"Yes."
"You're an easy man to be with, Jerry Deming. Were you ever married?"
"No."
"But you've known lots of girls."
"Yes."
"All over the world?"
"Yes." He gave the brief answers gently, swift enough to indicate they were true — and they were, but with no hint of shortness or irritation at the questioning.
"You feel that you like me?"
"As much as any girl I've ever met You're simply beautiful. Exotic. Prettier than any picture of a Chinese princess because you're warm and alive."
"You can bet I am," she breathed, and turned to him. "And you are going to learn something," she added, just before their lips blended.
He didn't have time to worry much about that, because Jeanyee applied herself to lovemaking and her activities required all his attention. She was absorbing, a magnet that drew your passion out and out and once you felt its pull and let yourself go a fraction of an inch you were caught by the irresistible attraction and nothing would stop your plunge to the core. Nor, once moved, did you want to stop.
She did not rape or ravish him, nor were her attentions those of a prostitute, bestowed with professional intensity at emotional arm's length. Jeanyee made love as if she had a license to manufacture it, with skill and warmth and so much personal relish you were swept away. A man would be a fool not to relax, and no one ever called Nick foolish.
He cooperated and contributed and was grateful for his good luck. In his lifetime he had had more than his share of sensual sessions, earning them not by chance, he knew, but thanks to his physical attraction for women.
With Jeanyee — as with others who needed affection and only required the right offer of exchange to open wide their hearts, minds, and bodies — the sale was made. With tenderness and finesse, Nick delivered the goods.
As he lay with damp black hair draped across his face, tasting its texture reflectively with his tongue and wondering again what the perfume was, Nick thought, Excellent, outstanding. In the last two hours he had embraced joy — and he was sure he had given as good as he got.
The hair was drawn slowly from contact with his skin and replaced by sparkling black eyes and an impish grin — a full-size female elf looming in the dim light of the single lamp which he had further muted by tossing his robe over it. "Happy?"
"Stunned. Super-thrilled," he answered very softly.
"I feel that way too. You know that."
"I sense it."
She rolled her head onto his shoulder, the giant elf all soft and blending to his length. "Why can't people be happy with that? They get up and argue. Or leave without a kind word. Or men go away from it to drink or to fight stupid wars."
"It means," Nick said after considering the words with surprise, "most people don't have it. They're too tense or self-centered or inexperienced. How often do two people like ourselves get together? Both givers. Both patient. You know — everyone thinks they are born gamblers, conversationalists and lovers. Most people never discover they don't really know a damn thing about any of them. As far as digging in and learning and developing skill — they never bother."
"You think I'm skillful?"
Nick reflected on the six or seven varieties of skill she had exhibited so far. "You're very skillful."
"Watch."
A golden elf flipped to the floor with the ease of an acrobat. He caught his breath at the artistry of her movements and the undulating perfect curves of her breasts and hips and rump caused him to run his tongue over his lips and swallow. She stood wide-legged, smiled at him, then bent backward and suddenly her head appeared between her legs, the red lips still upcurved. "Did you ever see this before?"
"Only on a stage!" he propped himself up on an elbow.
"Or this?" She swung slowly upright, bent over and placed her hands on the wall-to-wall carpeting, and then smoothly, an inch at a time, raised her trim toes until their pink nails pointed at the ceiling, then lowered then toward him until they just missed the bed and reached the floor with her body bent in a hairpin arc.
He was looking at half a girl. An interesting half, but strangely disturbing. In the pale light she was cut off at the waist. Her soft voice came from out of sight. "You're an athlete, Jerry. You are a mighty man. Can you do this?"
"Heavens no," he answered in genuine awe. The half-body grew into a tall, golden girl again. A dream arising, laughing. "You must have practiced all your life. Are you — were you in show business?"
"When I was small. We exercised every day. Often two or three times a day. I've kept it up. I think it's good for you. I've never been ill in my life."
"It must be a big hit at parties."
"I never perform any more. Only like this. For someone who is especially nice. It has other uses…" She lowered herself on top of him, kissed him, drew back to regard him thoughtfully. "You are ready again," she said with surprise. "A mighty man."
"Watching you do that would put life in every statue in town."
She chuckled, rolled from him, and then wiggled lower until be was looking down at the crown of black hair. Then she reversed herself on the bed and the long, supple legs swung 180 degrees, an effortless arc, until she was bent more than double again, curled back upon herself.
"Now, darling." Her voice was muffled against her own stomach.
"Now?"
"You'll see. It will be different."
As he complied Nick felt an unusual stimulation and eagerness. He prided himself on his perfect self-control — dutifully went through his Yogi and Zen exercises daily — but he needed no self-urging now.
He swam into a warm cavern where a beautiful girl awaited him but he could not touch her. He was alone and with her at once. He went all the way, floating on his crossed arms, resting his head on them.
He felt the silky tickle of her hair floating on his thighs and he thought he might withdraw from the depths for a moment but a great fish with a moist and gentle mouth caught the twin globes of his maleness and for another instant he fought against losing control but the delight was too great and he closed his eyes and let the sensations sweep through him in the sweet darkness of the friendly depths. It was unusual. It was rare. He floated in red and dark purple and transformed himself into a living missile of unknown size, tingling and throbbing on a launching pad beneath a secret sea until he pretended that he willed it but knew he was helpless as with a surge of delicious power he was fired into space or from it — it made no difference now — and the booster rockets joyfully burst in a chain of enthusiastic assists.
When he looked at his watch it was 3:07. They had napped for twenty minutes. He stirred and Jeanyee awoke as he always did — instantly and cat-alert. 'Time?" she asked with a contented sigh. When he told her she said, "I'd better get home. My family is tolerant but…"
On the way to Chevy Chase Nick convinced himself he mould see Jeanyee again very soon. Thoroughness often paid off. Time enough to double-check Anne and Suzy and the rest. To his surprise she refused to make any date.
"I've got to go out of town on business," she said. "Call me week after next and I'd love to see you — if you still want to."
"I'll call you," he said, and he meant it. He knew some lovely girls… some featured beauty, some intelligence, some passion, and several had combined assets. But Jeanyee Ahling was something else!
Then there was the question — where was she going on business? Why? With whom? Could it connect to the unexplained deaths or the Baumann Ring?
He said, "I hope your business trip is to a place away from this hot spell. No wonder the British pay a tropical bonus for Washington duty. I wish you and I could slip off to the Catskills or Asheville or Maine."