“She sounds like quite a woman.”
“She is.”
“My God, Richard,” Angela whispered. “I’m stunned. How many years ago did this happen.”
“Eight years this March.”
“You’re very brave.”
“Me?” Richard snorted.
“You made a mistake, a big mistake, but you’ve moved beyond it. You’re doing something good with your life.”
Richard looked up into Angela’s eyes. She held his gaze steadily then took a deep breath.
“Did you know I tried to steal Jimmy’s Giacometti?” she asked.
Richard looked stunned. He hadn’t known. Angela feared she had killed whatever fragile understanding they had reached.
Then Richard grinned. “A hundred twenty thousand wasn’t enough?”
“I thought the contract was off, that I wouldn’t get paid.”
“Woman,” he chuckled, “You have balls.”
“Actually,” Angela smiled tentatively, “I don’t.”
“Praise the lord.” Richard imitated a southern Baptist preacher and Angela’s smile widened.
“You’re okay that I almost became a major felony criminal, but you can’t accept prostitution?” she teased.
Richard’s face turned serious. Had she gone too far? Maybe some topics were better buried.
“They aren’t the same thing,” Richard said almost sadly. “Hell, I am a felon, but…”
“Forget I said it,’ Angela apologized. “I’m a screw up.”
“It’s a hard thing for a man to accept,” Richard continued.
“I know that,” Angela agreed. “But it’s in the past.”
Angela made a sudden decision, one that she knew to the bottom of her toes was right.
“I’m not taking the money, Richard.”
“What?”
He was watching the approaching waiter and seemed not to have heard her words. She could still back out, still be rich and comfortable,… still watch every word to hide the wealth from her father, still feel her twin’s anguish at her part in its acquisition.
“I’m not taking the money,” she repeated more loudly. “I stopped being a prostitute two months ago. It’s a lot of money but the same principle.”
Richard looked troubled.
“Don’t refuse the money because of me.”
“I’m not. The past is the past,” she repeated. “I realize that now. I’m looking forward, not behind any more. Will you come with me?”
The waiter brought a tray loaded with tiny triangular sandwiches. Richard looked across the mound of cucumber and tuna and prosciutto delicacies and into her eyes.
“Yes.”
The food and the waiter and the restaurant disappeared. Richard’s answer spoke directly to Angela’s heart. A Shakespearean love sonnet wouldn’t have been more welcome. Angela sighed and her eyes glazed with tears and her stomach rumbled all at the same time. Richard seemed to sense her emotional fragility. He picked up a tiny triangle in his long fingers and offered it to her.
“Was that a stomach growl I just heard,” he teased, “or are we having an earthquake?”
Angela took a bite of the sandwich from Richard’s hand. As she chewed, the atmosphere turned steamy. Richard finished the sandwich in one bite.
“The Queen Anne suite upstairs is still yours,” he said as though commenting on the weather.
“I’ve never seen it,” Angela responded, her voice equally cool.
Richard raised a hand and signaled their waiter, who hurried to the table.
“Pack these to go,” Richard requested. He handed the man a credit card.
Five minutes later they were in the elevator, the neatly wrapped cardboard box dangling from Angela’s finger by a string. Richard held an ornate silver tray with the teapot and cups. Once he had known their destination in the hotel, the waiter had insisted they not miss their beverage. It was a tribute to Canadian respect for privacy that no one in the lobby or elevator stared. Maybe they thought the pair were actors filming in Vancouver. Gwyneth Paltrow and… one of the Baldwins?
As they walked down the muted carpet of the fourth floor hallway, Angela dug her wallet out of the back pocket of her jeans. The almost forgotten key card was tucked in a side panel. She slid the card in the door and held it open for the laden Richard. Angela gazed around the elegant room as Richard put the tray on the dining room table. The suite was like a miniature apartment with a spacious antique-filled living room and a beautifully appointed dining area. Richard took the box from Angela’s fingers and set it on the table beside the tray. Then he returned and tucked her chin between two fingers.
“You can close your mouth,” he commented, pushing up gently. “Nice suite, eh?”
Angela slid his hand to cup her cheek.
“Yes, it is a nice suite, eh. Does it have a nice bedroom?”
“Let’s look.”
They walked hand in hand across the living room and straight to the bed in the adjoining room. Then Richard kissed Angela. His lips caressed and his tongue demanded. Her body and heart responded. Several moments later she leaned back from the embrace.
“Did you notice if it’s a nice room?” she teased.
“Any room with you and a bed is a nice room.”
Richard lowered his mouth over Angela’s again and this time she didn’t interrupt him. His tongue scraped along the roof of her mouth and Angela sucked it deeper. Richard pressed her hips to his throbbing groin, his fingers digging into her through the heavy jeans. Then he slid his hands inside the cloth to bare skin. His mouth stayed locked to hers as they staggered together the remaining steps to the bed, even as they tumbled to lie tangled on the cover.
Angela pulled the sweater off her arms and up toward her neck. She wrenched her mouth from Richard’s long enough to pull the bulky material over her head. His hands moved from hips to breasts and clung and pressed and clawed through the flimsy bra. It ripped and he completed the destruction and flung it behind him. Angela moaned as his hands returned to stroke and pummel her and he stopped her breath with his mouth.
She struggled with his tie and jacket and shirt as he singlemindedly focused on her mouth and nipples, driving her beyond thought to primal need. She fought the clothes off him in a frenzy, ripping cloth with her nails and occasionally scratching skin. At last they were both nude and Angela’s need for contact peaked. She moaned in frustration when Richard’s mood abruptly changed.
From rutting buck, he turned into eager and curious puppy. He pushed her back on the bed and held her pinned with a leg across her hips when she tried to rise up and attack him. He sniffed and licked his way along her length from ear to armpits to bellybutton to knees to toes. Angela pushed his head toward her crotch but he pulled back and rolled her over. She groaned when he began his exploration again at the top and worked his way slowly, agonizingly erotically down, this time with nips and occasional bites to mark his progress.
By the time he reached her feet, Angela was dripping with sweaty anticipation and inner moisture. She rolled onto her back and held out her arms. Richard took them and placed them behind her neck.
“Would you like me to tie you?”
She shook her head.
“Don’t move,” he cautioned.
His command was hard to obey. He spread her legs and lowered his head to her crotch. He began again with puppy-like sniffs and licks. Angela giggled. Then he placed his hands on her open thighs and pressed her into the bed. He latched his mouth to her like a suction hose and Angela’s giggles turned to a cry of surprise at the sharp ache, then swiftly metamorphosed to a wordless moan of encouragement. His tongue and lips and teeth found the keys to her hidden compartments. Her legs fought against the pressure of his hands as her hips sought the release of pumping. The restraint was gas on a bonfire and she came in a violent upheaval of shaking and screams.