"

"Foo."

"There's supposed to be chocolate at dinner."

Cat abruptly wiggled and pushed until Jessica found herself on her back. "We'll get there, but there's something else I'd rather eat first."

Jessica grinned. "Do you have a reservation?"

Cat quickly slipped her hips between Jessica's thighs, then deftly tickled the sensitive patch along her underarm. While Jessica struggled and laughed, Cat continued her downward journey until the laughter faded and there was only the intimate exploration of Cat's tongue where Jessica never tired of feeling it. Today would be one of those times when she didn't climax, but the soothing, relaxing pleasure of Cat's attention left her feeling a glow that would last for hours. It was a different kind of s.e.x for her and as meaningful to her at this age as other kinds had been when she was younger.

There was a moment she reached when it felt as if Cat had filled her to overflowing and she could take no more. It didn't matter that certain muscles no longer spasmed as easily, not when she reveled in the heat of Cat's mouth, feeling the wonder of it in all the places only Cat had ever reached. She laughed, low, and stopped Cat with a soft gesture. They smiled over the length of Jessica's body. "Better than a hot tub."

Two beautifully arched eyebrows disappeared under Cat's bangs. "I should hope so."

"Come here, you." Jessica opened her arms and they snuggled together under the covers.

"We smell a bit funky now."

"I like it."

Cat's breathing quickly steadied and Jessica decided another ten minutes wouldn't matter to whatever was served for dinner. Cat was warm and safe in her arms. Someone else might think that they'd sleep together later, so why give up a unique experience in favor of one she could have almost any time she wanted.

Then again, some people didn't get it.

Count Me In Radclyffe The hands were back. Sinewy tendons tented the tanned skin as tapered fingers deposited a stack of crisp $100 bills on the felt. Aidan scooped them up, counted the stack twice, and then folded them into the slot on the table that connected to the safe underneath. With practiced efficiency she slid $5,000 in chips back across the table. Only then did she look up and nod at the familiar face of the stranger. Eyes the color of winter stared back from beneath jet black brows. The surprisingly wide, full lips curled briefly into a smile. Then the flash of welcome faded, and all expression left her sharply sculpted face.

Aidan scanned the table as five different hands pushed chips into the betting circles. Some dropped them carelessly. Others aligned them precisely in the center. The new arrival let them fall from the funnel of her fingers one at a time with a snick snick snick that reminded Aidan of the sound of s.e.x. She had watched those hands every night of the cruise-fingers flicking the edge of a card, caressing the faintly corrugated rim of a chip, tapping the felt delicately with a firm, round fingertip.

Aidan dealt the cards and her c.l.i.t grew hard. Beautiful hands, strong and deliberate. She imagined them skimming her body with casual possessiveness, a fingernail grazing her nipple. She tilted her hips forward until her mons rested against the curved edge of the table. Her c.u.n.t throbbed.

Each of the five players took a card. Tonight, the stranger wore a fine-weave linen shirt with the cuffs rolled back to the middle of her toned forearms. Her wrists were small, her fingers long and fine-boned. Aidan imagined them folding inside of her, knuckles ma.s.saging the tender spot that forced her c.l.i.t to grow and ache and finally burst apart.

Aidan dealt the cards.

Two players went over twenty-one. Losers. Two stood at sixteen and seventeen. Still in the game. The stranger took a card, her middle finger tapping twice with slow deliberation. Aidan felt the smooth, hard edge of a fingernail skim beneath the swollen flesh hooding her c.l.i.t, and her thighs tightened. Aidan dealt the card.

The stranger slowly brushed her hand over the cards, standing firm at eighteen.

Aidan turned her cards over. A nine and a three. She dealt a card. Five. House rules-the dealer stands at seventeen.

"Dealer pays eighteen." Aidan raised her eyes to those of the winner. She could read nothing in the hawk-like gray eyes, but she caught the glimmer of another smile. She swept the chips of the losers from the table and paid the stranger.

Aidan dealt the cards, round after round, and the stranger won more than she lost. Chips clinked, bills whispered across the surface of felt, and stiff, crisp cards snapped between sure fingers. Hours pa.s.sed and she watched those hands, feeling the press of smooth flesh in her hot, hungry places. By the time her shift ended, she was wet and swollen and mindless of anything other than the need to reach the locker room and fondle the hard length of her c.l.i.toris to a sharp, swift o.r.g.a.s.m. She needed to come now, wouldn't be able to wait, just as she hadn't been able to wait the night before. And the night before that.

When she stepped back from the table, struggling to control her erratic breathing while the pit boss removed the safe deposit box from its rack beneath the table, she saw the gambler collect her chips to cash out.

By the time Aidan signed the receipt for the pit boss, the dark-haired stranger was gone. Intent on reaching the locker room, imagining the way her c.l.i.t would pulse and dance between her fingers, Aidan twisted her way through the crowded aisles. Her skin was on fire, but even after she loosened her tie and unb.u.t.toned her vest, she still couldn't catch her breath. Just as she yanked open the door marked Staff Only, a hand shot out to slam it closed. Aidan nearly moaned. She knew that hand, those fingers, those blunt, strong nails. Her c.l.i.t jumped. G.o.d, I can't last another minute!

"I'd like to buy you a drink," the gambler said.

Aidan studied the shadowed hollows beneath the angled cheekbones, the strong jaw, the straight nose. Those winter eyes appraised her coolly in return. Aidan dealt the cards.

"I don't drink where I work."

"Where do you drink?"

"On the veranda outside my cabin."

"Alone?"

"Sometimes." Without the barrier of the table between them, Aidan saw that the gambler was younger than she had thought, although her eyes seemed those of someone much older. Aidan watched those eyes, waiting for a clue. Seconds pa.s.sed. A minute. Then, for the length of a heartbeat, the stranger dropped her gaze. Aidan smiled and waited some more...

"What about tonight? Are you drinking alone?"

"Deck seven. Number seven twelve." Aidan turned the k.n.o.b again, and this time the hand fell away, allowing the door to open. "Thirty minutes. And I'm drinking Stoli."

Inside the locker room, Aidan leaned against the door and contemplated the next thirty minutes. It would take all of a frantic minute to take the edge off the mind-scorching arousal that pounded away inside her, and then she'd be able to head back to her cabin for a shower without her c.l.i.t screaming for relief. Or she could ignore the stiff little tyrant and wait to come later, when she'd need it so bad she'd be almost sick with excitement. Those were the times when she climaxed so hard she couldn't walk afterward. She thought about those hands squeezing her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, those fingers working inside of her, and she cupped her crotch. She bunched the material of her pants in her fist and ground the heel of her hand into her c.l.i.t, moaning softly.

"Oh f.u.c.k," she gasped, easing her grip before she really let go. She walked on rubbery legs through the casino. Tonight, she'd shoot for blackjack.

The shower cleared her head a little but did nothing to ease the pounding in her permanently erect c.l.i.t. Skipping underwear, she pulled on loose black cotton shorts and a white T-shirt. Her nipples stood out. So did her c.l.i.t. She was wet again by the time the knock sounded on the door. When she opened it, the gambler stood in the hall with an unopened bottle of vodka in the crook of her arm. She'd changed into a sleeveless black shirt that b.u.t.toned up the front, khaki pants and deck shoes. An intricate black and green tattoo twined over the peak of her exposed shoulder and down her arm. It looked tribal or Celtic and definitely s.e.xy. Traces of the design crawled up her neck.

"What's your name?" Aidan asked, still holding the door ajar.

"Fel."

"Short for anything?"

Fel shook her head. "Would you like a drink, Aidan?"

Aidan raised an eyebrow.

"Nametag."

"The bar's in the corner. Rocks with a twist of lime. I'll be on the veranda."

The sky was moonless and nearly black. The ship's lights glinted off the water and reflected on the undersurface of the clouds. Tomorrow they'd dock, Aidan would lay over for a few days, and then she'd fly back to their headquarters while awaiting the next cruise. She might meet a girl in Venice, or she might end up sleeping alone. But tonight, tonight she'd play the hand.

"Here you are," Fel said.

They drank in silence for a few minutes, then Aidan said, "You play cards for a living."

"I've had some luck at it." Fel set her gla.s.s beside her and pivoted so her back was against the railing. "I wasn't working this week, though. I'm on vacation."

"I know." Aidan drained her drink and put her gla.s.s next to Fel's. Then she stepped into the vee between Fel's thighs and settled her crotch against Fel's. "You weren't counting. I was watching."

"I know. I imagine the cameras were, too."

Aidan smiled and kissed the side of Fel's neck, feeling her shiver as she slid her tongue over and between her lips. Stroking leisurely inside Fel's mouth, Aidan pumped her crotch into Fel's. "I had to mention it to the pit boss. She said they'd check."

"I'm glad I pa.s.sed inspection," Fel murmured, letting her head drop back, exposing her throat. "I would have been disappointed if I couldn't see you every night."

"Why did you wait all week to talk to me?" Aidan's kisses turned to slow, firm bites as she sucked the thick muscle in Fel's neck.

"Because watching you deal the cards made my c.u.n.t ache." Fel groaned as Aidan sucked harder. "And I like the way that feels."

"Is it aching now?"

"Oh, yes." Fel cupped Aidan's a.s.s and thrust her hips as Aidan rocked faster in her crotch. "I'll come right here if you keep doing that."