It's too ambitious, too greedy, too bloody insane..." His grin grew wider," And it's just crazy enough to work! You've got yourself a deal Sam... One hell of a deal." He offered her his hand to clinch it.
"Don't be silly," she said," We don't need to shake hands ... I've a much better idea!" She reached behind her back and deftly unfastened her dress... with a couple of shrugs and a sexy, self-conscious wriggle just for his benefit, it slithered to the floor with a rustling sound.
For effect, she was wearing her "undressed to kill" look - matching bra, panties and suspenders, all in flame red silk. Knowing his eyes would be riveted on her every move, she performed a slow, slinky strip-tease to rival anything in the clubs of Soho and led Pascoe to her bed.
Pascoe was woken by something tickling his nose and on opening his eyes, he found himself gazing into Sam's mischievous face. For a moment he didn't know where he was until he remembered the events of the previous evening. Now that he was awake, Sam tossed her head back, removing the offending hair from his face. Pascoe knew of worse ways to be awoken ...
"Morning Tom ..."
"Morning ..." She looked good in a black silk, kimono-styled dressing gown which fitted in all the right places. He reached out for her, but she pulled away.
"Time to get up lover. I’ve got a busy day," she said, leaving the bedroom. "It's 7.30 ... Breakfast in ten.., you know where the bathroom is..."
He laid on the bed for a few more minutes, reflecting on the previous night's antics, a self-satisfied smile on his face. Unlike most women he'd known, Sam looked as good in the morning as she had done the night before and benefited from the freshly scrubbed look. His ex-wife had looked like death every morning until she had spent at least half-an-hour in the bathroom, painting her face to the bland perfection of a model's looks. He remembered he'd never actually seen her completely naked in all their years of marriage... she'd always worn make-up... even in the bath and she'd always given a performance, even when no one was watching.
Reali zing he was becoming maudlin he hunted for his clothes which had been scattered around the bedroom floor during Sam's energetic assault. He found them neatly folded and draped over the back of the bedside chair.
On his way to the bathroom the full effects of the night's activities made their presence felt. He had a deep, dull ache in the muscles at the back of his thighs that made him stumble and his legs felt as if they had run a marathon.
After the bathroom, he hobbled his way into the kitchen and joined Sam at the breakfast bar. She laughed at his appearance but was too much of a lady as to inquire into the reasons for it.
"You look ..."
" Knackered is the word you're looking for," offered Pascoe.
"Yes, that describes it per fectly. Am I really to blame?" she asked innocently.
"You'd better believe it!"
"Sorry," she chuckled," I do sympathize, but you look so funny."
He grimaced as he eased himself onto a stool, aware of the vicarious pleasure she derived from his discomfort. He studied her in turn, liking what he saw. She had transformed herself from the Siren of the previous evening; her hair was still arranged in a chignon, but her make-up was subdued, with only the slightest hint of lipstick and mascara. She was dressed simply in skirt, blouse and jacket; the "plain-Jane" look completed by a pair of outsize spectacles hanging by a chain around her neck; a modern Miss Brodie and Pascoe could vouch for being very much in her prime!
"Are you still serious about doing it?" she asked.
"I don't seem to have much choice," he replied.
"Well, if we're going to do it together, why don't you move in?" she suggested.
"Don't you think that's a little sudden?"
"And here was I thinking you'd got over your first night nerves. Anyway it's not for you to worry about. I'm the one making the offer."
"As long as you're sure."
"Good, that's settled then. I must
"Don't be silly," she said," We don't need to shake hands ... I've a much better idea!" She reached behind her back and deftly unfastened her dress... with a couple of shrugs and a sexy, self-conscious wriggle just for his benefit, it slithered to the floor with a rustling sound.
For effect, she was wearing her "undressed to kill" look - matching bra, panties and suspenders, all in flame red silk. Knowing his eyes would be riveted on her every move, she performed a slow, slinky strip-tease to rival anything in the clubs of Soho and led Pascoe to her bed.
Pascoe was woken by something tickling his nose and on opening his eyes, he found himself gazing into Sam's mischievous face. For a moment he didn't know where he was until he remembered the events of the previous evening. Now that he was awake, Sam tossed her head back, removing the offending hair from his face. Pascoe knew of worse ways to be awoken ...
"Morning Tom ..."
"Morning ..." She looked good in a black silk, kimono-styled dressing gown which fitted in all the right places. He reached out for her, but she pulled away.
"Time to get up lover. I’ve got a busy day," she said, leaving the bedroom. "It's 7.30 ... Breakfast in ten.., you know where the bathroom is..."
He laid on the bed for a few more minutes, reflecting on the previous night's antics, a self-satisfied smile on his face. Unlike most women he'd known, Sam looked as good in the morning as she had done the night before and benefited from the freshly scrubbed look. His ex-wife had looked like death every morning until she had spent at least half-an-hour in the bathroom, painting her face to the bland perfection of a model's looks. He remembered he'd never actually seen her completely naked in all their years of marriage... she'd always worn make-up... even in the bath and she'd always given a performance, even when no one was watching.
Reali zing he was becoming maudlin he hunted for his clothes which had been scattered around the bedroom floor during Sam's energetic assault. He found them neatly folded and draped over the back of the bedside chair.
On his way to the bathroom the full effects of the night's activities made their presence felt. He had a deep, dull ache in the muscles at the back of his thighs that made him stumble and his legs felt as if they had run a marathon.
After the bathroom, he hobbled his way into the kitchen and joined Sam at the breakfast bar. She laughed at his appearance but was too much of a lady as to inquire into the reasons for it.
"You look ..."
" Knackered is the word you're looking for," offered Pascoe.
"Yes, that describes it per fectly. Am I really to blame?" she asked innocently.
"You'd better believe it!"
"Sorry," she chuckled," I do sympathize, but you look so funny."
He grimaced as he eased himself onto a stool, aware of the vicarious pleasure she derived from his discomfort. He studied her in turn, liking what he saw. She had transformed herself from the Siren of the previous evening; her hair was still arranged in a chignon, but her make-up was subdued, with only the slightest hint of lipstick and mascara. She was dressed simply in skirt, blouse and jacket; the "plain-Jane" look completed by a pair of outsize spectacles hanging by a chain around her neck; a modern Miss Brodie and Pascoe could vouch for being very much in her prime!
"Are you still serious about doing it?" she asked.
"I don't seem to have much choice," he replied.
"Well, if we're going to do it together, why don't you move in?" she suggested.
"Don't you think that's a little sudden?"
"And here was I thinking you'd got over your first night nerves. Anyway it's not for you to worry about. I'm the one making the offer."
"As long as you're sure."
"Good, that's settled then. I must
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