She gave her lips to his without resistance. The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood. ” She led the way, talking all the time to Ennison. Then he relaxed back a little, and let the weapon dangle from his fingers. He turned, expecting to see his wife. It was time to disappear, no more Becks, no more Spaghetti Nights, no more afternoon kisses in the park with John Diedermayer. He devoured her with his eyes too, his shyness not able to disguise his furtive glances at the curvy outline of her breast against the imitation silk, his memory still exquisitely tortured by her movements in the miniskirt.
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