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 relationship?"

"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."

"You could say that. You could say I'm lucky I got out of there before the two of them tore me to pieces."

"And how did this little soiree come about?"

"I don't have the faintest idea. I arrived, and they were both there. I don't think I've ever been at such a complete loss."

"Poor baby," she said. "I suppose you need consoling."

"Oh, yes. Console me."

She swapped ends and began kissing him lightly, getting an instantaneous response.

He placed a hand on her b.u.t.tocks and pulled her to his face, searching with his tongue.

She took him into her mouth.

He found her.

They remained in that position for a long time.

Forty-six.

STONE STOOD, HIS HANDS AGAINST THE TILE WALL OF the shower, his head under the heavy stream of water. His knees were trembling. He had no idea what time it was, except that the sun was up.

The bronzed-gla.s.s door opened, and Charlene stepped in. She grabbed a bottle of something, sprayed it on his back, and began soaping his body. "How you doing, sugar?"

"I'm shattered," he said. "I can hardly stand up."

"I can't imagine how that happened," she giggled. "All we did was make love."

"How many times?"

"Several," she replied. "Who's counting?"

He leaned back against the tile and let her soap him. "I have the strange but almost certain feeling that sometime early this morning I pa.s.sed some sort of physical peak in my life, and that everything from here on is downhill."

"Sugar," she said, "that's the sort of peak that most men hit at eighteen. You should be pleased with yourself."

"I'm never going to be the same again; I can hardly stand up. You may have to carry me out of here."

She pulled him back under the shower and rinsed him, then turned off the shower. "Maybe if you hold my hand you can make it." She led him out of the stall, dried him and herself with fat towels, and found robes for them both. "Come on, hon; breakfast is on the table."

He followed her through the sliding doors and onto a terrace overlooking the beach. When they sat down a low wall cleverly blocked the view from the sand, but still allowed them a panorama of the sea. It was nicely private.

She removed the covers from two plates. His was eggs, home fries, sausages, and m.u.f.fins; hers was a slice of melon.

"Why do I have so much and you so little?" he asked, digging in.

"Because you need your strength, and I need to keep my a.s.s looking the way it does without surgery."

"It looks wonderful, especially up close."

"You should know; you were in and out of there a few times."

Stone sneezed.

"G.o.d bless you."

"I hope I'm not getting a cold."

"I don't think you can get a cold from a.n.a.l s.e.x."

"Good point; maybe I'm just allergic to something."

"For a while there, I thought you might be allergic to me."

Stone shook his head. "Not in the least."

"Then what took you so long to knock on my door?"

"Call it misplaced loyalties."

"That's it," she agreed. "Neither one of them deserves you." She smiled. "Only me. Tell me, do you always wear a gun to a.s.signations?"

"What?"

"I seem to recall removing a shoulder holster from your body, along with everything else. Did you feel you needed a lot of protection from me?"

"A friend brought it out from New York for me. No offense."

"None taken."

Stone finished his eggs and poured them some coffee. "When are you going to see Beverly Walters?"

"Yesterday."

"You've already talked to her?"

"Well, you didn't give me a chance to tell you last night."

"What did she say?"

"She was coy, which is unlike Beverly. Normally, she spills everything, usually without being asked."