Edge of Tomorrow (37 page)

“I’ll show you mine, if you’ll show me
yours,” she said, mimicking a small girl.

“Deal,” he said, dropping his shorts.

She looked at his crotch as she dropped her
bra to the floor and stepped out of her black bikini panties,
exposing her full naked body to him for the first time.

“You’re really going to let me lather that
entire gorgeous body? That may be more than this old man’s heart
can stand!”

“Only if you let me do the same to you! The
water is ready. Let’s get in there and get started!”

It was a large shower with a built-in,
tile-covered bench. They entered the steaming spray of water and
got wet. She took a bar of soap and handed it to him.

“You can do me first. Don’t miss any spots!”
she giggled.

He took the bar of soap and lathered up her
back, then down over her firm butt. He turned her around and slowly
soaped her breasts, lingering over the areolas and nipples, worked
his way down her stomach, then reached her pubic area. While he was
doing this, Syd looked into his eyes longingly.

Is this really happening to me? Hatch
Lincoln, the richest, most exciting person in the world in my
shower naked, feeling every part of my body? Nothing this good has
ever happened to Sydney Steppe before! If it’s a dream, I hope I
don’t wake up!

She was stirred from her reverie when he
said, “Sit on the bench and I’ll get your long, beautiful legs, and
your feet.”

She obeyed and he knelt before her and
began on her legs; however, he had a hard time concentrating on
them because her parted legs exposed her
mons venus
to him in all its glory. When he
finished her feet, she stood up and let the water wash the soap
from her body.

“My turn. Hand me the soap, please,” she said
huskily.

She repeated the process on him and finally
reached his private area. He was now very erect as she lathered him
for awhile down there. When he sat on the bench to have his legs
done, it stood tall right in front of her face. When she finished,
he stood and washed the soap off, then embraced and kissed her
frantically. She felt his erection against her stomach.

“I assume we are going to do it finally,” he
rasped.

“God, we’d better! I can’t wait any longer! I
have no intention of wasting this time getting us ready! I can tell
you’re ready!”

“Do you want to do it in the shower?” he
asked hoarsely.

“I’ve never done that! Sounds delicious!
Wherever you want! I’m yours tonight! Wait here, I’ll be right
back.”

She left the shower and returned in a couple
of minutes.

“Now we’re safe,” she whispered.

He brought her under the water spray with him
and they again locked in an embrace, tongues darting. This time she
reached down and guided him into her. He took hold of her firm butt
and lifted her to her tiptoes and thrust into her deeply. She
thought she might die from the pleasure.

• • •

When Syd awoke, she checked the digital clock
on her bedside table: it was 12:36 P.M. They were in the spoon
position and Hatch’s arm was over her body, his hand on her left
breast. She lay there for a moment, and if she were a cat, she
would have purred. She slowly removed his arm and padded to the
bathroom. When she returned, Hatch was still on his side, but was
awake and watching her come toward him, her breasts bouncing
slightly as she walked.

“Good morning, gorgeous,” he smiled.

“Afternoon, actually. You could ask me out
for brunch if you like, and we could have that second date,” she
smiled back.

“Would you kindly accompany me to lunch,
milady?” he said with mock solemnity.

“Indeed I would, sire. But first, how about a
nooner and another shower?” she inquired.

“My God, milady! You are insatiable!”

“I told you I was going to make the most of
my weekend!”

She jumped back on the bed with him.

• • •

They opted for
Lou’s Crab House
again, because neither of them
was up to facing
The Blue Grotto
yet, and
Lou’s
served a
brunch on Saturday and Sunday. They had crab omelets with fresh
fruit, and several glasses of champagne.

When the table had been cleared, and they
were sipping their champagne, Syd said, “Hatch, last night after
our calisthenics in the shower, you said that you craved a
cigarette. Was that just a stereotype joke—cigarette after sex—or
did you really want one? Except for that cigar in Istanbul, I’ve
never seen you smoke.”

“After sex, and after eating, I really crave
them. All the time, really. I could use one now badly. I’m trying
to quit, but it’s tough. I’ve smoked since the seventies.
Cigarettes were part of the spy’s tools of the trade. If you didn’t
smoke, you had to learn. A cigarette package was good for
concealing cameras, recorders, explosives—you name it. Cigarettes
could contain microchips, messages, and lock picks, to name a few.
There was an entire art of signaling with cigarettes and smoking:
lighting a cigarette was a signal; how you put one out, left hand
or right, or stepping on it with the left or right foot; blowing
smoke upwards or sideways. Cigarette brands could be signals. The
use of cigarette lighters versus matches had meaning. Also
cigarette lighters could contain cameras and recorders. Most
Europeans smoked, so cigarettes were a very powerful tool,” he
said.

“My God! I remember all the smoking going on
in old spy movies! Little did I know people were having
conversations with them!” she exclaimed.

“Spy movies aren’t much like the real world.
The actors are just smoking to look sinister and suave, not
signaling.”

“Well, if you want a cigarette, it won’t
bother me. They allow smoking here on the patio,” she offered.

“I’m sorely tempted,” he replied. “You ever
smoke?”

“No. I somehow avoided the peer
pressure.”

“I think I
will
have a cigarette. I’m going to get a pack.
Be right back.”

He got up and wended his way toward the
cigarette machine near the Men’s Room. Syd, mellowed by the
champagne, immersed herself in the wonderful euphoria she was
experiencing. She had not been this happy in a very long time. She
dreaded Monday and what it could bring—she had to make a decision
about the University of Miami, and Hatch might go off somewhere
again—but she was determined to put that out of her mind and wring
the most pleasure she could out of the weekend. Hatch returned and
sat down and opened his pack of cigarettes.

“Well, the ‘spy who shagged me’ has
returned,” she laughed. “And good shagging it was. Are you going to
give me a lesson in spy smoke signals?”

“Maybe I can show you the signal that
means ‘I want to shag you again,’” he laughed as he lit a filtered
cigarette with his Zippo and inhaled deeply. “Ah, that is
good
!”

“You want to shag me again? I thought you
were worn out,” she giggled.

“I don’t mean right this minute. I just need
a little time to get recharged.”

Syd smiled wickedly as he smoked and they
sipped champagne. She had worn a very short skirt and a tight,
scoop-necked blouse at his insistence. He had said he wanted to see
as much of her as possible without getting her arrested. He was
staring at her cleavage as he smoked, remembering what she looked
like naked. As Syd watched him smoke, she relived the pleasure she
had felt during the sex they had shared, and the comfortable
feeling she had just being around him. She could not remember ever
having better sex.

“Hatch, would it be unladylike and gauche to
say that the sex we had last night—this morning, actually—was the
best I’ve ever experienced?” she blurted, wanting to share her
feelings with him.

He took another drag off of his cigarette and
smiled at her, not saying a word.

“I shouldn’t have said that! It sounds like
I’m fishing for a compliment, but I’m not! I just wanted you to
know I felt! I know you must have beautiful, sexy women stashed all
over the world!” she babbled, embarrassed.

“Syd, Syd!” he replied softly. “Relax! I’m
flattered. The sex—and the pleasure of your company—was
outstanding!”

He paused, took another drag, then continued,
“There is this nympho Austrian countess in Vienna, though, who I
see when I’m in Europe …”

“Hatch! I said I was sorry! I shouldn’t have
said …”

“…
but she never screwed me three times
in seven hours,” he interrupted Syd, smiling broader
now.

Syd looked at him and realized that he was
teasing her now.

“Oh,
you
! Are you telling me the truth?”

“Of course. We agreed to be honest with each
other.”

“Then, you think I out-screwed a nympho?
That’s not like me!”

“In spades!” he laughed. “And you’re much
better looking than the countess. She’s a little thin and bony. I
think aristocrats call that ‘the angular look.’”

“Is there some poor gal here in Florida
expecting you this weekend?”

“No one
ever
expects me, Syd,” he said, maybe too
gruffly, because her smile faded. “So nobody is waiting for
me.”

He took her hand and squeezed it, wishing he
had not said what he had said.

“I’m here with
you
, aren’t I?” he added. “It’s where I want to
be.”

“Me, too! Enough of this crap! Give me one of
your cigarettes,” Syd answered, smiling again. “I want to try
one.”

“Not a good idea, Syd, but here you go. Don’t
choke yourself.”

She took a cigarette from him and put the
filter in her mouth. Hatch lit it for her with his Zippo. She drew
in some smoke, but did not inhale. She blew the smoke straight
up.

“What does that mean in spy talk?” she
laughed.

“It has to be prearranged. It could mean
anything. What do you want it to mean?” he asked.

She took another drag, inhaling a small
amount. She suppressed a cough as the nicotine rushed through her
blood stream, making her slightly light-headed.

“Wow! What a rush!”

She laid it down in the ashtray while the
effects lessened.

“I warned you. Putting a cigarette in the
ashtray can be a signal, too, by the way. You’ve given me two
signals, but I’m not deciphering them,” he said.

“Well, let’s see what they could be,” she
mused. “How about tonight? Would it be possible to go to a piano
bar so I could hear you play and sing?”

He thought for a moment, then replied,
“There’s no place around here that I like, but there is one in
Miami that I go to when I’m in the mood. You’ll have to sing with
me though.”

“I haven’t sung in quite awhile—not in public
anyway—but I could give it a whirl. Do we take the chopper?”

“Of course. Too far to drive. What do we do
this afternoon?”

“Need you ask this nympho?” she laughed. “If
we’re going to close a piano bar tonight, we’ll need a nap—right
after you shag me again!”

“If you’re up to it,” she added.

He signaled the waiter for the check.

• • •

At 5 o’clock, after their nap, Syd was in the
bathroom in her pantyhose and underwear, working carefully on her
makeup. She wanted to look her absolute best for Hatch. It was
their first dinner date. Besides, she wanted to erase any thoughts
of the skinny Austrian countess from his memory.

“What should I wear? What kind of place is
this?” she yelled to Hatch, who was in the living room in his
underwear.

“It’s pretty fancy on Saturday night,
although some people still go casual. It is Miami, after all. I
called Eddie and he’s bringing me over a dark suit with the
fixings, so you can dress up if it pleases you,” he answered.

“That’s what I had hoped. I want to look nice
for you tonight.”

“You’re always gorgeous! Clothes on or off,”
he laughed.

“Thank you, sir! This is our first dinner
date, and I want it to be special.”

“You’re always special, Syd.”

“You’re laying it on a little thick now.”

Syd heard her doorbell ring. It was Eddie
delivering Hatch’s clothes. Hatch began dressing in the bedroom.
Syd walked into her walk-in closet and selected a long, black dress
with spaghetti straps. It had a slit up the left side which reached
just above the knee, but was tight across her butt. When she
finally came out of the bathroom, Hatch looked at her and sucked in
his breath, letting out a slow whistle. Her only accents to the
form-fitting long gown were pearl earrings, and a gold chain around
her neck which also held a single pearl nestling in the beginning
of her cleavage. Her makeup and hair were superb!

“Am I overdressed?” she asked when she saw
the look on his face.

“No! No! I can’t find the words to
describe you! I need Cyrano to write some dialog for me.
Gorgeous
is too tame. There will be
a lot of jealous men tonight when they see
you
on my arm!” he said with awe.

“And women! You look simply good enough to
eat!” she bubbled.

“Wrong choice of words! You
do
want to go out tonight, don’t
you?” he leered.

• • •

It was 7:00 P.M. when Hatch
entered
Le Bistro
with the
stunning Syd on his arm. She had a black lace shawl draped around
her shoulders. They were greeted by the owner, Maxine DuPres, a
small, red-haired woman with pendulous breasts and garish makeup.
She hugged Hatch, then stepped back.

“It has been too long, Bob Kelly! Where
have you been? And who is this
femme
fatale
you have on your arm?” she said with a French
accent.