N. R. De Mexico

Private Chauffeur N. R. De Mexico

He pulled her close to him and kissed her gently. "I don't think so," he said. It was no longer important that Erica had been Ivan's mistress. He wanted her more than he had ever wanted any woman before. He let his hands slip lightly over her smoothly curving back, caressing the slenderness of her neck beneath the warm hair. He kissed her lips, her eyes, and the soft line of her jaw, feeling her body tensing. She pressed closer to him with a responsive warmth, and he dropped his hands to her waist, almost encompassing it with his clutching fingers. She said, "Gary-not here! Not now!" He said, "Yes, darling. Now!" Her body went all limp. For a moment he thought of Dolores' scheme. Now, in this moment of confessional, he should tell her. Now, this very instant. But the thought touched him fleetingly and was gone. She turned her body until she lay, odalisque-fashion, against the leather pillows. She drew him close. Then, very distinctly, he heard the latch of the garden house door leading down to the garage click closed. But, in a moment, he had forgotten that.