hot-breathed kiss. When she pulls away, her face is flushed. She stands and says, “That was nice, Donovan.”
“Nicer for me, I expect.”
“Maybe,” she says. “And maybe not.”
With that, she turns toward the opposite hall.
“Where are you off to?” I ask.
She stops, turns around. “My bedroom.”
“A nap?”
“Eventually. First, I’m going to lock the door, remove my clothes, climb into bed, and, um…think… about what just happened.”
“Wow! I hate to miss that!”
She smiles. “Disregard any gasps you might hear.”
“Maybe you should leave the door unlocked. You know, in case you need help.”
“The area I plan to focus on is very small. I think I can handle it myself.”
This time when she turns, she keeps walking until she’s out of view. A moment later, I hear a door close. I take a deep breath, and let it out slowly.
Then I start searching the house.
15.
I don’t see Gwen again till 8:15 p.m., when she enters the kitchen, dressed to kill.
“Wow!”
“The one word a woman loves to hear when she dresses up,” she says.
“Again, then. Wow!” And I meant it.
“Zip me up in the back?” she says sweetly, turning away from me.
She’s wearing a simple black sweater with the sleeves rolled up to just above the elbows, tucked into a black, pleated skirt, and fire-engine red boots with black heels that have rhinestone strips attached over the toe, and above the upper ankle. The boots stop mid-calf, leaving plenty of leg showing. I move behind her and pull the material toward me enough to peek down her back.
“You cad!” she says.
“That word is way too old for you,” I say.
“Nevertheless, it applies.”
“How so?”
“Come on, Donovan. We both know you were checking to see if I had panties on.”
“Guilty. Sorry.”
“That’s all right. I’d be disappointed if you didn’t want to see.”
“Why?”
“It’s a girl thing. You wouldn’t understand.”
“I understand enough to know it isn’t easy matching panties to those boots.”
She spins around and finds herself quite close to me.
“You’ll have to back away quickly,” Gwen says, “or I’ll wind up smearing my lipstick.”
I take a couple of steps back, reluctantly. I don’t know what it is about this young woman that’s getting to me. Yes, she’s beautiful. Enticing. But there’s more. She’s incredibly sensual, in a bad girl sort of way. Not “hooker sensual,” or “prison bad.” More like: college girl-who’s-fucking-her-dad’s-business-partner bad. She heads to the fridge to get one last beer before we leave for the airport.
“Want one?”
“Nope.”
“Don’t drink much, do you.”
“I’m a bourbon guy.”
“You should’ve said. Would you like one now?”
“Maybe later.”
Gwen twists the top off and takes a long swallow. When she looks back at me, I ask, “How well did you know Phyllis?”
“Phyllis the Willis?” She shrugs. “Phyllis did some work on me. Boobs, chemical peel, laser hair removal. Mostly I spent time at the spa. I mean, we spoke, but she didn’t like me.”
“Are you sure?”
