don’t know. I have to sleep on it.”
“Of course you do,” Ann said, her eyes still troubled. “But I’m against setting up a meeting. At least right now. E-mail him back—and be sure to do it from outrageous69 not your regular e-mail account—and ask him about himself. I’d consider even asking for references.”
Jenny raised a brow. “To say he’s still a great lover?”
“No!” Ann glared at her. “To say he’s a trustworthy person.”
“I agree you should play it cautious,” Rina said, “and sleep on it, Suzie.” She stood up. “I have to go, I’ve got an early morning.” Her expression suddenly went dreamy. “But here’s something to think about. Should I try to find Giancarlo, using the internet?”
Jenny grabbed her hand and yanked her back down. “What?
You mean we’re going to write another ad, for the magic fingers piano-man who made you come three times on top of a piano?”
Rina freed her hand and stood up again. “Or I could use the normal internet search tools. After all, I do know the guy’s name.” She shot a pointed look at Suzanne.
“Oh!” Suzanne picked up the e-mail printout and read it again. No, he hadn’t mentioned his name. He hadn’t said where he lived, or what he did for a living. Or if he was single. She toyed with her baklava, then put her fork down.
“You eating that?” Jenny demanded.
Suzanne pushed her plate over, and Jenny, whose hundredpound frame never gained an ounce despite the huge amount of food she consumed, dug in.
* * *
Later that night, Suzanne’s caveman came to her again in a dream. Afterwards, her body damp with sweat, the throbbing still pulsing through her, she smiled at knowing the memory was true. And what the hell was wrong with great sex?
Suzanne left the bed to Melody and Zorro—a tangled heap of gold and black atop the pale green duvet—and went over to turn on her computer. She hoisted Mouse from his sleeping spot, opened caveman’s e-mail and clicked REPLY. I remember Lord Chatterley, she typed. And I remember wishing we’d picked some of those tiny flowers that bloomed on the hillside. But you said fingers would do, and it was true. Your fingers were so amazing. You touched me with strength, yet never hurt me. You made my body sing.
Suzanne stopped. What was she doing? She should be asking for information so she could decide if she wanted to see him again.
She wished she could remember their final conversation. Had he told her his name, where he lived, what he did? Had he said he was married, and she’d gone into shock?
Whatever he might have said then, that was four years ago and the facts might be quite different now. Mouse was insinuating himself across the keyboard. She nudged him away before he could click any keys, and typed: You could be anywhere in the world, yet you say you’ll come to me.
She thought about the two of them walking toward each other. What if the magic really did belong to—depend on—that beach in Crete? Meeting again could be a disaster.
“Nothing can ruin a memory, Mouse,” she murmured, stroking the sleepy cat. “If I decide to see him and it doesn’t work out, I’ll still have that first memory.
“And if I meet him in a public place, and don’t give him my last name, address or phone number, I can’t come to any harm.”
Mouse butted his head against her hand.
Why would she want to see the man, if she had to take so many precautions? And yet, excitement fizzed through her. The element of mystery was in itself arousing. If caveman was just a perfectly nice guy, like the vets at the clinic, she wouldn’t feel this same sense of adventure. She might, in the future, contemplate a loving marriage. But with caveman, what she had in mind was, as Jenny called it, a walk on the wild side. Wild, but she honestly didn’t believe it would be dangerous. If he hadn’t hurt her in that cave, when she’d been so vulnerable, he wouldn’t hurt her now. The only thing she really
“Of course you do,” Ann said, her eyes still troubled. “But I’m against setting up a meeting. At least right now. E-mail him back—and be sure to do it from outrageous69 not your regular e-mail account—and ask him about himself. I’d consider even asking for references.”
Jenny raised a brow. “To say he’s still a great lover?”
“No!” Ann glared at her. “To say he’s a trustworthy person.”
“I agree you should play it cautious,” Rina said, “and sleep on it, Suzie.” She stood up. “I have to go, I’ve got an early morning.” Her expression suddenly went dreamy. “But here’s something to think about. Should I try to find Giancarlo, using the internet?”
Jenny grabbed her hand and yanked her back down. “What?
You mean we’re going to write another ad, for the magic fingers piano-man who made you come three times on top of a piano?”
Rina freed her hand and stood up again. “Or I could use the normal internet search tools. After all, I do know the guy’s name.” She shot a pointed look at Suzanne.
“Oh!” Suzanne picked up the e-mail printout and read it again. No, he hadn’t mentioned his name. He hadn’t said where he lived, or what he did for a living. Or if he was single. She toyed with her baklava, then put her fork down.
“You eating that?” Jenny demanded.
Suzanne pushed her plate over, and Jenny, whose hundredpound frame never gained an ounce despite the huge amount of food she consumed, dug in.
* * *
Later that night, Suzanne’s caveman came to her again in a dream. Afterwards, her body damp with sweat, the throbbing still pulsing through her, she smiled at knowing the memory was true. And what the hell was wrong with great sex?
Suzanne left the bed to Melody and Zorro—a tangled heap of gold and black atop the pale green duvet—and went over to turn on her computer. She hoisted Mouse from his sleeping spot, opened caveman’s e-mail and clicked REPLY. I remember Lord Chatterley, she typed. And I remember wishing we’d picked some of those tiny flowers that bloomed on the hillside. But you said fingers would do, and it was true. Your fingers were so amazing. You touched me with strength, yet never hurt me. You made my body sing.
Suzanne stopped. What was she doing? She should be asking for information so she could decide if she wanted to see him again.
She wished she could remember their final conversation. Had he told her his name, where he lived, what he did? Had he said he was married, and she’d gone into shock?
Whatever he might have said then, that was four years ago and the facts might be quite different now. Mouse was insinuating himself across the keyboard. She nudged him away before he could click any keys, and typed: You could be anywhere in the world, yet you say you’ll come to me.
She thought about the two of them walking toward each other. What if the magic really did belong to—depend on—that beach in Crete? Meeting again could be a disaster.
“Nothing can ruin a memory, Mouse,” she murmured, stroking the sleepy cat. “If I decide to see him and it doesn’t work out, I’ll still have that first memory.
“And if I meet him in a public place, and don’t give him my last name, address or phone number, I can’t come to any harm.”
Mouse butted his head against her hand.
Why would she want to see the man, if she had to take so many precautions? And yet, excitement fizzed through her. The element of mystery was in itself arousing. If caveman was just a perfectly nice guy, like the vets at the clinic, she wouldn’t feel this same sense of adventure. She might, in the future, contemplate a loving marriage. But with caveman, what she had in mind was, as Jenny called it, a walk on the wild side. Wild, but she honestly didn’t believe it would be dangerous. If he hadn’t hurt her in that cave, when she’d been so vulnerable, he wouldn’t hurt her now. The only thing she really
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