"She won't mind. Gussie loves cats. She's very respectful, probably because she had a cat of her own for quite a few years: Priscilla."
I was eager to glean any personal details. "What happened to Priscilla?" I asked.
"She was nineteen," said Ariana, "so I believe one can say old age happened to Priscilla."
"You had her from a kitten?"
Ariana smiled. "She was an incredibly soft, furry little ball of energy."
I would have kept this conversation going, just to see where it would lead, but Ariana gently deposited Julia Roberts on the floor and headed for the food.
We sat companionably across from each other at the kitchen bench, open containers of many different Thai delicacies between us. I particularly liked that about Thai food-the mixture of many flavors to compliment and contrast. As she served herself, I noticed she'd removed her signet ring.
We didn't talk much, just concentrated on eating. Afterward, over coffee (Ariana) and tea (me), I brought Ariana up to speed on what had been happening while she'd been away in Sacramento. "What with the Global Marsupial Symposium starting on Thursday next week, everyone in the biology department is flat out like a lizard drinking," I said, "so I haven't had much chance to chat up Erin Fogarty about Oscar's quokka research. Monday morning, first thing, I'm going to turn on the charm full bore."
"Difficult to see how she can resist," said Ariana in a dry tone.
I gave her a cheeky grin. "End of the day, I practically guarantee that I'll be her second best friend."
"I don't doubt it. But why aim so low? Why not be Erin Fogarty's first best friend?"
Crikey, I loved her cool, astringent wit. More than that, I loved her. "You know I said I wasn't going to put the hard word on you?"
Ariana looked at me mutely, her eyes so blue they glowed.
I took a deep breath. "I lied. I want you to stay the night. Here. With me."
She shook her head. "Bad idea."
"Be a devil, Ariana. Throw caution to the winds."
Her mouth quirked, just a little. "It's not in my character." She slid off the kitchen stool. "Kylie, this isn't going to work. There are so many things you don't know."
"Then tell me."
"I can't."
"Or won't?"
"Both."
"Blimey," I said, "you don't make things easy, do you?" We were standing toe-to-toe. I leaned forward and kissed her wonderful mouth. Her heart was beating hard against me. "Come to bed."
She stood within the circle of my arms, unresisting, her head bent. Barefoot, she was a bit shorter man me, but I'd reckon more than my match. I could feel the taut muscles in her back, sense the tensile strength of her.
Ariana's breath had quickened; there was a faint tremor in her body. I knew she desired me-or desired someone-to hold her, make love to her. Perhaps any warm body would do. Perhaps she saw the image of someone else when she looked at me. Perhaps…
She looked up. "All right," she said. "I'll stay."
"Thank you."
"Thank you?"
I felt myself blushing. "I didn't expect you to agree," I added hastily, "and I'm really chuffed you have, Ariana. You won't change your mind, will you?"
Suddenly, she looked terribly sad. "No," she said, "I won't change my mind. I should-but I won't."
I couldn't help feeling a bit hurt. At least she could pretend a degree of enthusiasm. "Stone the crows," I said, "that's a bit less than a ringing endorsement for my company. I mean, I'm not expecting for you to fall over yourself, but…"
A small smile touched the corners of her mouth. "Kylie, you're one of a kind," she said. "You really are."
I left her sitting on my bed communing with Julia Roberts, and went to have a shower myself, but not before I said to Ariana, "You won't choof off the moment I get under the shower, will you?"
"I guess that means skip out on you. I'm exhausted, Kylie. I'm too tired to even think about getting up and leaving."
She wasn't kidding. Sparkling clean, wrapped in a terry toweling robe, I bounded out of the bathroom to find Julia Roberts and Ariana curled up on my bed, both sound asleep.
Still in her jeans and T-shirt, her blond hair spread across the pillow, she slept like a child, relaxed and vulnerable. I didn't want to disturb her, so I turned out the light and, still wrapped in my robe, eased myself onto the bed beside her. Julia Roberts sighed, leaped gracefully to the floor, and left us. Three, apparently, was a crowd.
I may have dozed a little, but the delight of having Ariana's sleeping self beside me kept me pretty much alert. Her breathing was slow and easy. There was enough reflected light in the room for me to discern her unguarded face. I thought there was a real possibility my heart would melt with tenderness.
Ages passed. The world spun on its axis, unheeding. She lay within the crook of my arm. I didn't wish for morning, even though my arm had a severe case of pins and needles. I heard the cadence of her breathing change, and realized she was awake. After a few moments, she said, "Hi."
"G'day."
In the silence, I was conscious of the faint rumble of traffic on Sunset Boulevard. I eased my arm out from under her and flexed my fingers. "Pins and needles," I said. "You're heavier than you look."
Ariana gave a soft laugh.
"Crikey," I said, "that wasn't very romantic, was it?"
"Not very." Her voice was husky.
Leaning on my elbow, I looked down at Ariana's face. In the near darkness the devastating blueness of her eyes was masked. My heart was hammering so hard I thought she must hear it. Perhaps she did. She slid her hand under my robe, encircled my shoulders, and pulled me down into a kiss, slow and deep.
The touch of her clothes against my bare skin was intoxicating. I felt her reach for her waistband. "Don't undress, Ariana. Not yet."
She made a soft, languorous sound as I ran my fingers down the seam of her jeans. I pushed up her T-shirt, kissed her stomach, stroked her nipples with my tongue.
"Kylie," she said.
My name in her mouth ignited such longing, such passion that I heard myself moan. I'd reached the zenith. Afire, I knew I couldn't feel more, couldn't desire more. Then Ariana touched me, and I found I'd only brushed the edges of ecstasy. I muffled my cries against her throat.
Ariana-cool, controlled Ariana-had vanished in an incendiary flash. She ripped the T-shirt over her head and tossed it aside. She lifted her hips as I peeled her jeans down, quivered as I tasted her.
She was lightning; she was quicksilver; she was my Ariana.
FIFTEEN
After making love with Ariana, anything else was set to be an anticlimax. On Saturday evening I arrived at the radio station at the appointed time. I'd been quite looking forward to sitting in the studio watching Pen, as Dr. Penny, dispensing advice to callers, but now my thoughts were fixed on something far more disturbing-and exciting.
As I parked my car in the lot beside the khaki-colored building that had seen better times, I reminded myself I had to collect a compilation of the suspicious calls that Pen had had made up from the master recordings of her show. My name had been given to security, so after I'd been thoroughly checked to make sure I was who I said I was and then provided with a badge reading VISITOR, Pen was summoned to collect me from the reception area.
Bubbling with enthusiasm, she punched the button to summon the lift at least ten times. "That Lonnie of yours, he's quite a ladies' man," she said. "Sexy as all get-out."
"Lonnie?" Chubby, dimpled Lonnie-sexy? Pen had to be referring to someone else.
"He did a great job installing the pinhole camera," Pen continued. "And he stayed for quite a while. We found we had so much in common."
I visualized Lonnie next to the Amazonian Pen Braithwaite. He was shorter than me, so he'd probably be about her breast level. And Lonnie was a total technology freak, who didn't seem to have a private life at all. What could he and Pen possibly have in common?