wrapped around a petite, dark-haired woman. Her red dress was pushed up past her thighs, and her legs were tightly wound around his waist. His shirt was lying on the floor, and her head was buried in his neck as he rhythmically thrust her back and forth on the counter of the vanity, grabbing her and forcing her hips higher into his.
Remnants of the mirror fell to the floor around his feet. The moans coming from Simone’s throat were intensifying toward another scream. He ripped at the side of her dress until it was completely in shreds and fell to the floor with his shirt. They both were so absorbed in the rapture of the moment, pulling each other tighter, moaning louder, and cracking the mirror into a million slivers of a spiderweb, that they didn’t hear me bump into the bedpost. As quickly as I had stumbled upon the lurid scene, I turned and ran to the foyer. I let myself out of the suite and decided to wait in the hall while I collected my thoughts and tried to erase the glimpse of ecstasy I had witnessed from my mind.
I shook my head in my hands, confused. Holden was in complete control of the situation, definitely in control of Simone. What was the plan Helen was talking about? The corridor was quiet and light piano music echoed through the hallway from an overhead speaker.
I waited. Young couples strolled through the halls, arm in arm, on their way to dinner or to catch a show. I even heard a few talking about the big announcement that, in another year, Elvis would have his own show in Vegas. There were room service deliveries, a valet luggage collection, and a frantic maid with an armful of towels.
She scurried into the suite two doors down from Simone’s with a distressed look on her face. My cell phone’s satellite connection was no use in 1968, so I couldn’t check the time, but I estimated that maybe an hour had passed. I gathered enough courage to try the suite again, hoping Holden and Simone would be dressed and more interested in dishing secrets than swapping sex moves.
I picked myself up off the floor and headed back to Suite 710. My witchy instincts started to tingle. Something propelled me to move more quickly. Simone. Had something happened to her? I dashed through the foyer and headed straight for the purple gilded bedroom.
I breathed a sigh of relief when I spotted Simone draped in a fluffy spa robe, her long, dark tresses wrapped in a towel piled high on her head. At least she was covered this time. It appeared the wild, mirror-breaking lovemaking was over. She sat at her dressing table in the bedroom, delicately applying mascara to each long lash. Her eyebrows were cocked, and she tilted her head from side to side to examine her handiwork.
I studied her face. Earlier, I had been too embarrassed and stunned to look at her. I had only seen legs, skin, and a lot of hair, but now I saw what a beautiful and alluring woman she was. A part of me understood why Holden wasn’t interested in giving her up, although I knew that was no excuse for his infidelity.
She finished her primping routine by dabbing raindrop amounts of perfume on her neck and wrists, and then placed the crystal bottle on a mirrored tray. She gathered her robe and walked into the bathroom. I expected to see Holden emerge in a towel or neatly put back together in his tuxedo, but he wasn’t there. The shower wasn’t running. Hmm, I must have missed him in the kitchen. I retraced my steps and walked through the foyer and into the kitchen, but it was dark. One more sweep of the suite and every witchy instinct I had was on fire.
Holden Chadsworth was gone.
T HE TWINKLING lights of the Vegas strip filtered through Simone’s bedroom window. I did my best to stay out of her way while searching the suite for Holden. Simone was dipping one leg into a floor-length gown and admiring her silhouette in the broken mirror. The tattered red one had been tossed into the trash. Like her surroundings, she was draped in a floor-length velvet
Remnants of the mirror fell to the floor around his feet. The moans coming from Simone’s throat were intensifying toward another scream. He ripped at the side of her dress until it was completely in shreds and fell to the floor with his shirt. They both were so absorbed in the rapture of the moment, pulling each other tighter, moaning louder, and cracking the mirror into a million slivers of a spiderweb, that they didn’t hear me bump into the bedpost. As quickly as I had stumbled upon the lurid scene, I turned and ran to the foyer. I let myself out of the suite and decided to wait in the hall while I collected my thoughts and tried to erase the glimpse of ecstasy I had witnessed from my mind.
I shook my head in my hands, confused. Holden was in complete control of the situation, definitely in control of Simone. What was the plan Helen was talking about? The corridor was quiet and light piano music echoed through the hallway from an overhead speaker.
I waited. Young couples strolled through the halls, arm in arm, on their way to dinner or to catch a show. I even heard a few talking about the big announcement that, in another year, Elvis would have his own show in Vegas. There were room service deliveries, a valet luggage collection, and a frantic maid with an armful of towels.
She scurried into the suite two doors down from Simone’s with a distressed look on her face. My cell phone’s satellite connection was no use in 1968, so I couldn’t check the time, but I estimated that maybe an hour had passed. I gathered enough courage to try the suite again, hoping Holden and Simone would be dressed and more interested in dishing secrets than swapping sex moves.
I picked myself up off the floor and headed back to Suite 710. My witchy instincts started to tingle. Something propelled me to move more quickly. Simone. Had something happened to her? I dashed through the foyer and headed straight for the purple gilded bedroom.
I breathed a sigh of relief when I spotted Simone draped in a fluffy spa robe, her long, dark tresses wrapped in a towel piled high on her head. At least she was covered this time. It appeared the wild, mirror-breaking lovemaking was over. She sat at her dressing table in the bedroom, delicately applying mascara to each long lash. Her eyebrows were cocked, and she tilted her head from side to side to examine her handiwork.
I studied her face. Earlier, I had been too embarrassed and stunned to look at her. I had only seen legs, skin, and a lot of hair, but now I saw what a beautiful and alluring woman she was. A part of me understood why Holden wasn’t interested in giving her up, although I knew that was no excuse for his infidelity.
She finished her primping routine by dabbing raindrop amounts of perfume on her neck and wrists, and then placed the crystal bottle on a mirrored tray. She gathered her robe and walked into the bathroom. I expected to see Holden emerge in a towel or neatly put back together in his tuxedo, but he wasn’t there. The shower wasn’t running. Hmm, I must have missed him in the kitchen. I retraced my steps and walked through the foyer and into the kitchen, but it was dark. One more sweep of the suite and every witchy instinct I had was on fire.
Holden Chadsworth was gone.
T HE TWINKLING lights of the Vegas strip filtered through Simone’s bedroom window. I did my best to stay out of her way while searching the suite for Holden. Simone was dipping one leg into a floor-length gown and admiring her silhouette in the broken mirror. The tattered red one had been tossed into the trash. Like her surroundings, she was draped in a floor-length velvet
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