Gently I caught one of her breasts between my teeth and my tongue dueled with the nipple. Then I encompassed as much of the warm flesh as I could with my mouth. She moaned and wrapped her legs around me. They were still wet and a little slippery from our swim, but the warmth had turned to heat and I felt the mound of her femininity burn against the tip of my manhood.
I scrambled over her. In her passion, she flung her legs up onto my shoulders and locked the ankles around my neck. I lunged and the core of her passion seemed to rise up inside her to meet the thrust. Her nails dug into my buttocks, holding me there, making me maintain the contact while her plump bottom revolved faster and faster in at series of mounting orgasms.
Finally she altered the rhythm, and her body rose and fell away from me. I fell in with this new cadence and pounded faster and faster, slamming hard and withdrawing and slamming again. And all the while, deep inside her, muscles were contracting and expanding, gripping the length of me and letting go and gripping again.
In this fashion she embarked on another long series of orgasms. At the height of them, I could hold back no longer. I penetrated with all my strength, pulling her up by the buttocks to meet the thrust, and holding her there, immobile, while our explosions mingled for an impossibly long moment. Finally, we fell away from each other, both exhausted.
We shared a cigarette in silence. It wasn’t until I’d lit a second one that she finally spoke. “You Americans!” she murmured.
“We can’t hold a candle to the Arabs.” I’d recovered enough to seek an opening and take advantage of it.
“The Arabs?” Corinne looked puzzled.
I explained. Smoothly, I led from the casual reference to the specifics of my quest for Ali Khat. Far from being shocked, the Baroness was bemused by the situation. Seeing this, I came right out and asked her if she’d consider joining the Sheikh’s harem.
She didn’t answer for a moment or two. The sun was well up in the sky by now, and people were starting to drift down to the beach across from where the float was anchored. Corinne nodded toward them and slipped back into her bikini. I pulled on my trunks. Then she spoke.
“I tell you frankly that because of my husband’s condition I am bored beyond belief,” Corinne said. “Your offer is very attractive to me. I would like to live before I die, to experience something besides being the wife of a perpetual invalid. But there are other considerations. Quite honestly, I knew about my husband’s condition before I married him. I went through with it for two reasons: money and social position. The latter is no longer of great concern to me. But the former-—well, I must look out for my future.”
“I am authorized to offer you five thousand American dollars.”
“There was a time when that would have appeared a fortune to me. But my husband’s fortune runs into the millions. When he dies, it will be mine. But if I ran off to a harem, I might never see a penny of it. I wish there was some way, but—”
She broke off abruptly as a girl in a skindiving outfit pulled herself up on the float. “Oh, hello there.” The girl greeted Corinne. “Will you be diving today?”
“Perhaps later on,” Corinne told her. As the girl showed no sign of leaving the float, Corinne introduced us. “Steve Victor, may I present the Countess Simone Mauriac.”
Acknowledging the introduction, I took the opportunity to size up the Countess Mauriac. She was the third of the possibilities on the list I kept in mind. With shoulder-length jet-black hair, a face that belonged on a cameo, a body as petite as Corinne’s but somewhat fuller in the hips and bosom, the Countess Simone Mauriac was a fitting candidate for the harem of Sheikh Ali Khat.
However, I could only handle one at a time. At the moment I was occupied with Corinne. After exchanging a few pleasantries with the Countess Mauriac, Corinne and I swam back to the beach together.
As we started walking back to the hotel, Corinne made an odd comment about the Countess. “Poor girl,” she said. “I feel so sorry for her.”
“Why? What’s there to feel sorry about?”
“She lives the life of a prisoner. Her husband is extremely jealous. She can’t make a move without his checking up on her. See. There he is.” Corinne pointed to a figure crouched behind a dune farther up the beach. The face was a blur, but we could see that he was peering through binoculars at the girl stretched out on the float.
“Well, she is attractive.”
“Very.” Corinne granted it freely. “But on the other hand, he neglects her greatly at times. He is obsessed with his business and leaves her alone for long periods. But always there are private detectives watching her every move. Yes. She is a prisoner, poor Simone. But then,” she sighed, “I suppose that I am really no less a prisoner than she. My husband isn’t jealous, but I am tied to him by his money nevertheless. I wonder . . .” Corinne paused. It was obvious that she’d just had an idea. “My situation is not really fair, is it?” she asked me, the words coming out very slowly and thoughtfully.
“No, it’s not,” I agreed.
“One has a responsibility to oneself, wouldn’t you say?”
“Of course.”
“If one is able to free oneself, then one should—no matter what the cost,” she mused. “Isn’t that right?”
“That’s right.” I thought she was considering giving up her husband’s fortune in favor of my offer. I was wrong. The Baroness Corinne de Lorraine was formulating quite a different plan.
I didn’t learn what it was until the following day. By then it was too late. If she’d taken me into her confidence, I certainly would have counseled against it. First of all, her plan was self-defeating. And secondly, I’m squeamish about murder!
Oh, legally the Baroness was in the clear. But morally, that’s what it was. Murder! No more, no less! Murder!
Having her cake and eating it too was the motive. The Baroness wanted to be sure her husband didn’t cut her off from his money. At the same time, she wished to be free of him, to sample harem life, to judge for herself the Arab lovemaking prowess I’d been huckstering.
So, quite simply, and fairly easily, she drove her husband to his death. That night, while I was catching up on my sleep, Corinne set about seducing the Baron, well aware that sexual activity would be the final blow to his weak heart. He died in her arms, and the bellhop who came with the doctor who was summoned confided to me later that the Baron perished with a smile of supreme bliss on his face. Having sampled Corinne’s sexual talents myself, I could well believe it.
That same bellhop brought me the first news of the tragedy the following morning. Shortly after he left, my phone rang. It was Corinne. Playing the bereaved widow to the hilt, she asked me to drop by her room to pay my condolences.
When I got there, she was alone. Immediately, she dropped her pretext of grief and let me know she was available for the proposition I’d made her the day before on the float. But when I replied, genuine grief replaced her crocodile tears.
I didn’t bother to hide the fact that I was appalled by what she’d done. Even if the Baron had died happy, she left me with no doubts that she’d deliberately contrived his death. So, a proxy, I delivered the Baron’s revenge.
“You’re ineligible,” I told her bluntly. “The Sheikh specified a married woman. You’re a widow now. By eliminating your husband, you also eliminated your chance to enroll in the harem.”
There was satisfaction in telling her this, but there was also frustration for me. Time was going by, and I was no closer to completing my second assignment than I’d been when I arrived at the Grand Palais. There was only one possible candidate left on the premises, the Countess Simone Mauriac, and the constant surveillance over her would be no easy obstacle to overcome.