High Noon

down, fragrant red rain. A quick flick and her breasts, white satin, filled his hands.
    Energized silk, he thought. Everything about her was smooth, soft, everything inside her so avid with purpose.
    She let out a gasping laugh when he flipped her onto her back. Then a low purr of pleasure as his hands, his lips began to roam over her. Slowly now, he slid the skirt down her hips, her legs, following the movement with his mouth. The inside of her thigh, so firm and warm. The back of her knee, sensitive enough to cause quivers.
    And when he retraced the route, and found her center, she went from quiver to quake.
    Pleasure, dark and deep, swamped her. Sensation powered into sensation in a roaring, raging river. She tumbled into it, drowned in it until he dragged her gasping to the surface only to plunge her down again.
    She rolled with him, hands slipping, sliding over flesh damp with sweat; her mouth, frantic, greedy, seeking his. Until at last, at last, she straddled him again, took him in. Deep, deep as hearts thundered. Their bodies locked.
    She rode him hard and long. His hands gripped her hips as she bowed forward or back. The sheer beauty of that shape, that silhouette, shimmered in his mind while the stunning drive of need ruled his body.
    And all of it was her. There was nothing but her when he shot blindly over that last jagged edge.
    When she collapsed on him, simply fell limb by limb, he managed one final groan.
    “I forgot—” She had to stop to wheeze in another breath.
    “I didn’t—I remembered that time. One suit off, another suit on.”
    She let out a weak laugh. “No, not that—good memory, by the way. I was going to say I forgot how much I like sex.”
    He rested his forehead on her shoulder and hoped that, eventually, his brain would find its way back home. “Happy to remind you, as often as possible.”
    “Oh God, Duncan, I’d give almost anything for a glass of water. A half glass. One swallow.”
    “Okay, okay, don’t beg. It’s embarrassing.” He rolled her over, and she kept going until she was splayed on her belly.
    “You’re my hero,” she mumbled into the pillow, and drifted off. A faint smile curved her lips as she heard him walking back into the bedroom.
    Then she leaped in shock as the ice water hit the center of her back. “Duncan!”
    “What?” He stood, an innocent smile on his face, the glass in his hand. “You said you wanted water. You didn’t say where you wanted it.”
    Eyes narrowed, she got to her knees, held out a hand. She took a long sip. Then, with a half laugh, reached out to tug his hair. “Very funny.” She tugged him again until his lips met hers.
    Then poured the rest of the water over his head.

20
    Phoebe leaned over after Duncan stopped the car. “Thank you for going with me.” She kissed him lightly. “Thank you for the sex. And thank you for the ride home.”
    “You’re welcome. And on the second part? Pretty much anytime.”
    “An additional thank-you.” She brushed his lips one more time. “For understanding I have to get myself home earlier than Cinderella most of the time.”
    He trailed a finger around her ear. “If I buy you some glass slippers, do you think we could arrange a sleepover?”
    With a laugh, she got out of the car. “You know, I was talking myself into backing off this—whatever this is—with you.”
    “Oh?” He got out so they stood for a moment, studying each other on opposite sides of the car. “Why is that?”
    “I’m trying to remember. I had my reasons. Duncan, I’m resistant to being swept away.”
    “I’ll leave the broom in the closet.”
    Too late, she thought. Much too late. “You’re better at this than I am.”
    “At what?”
    “At whatever this is.”
    Lights sparkled over in Forsythe Park, and there were soft pools of shadows along the street. Ava’s flowers perfumed the air that threatened to turn sultry. Through the open windows of a passing car Delta Blues throbbed like a broken heart.
    Here she stood, Phoebe thought, looking over at a man who excited her so she noticed those small details she often overlooked. So that those details were like colorful backdrops in Act Three of her personal play.
    And she was fretting over it because she wasn’t absolutely certain how the play would end.
    “Did you ever get your heart broken? No, don’t answer that now,” she said quickly. “That may be one of those long stories, and I have to get inside.”
    “Go out with me tomorrow