Cissy did love her sherry. Amanda assumed it was in the genes, like the accent and the body.
“As a matter of fact, Cissy, honey lamb, I think I could use one.”
In an instant her roommate was beside Amanda with the two glasses, her eyes wide. “Somethingdid happen! Ithought I detected a piquant flush flooding those sallow, executive cheeks. Don’t tell me Mandy had an adventure? Oh Lord,” she gasped in horror, “I hope it wasn’t just some awful thing with one of those foreign cab drivers.”
Amanda could imagine Cissy perched on the back seat of a cab in her skin-tight mini-skirt earnestly attempting to explain where she wanted to go, and could more than understand why some poor bug-eyed, dry-mouthed cab driver might have trouble concentrating on mere directions.
And Amanda remembered ruefully that Cissy, for all her complaints about awful cabdrivers, had certainly managed to turn the occasion to her advantage more than once.
The mind-numbing sweetness of the sherry flooded her taste buds and she envied Cissy with simple, green-eyed envy.
Cissy would certainly have turned this night to her advantage. She would more than likely be in bed with Antonio right now instead of glumly wondering what she would say to him if she ever saw him again.
That was a shocking thought. Not the part about being in bed. That part ignited Amanda’s senses more than the sherry ever could.The part about never seeing him again. Amanda felt an overwhelming tangle of conflicting emotions swell to threaten to drown her again.
What if David decided not to continue to use Antonio as a model because the chance of him getting involved with a student was too great.
Well, why should David care who Antonio got involved with?
She downed her sherry which her hovering roommate instantly refilled. Cissy bored in for the kill.
“C’mon, honey, tell Aunt Cissy everything.” Cissy sat entranced, hardly able to get the questions out fast enough. “Did something happen in that art class? You said there was supposed to be a new model…was that it?” She squealed at the brightened expression on her roommate’s face. “Tell me, tell me!”
“Well,” the sherry sharpened Amanda’s delineation of the model’s many physical assets, “Greek god would be a good description, though it was more like classical Roman…shoulders this wide; hips this narrow…” Her palms moistened at the thought of what her spread hands represented. “Magnificent gluts-oh, Cissy, a butt to die for,” she giggled. Yep, giggled-the sherry was getting to her. “Hard, flat pectoral muscles. Absolutely smooth, like living marble.”
The descriptions rippled over her tongue. She lavished praise on his powerful thighs, the shapely calves, the finely arched feet, the large strong hands.
“Ooooh, honey,” Cissy sat forward on the edge of her seat. “You know what they say about big hands and big feet. What about…?”
“Well, of course he was well-endowed,” Amanda airily gestured, slugging down another swallow of the bottomless glass. Although she wasn’t really that sure what well-endowed meant. Certainly compared to Maurice, the other 50-something, not-in-the-greatest-shape, male nude model that David had provided for the class, Antonio was more than adequately proportioned.
Amanda’s experience with real, live, totally naked males was somewhat limited and the examples that had presented themselves to her so far could hardly be construed as perfect. But, that’s exactly what Antonio was, she remembered morosely, her center warming to join the radiating heat of her slightly buzzing brain.
Perfect. From head to toe. Beautifully proportioned. All over. Muscles not too big, limbs not too small… just right… for Auburnlocks, she thought dreamily. With a brain. Concerned. Witty. Amusing. He seemed delighted to be in her company. The touch of his hand had been gentle, caring. The look in his melting, dark eyes straight-forward. Sincere.
And yet moody, too. Darkly intriguing. Like a black-and-white Olivier movie.
“Honey, don’t worry about it. He’s probably gay!”
Well. Cissy certainly did have a way of slapping a pleasant fairy tale back to cold reality.
Her worldly roommate expounded on a series of possibilities of the model’s sexual orientation as Amanda woozily brushed and flossed, staggered into her flannel nightgown and threw herself into bed.
She supposed it was possible that Antonio was being kept by the instructor. She had long ago given up trying to figure out who was what these days. At least David would know how to truly appreciate such a fine work of art, she decided, her lolling head nodded sagely as she attempted a sophisticated attitude.
She battered her pillow into submission and flopped groggily onto it. She remembered Antonio’s touch, his looks that plunged deep into her soul, his concern, the sexual heat that he battled with gentlemanly manliness to suppress.
Your cup maybe ain’t gonna be runneth-ing over anytime soon, Ace, ole girl, but it won’t be because the guy is gay.
Somewhere in the distance Cissy chatted on, commiserating all the while, and then there was a final pat on her head and an, “I’ll just have one more little one,” before she turned out the light and left Amanda to her own morose dreams.
David Parkerson’s bearded head topped Cissy’s sleek, little, half-naked body. Cissy’s head was on a burly Spanish duenna’s. They were both fighting to keep Amanda and Antonio apart, who were stamping and desperately trying to gore each other in a scalding hot Greek arena with a group of male art students cheering them on.
Which dissolved into them being on separate ice floes and he was desperately trying to reach her. Black and white. “Help me, Ace, save me… You can do it… Believe in us- things are not what they seem.” Curlicued title cards. She sat pondering on the broken ice, chin in hand, as he called to her in the misty distance.
And overhead Christine floated, drawing pad in hand, busily sketching his crotch, urging Amanda to leap to the handsome Italian’s rescue. “A quickie’s better than slow death.” And on her other side Cissy hovered above. “We could whip him into shape, honey lamb. He would make a very nice addition to the household.”
She didn’t want a quickie. She didn’t want whips.
What did she want?
Antonio called from the mists, “Believe in us. Save us…”
How had she suddenly become the one to save anyone? He was supposed to be her Prince Charming. She, his Auburnlocks. The blazing Athens sun began to melt the ice floes. It was too much to deal with. Too many wonderful feelings had surfaced. Too many unanswered questions had swelled to overwhelm them. Too many emotions she hadn’t intended dealing with at this stage in her life had suddenly forced themselves into the harsh light of now.
She woke in a cold sweat, gasping, exhausted-feeling truly trod upon.
Chapter 5
AND IT was worse at work. Someone had broken into her office. And shockingly enough, because only a few items had been disarranged, it looked like it might have been an inside job. Even more depressing, she thought she might know who had done it.
Amanda’s mind was in turmoil. The shattering of her well-ordered emotional life last night and this morning’s discovery that her well-ordered business life had also been invaded did not make Amanda a happy camper.
The euphoria of Antonio was fading quickly, dragging her silly Olympian fantasies with it. She set to straightening her files.
He’s a nice enough guy. Yeah, and a really buffed-out hunk of male flesh. Interesting, moody, obviously has a checkered past and God knows what kind of present.
Exactly the kind of heart-breaker who did not fit into her well-ordered plans. She slammed a file drawer shut, satisfied nothing was missing, though the files had obviously been gone through.