"You could kiss good ten years ago, honey, but you've moved into the major leagues since then."

"I don't do that with everybody," she replied irritably.

"No offense, Francie, but I remember back all those years ago that once the serious business got started, you still had a few things to learn-not that you weren't a real good student. Tell me why I get the feeling that you've pretty much put yourself on the honor roll since then?"

"I haven't! I'm terrible at sex. It-it messes up my hair."

He chuckled. "I don't think you care too much about your hair anymore-not that it doesn't look real good-and your makeup, too, by the way."

"Oh, God," she moaned. And then, "Maybe we should pretend none of this happened, just go back to

the way things were."

He tucked his hand, along with hers, into the pocket of his parka. "Honey, you and I have been circling each other ever since the second we got back together-sniffing and snarling like a couple of mongrel dogs. If we don't let things take their natural course pretty soon, we're both going to end up half crazy." He paused for a moment. "Or blind."

Instead of disagreeing with him, as she should have, Francesca found herself saying, "Assuming we decide to go ahead with this, how long do you think it will take for us to-to burn out?"

"I don't know. We're entirely different people. My guess is if we do it two or three times, the mystery'll be gone, and that'll pretty much be the end of it."

Was he right? She chastised herself. Of course he was right. This kind of sexual chemistry was just like

a brushnre -it burned hot and quickly, but had no real staying power. Once again she was making too big a deal out of sex. Dallie was acting completely casual about the whole thing and so should she. This was a perfect opportunity to get him out of her blood without losing her dignity.

They walked the rest of the way to the farmhouse in silence. When they got inside, he performed all the rituals of a host-hanging up their jackets, adjusting the thermostat so the house would be comfortable, pouring her a glass of wine from a bottle he'd brought in from the kitchen. The silence between them

had begun to feel oppressive, and she took refuge in sarcasm. "If that bottle has a screw top, I don't

want any."

"I took the cork out with my very own teeth."

She repressed a smile and sat down on the couch, only to discover that she was too nervous to sit still. She got back up. "I'm going to use the bathroom. And, Dallie… I didn't-bring anything with me. I

know it's my body and I consider myself responsible for it, but I didn't plan to end up in your bed-not that I've actually made up my mind about that yet-but if I do-if we do-if you're not better prepared than I am, you'd better tell me right now."

He smiled. "I'll take care of it.".

"You'd better." She gave him her most ferocious scowl, because everything was moving too quickly for her. She knew she was getting ready to do something she would regret, but she didn't seem to have the willpower to stop herself. It was because she'd been celibate for a year, she reasoned. That was the only explanation.

When she returned from the bathroom, he was sitting on the sofa, with one boot crossed over his knee, drinking a glass of tomato juice. She sat at the opposite end of the couch, not pressed up against the arm exactly, but not cuddled next to him, either. He looked over at her. "Jeez, Francie, I wish you'd loosen up a little bit. You're starting to make me nervous."

"Don't give me that," she retorted. "You're as nervous as I am. You just hide it better."

He didn't deny it. "You want to take a shower together to warm up?"

She shook her head. "I don't want to take off my clothes."

"It's going to be pretty difficult-"

"That's not what I mean. I'll probably take off my clothes-eventually-maybe-if I decide to-it's just that I plan to be already warmed up before I do it."

Dallie grinned. "You know what, Francie? This is sort of fun, just sitting here talking about it. I almost hate to start kissing you."

So she started kissing him instead, because she absolutely couldn't stand to talk anymore.

This kiss was even better than the one by the side of the road. Their verbal foreplay had put them both on edge and there was a roughness about their caresses that seemed exactly right for an encounter that was absurdly foolish for both of them. As their mouths pressed together and their tongues touched, Francesca once again had the sensation that the rest of the world had drifted away.

She pushed her hands beneath his shirt. Within seconds, her sweater was off and the buttons on the front of her silk blouse opened. Her lingerie was beautiful-lace shells of oyster silk cupping her breasts. He peeled back one of the shells to find her creamy nipple and suckle it.

When she couldn't stand it anymore, she pulled his head up and began a relentless attack on his bottom lip, tracing the curve with her tongue, gently teasing it with her teeth. Finally she slipped her fingers along his spine and pushed them inside the waistband of his jeans. He groaned and pulled her to her feet, then stripped down her slacks and slipped off her shoes and stockings. "I want to see you," he said huskily, freeing the silk blouse from her shoulders. The fabric felt like a caress as it slid down over her arms.

Dallie caught his breath. "Does all your underwear look like it belongs in a high-class strip show?"

"Every bit of it." She rose up on tiptoe to take a nip at his ear. His fingers toyed with the two little strings on her hip that held the tiny silk triangle of her panties in place, leaving the curve of her thigh bare. Goose bumps slithered over her skin. "Carry me upstairs," she whispered.

He slipped his arm under her knees, lifted her, and held her close to his chest. "You don't weigh as much as a full bag of clubs, honey."

His bedroom was large and comfortable, with a fireplace at one end and a bed tucked beneath a sloping ceiling. He laid her gently down on the spread and then reached toward the delicate ties at her hips. "No, no." She pushed his hand away and pointed toward the center of the room. "Take it off first, soldier."

He looked at her suspiciously. "Take what off?"

"Your clothes. Entertain the troops."

"My clothes?" He frowned. "I was sort of thinking you might want to do that for me."

She shook her head and leaned back on one elbow, giving him her witchiest, bitchiest smile. "Strip."

"Now, listen here, Francie-"

Lifting a languid hand, she once again pointed toward the center of the room. "Do it real slow, good-looking," she purred. "I want to enjoy every minute."

"Aw, Francie…" He looked longingly toward the twin shells over her breasts and then lower to the

small silk triangle. She moved her legs slightly apart to inspire him.

"I feel stupid making a big show out of taking off my clothes," he grumbled as he moved toward the center of the room.

She let her fingers trail delicately over the triangle of silk. "That's just too bad. As far as I'm concerned, men like you were put on this world to entertain women like me."

His eyes followed her fingers. "Now, is that so?"

She toyed with the little string. "All brawn, no brain, what else are you good for?"

Lifting his gaze, he gave her a lazy grin and slowly began unbuttoning his cuffs. "Well, now, I guess you're about to find out."

Francesca felt a surge of heat flow through her blood. The simple act of unfastening a shirt cuff suddenly struck her as the most erotic thing she had ever seen. Dallie must have noticed her breath quicken, because a smile flickered at the corner of his mouth and then disappeared as he began to play her in earnest. He took his time unfastening the rest of his shirt buttons and then let the garment hang open for

a moment before he took it off. Her lips parted slightly. She studied the play of muscles in his chest as

he reached down to pull off his boots and his socks. Dressed only in jeans and a wide leather belt, he straightened up and linked one thumb in his waistband.

"Slip down that bra," he said. "Nothing more comes off here until I see something good."

She pretended to think it over and then slowly reached behind her back to open the small clasp. The straps drifted down along her shoulders, but she held the shells in place over her breasts. "Take off your belt first," she said, her voice deep and throaty. "And then unzip."

He pulled the belt from the denim loops. For a moment, he let it hang at his side, the buckle curling from his fist. Then he surprised her by tossing it over to the bed, where it fell across her ankles. "In case I need to use it on you," he said, his voice full of sexy menace.

She swallowed hard. He pulled open the top snap on his jeans and pushed the zipper down a scant few inches, revealing his flat abdomen. And then he rested his hand lightly on the slide, waiting for her. She eased the silky shells off her breasts, delicately arching her back so he could look his fill. Now he was the one who swallowed hard.

"The jeans, soldier boy," she whispered.

He pulled the zipper down the rest of the way, then tucked both his thumbs inside the waistband, snagging the jeans and his briefs together, and slid them off. He finally stood naked before her.

Without any pretense of shyness, she looked her fill. He was hard and proud, sleek and shiny and beautiful. She let her head drift back on the pillows, her hair spilling out in a corona around her, and watched him as he walked to the side of the bed. Reaching down with his index finger, he stroked a long line from her throat to the top of the triangle of her panties. "Open the ties," he ordered.

"You do it," she replied.

He sat down on the edge of the bed and reached toward one of the satin ribbons. She stilled his hand. "With your mouth."

He chuckled, then leaned over and did as she had ordered. As he pulled the silky triangle from between her legs, he kissed her and then began stroking the insides of her thighs. She took off on an exploratory mission of her own, her hand greedy to touch him. After a few minutes, he groaned and broke away to reach into the drawer of the bedside table. When he turned his back to her, she laughed and lifted herself up on her knees to nuzzle his neck. "Never send a man to do a woman's job," she whispered. Reaching around him, she took over his task, dallying and teasing until his skin was damp with perspiration.

"Damn, Francie," he said huskily, "you keep on like that and you're not going to get anything out of this encounter but a boring memory."

She smiled and slipped back onto the pillows, parting her legs for him. "Somehow I doubt that."

He took advantage of what she was offering him, tormenting her with expert caresses until she begged him to stop, and then kissing her breathless. When he finally entered her, she dug her hands into his hips and cried out. He reared up, driving himself deeper. They began talking in breathless little words.

"Please…"

"So good…"

"Yes… hard…"

"Sweet…"

Each was accustomed to being a cool lover-considerate, giving, but always in control. Now they were hot and wet, strung out on passion, oblivious to everything but the mad cry of one beautiful body

reaching out for the other. They came, seconds apart, spilling open in gushing, noisy abandonment,

filling the air with cries, moans, and breathless obscenities.

Afterward, neither could have said who was the more embarrassed.

Chapter 29

They ate a tense meal, with both of them cracking jokes that weren't all that funny. Then they went

back to bed and made love again. With their mouths glued together and their bodies joined, they couldn't talk, but talking was something neither of them wanted to do much of. They slept restlessly, waking in

the wee hours to find that they still hadn't gotten enough of each other.

"How many times was that?" Dallie groaned after they were finished.

She nuzzled closer under his chin. "Uh-four, I think."

He kissed the top of her head and muttered, "Francie, I don't think this fire burning between us is going

to be as easy to put out as we figured."

It was past eight the next morning before either of them stirred. Francesca stretched lazily and Dallie pulled her close for a cuddle. They were just beginning to fool around a little when they heard footsteps coming up the stairs. Dallie cussed under his breath. Francesca jerked her head toward the door and then watched in alarm as the knob began to turn. An ugly vision flashed through her mind of an army of Dallie's old girlfriends stalking in, each with a house key dangling from her fingers. "Oh, God…" She couldn't help it. She slid down beneath the covers and pulled the sheet over her head. At that exact moment, she heard the door open.