“Uh huh. I don’t know, darling ... the warmth of the fire warms me up, I guess.”

He grinned and dropped his head to the cushions of her breasts. Her fingers played in his hair.

“I’m glad,” he told her.

“You used to be. That used to be our favorite way of spending an evening.”

“Laying in front of a fire?” Nick asked.

“Not just any fire, darling. This particular fire, sans clothes.”

“Sounds like fun,” he mused and rolled over to kiss the ripe redness of her lips. Her tongue stabbed a blade of passion at him and her arms pulled him close; then, after a moment, she shoved him away and stood up.

He propped himself on one elbow and looked at her. Her smile was impish as she unfastened the buttons of the white blouse and pulled it from the waistband of the navy blue skirt. Her fingers unhooked the snaps of the bra and dropped it to the floor beside the blouse. The firelight was golden against the swelling lift of her breasts and the flat expanse of her stomach. Nick felt the thundering beginning again to slam through his veins with the holocaust of a napalm bomb exploding against the ground as she unzipped the skirt and dropped it into a puddle on the thick rug. He watched in pounding fascination as she stepped daintily from the whorl of the skirt, clad only in the pinkish transparency of her [p73]  panties. Then they too were a thing of the past, and Beth was smiling down at him, passion spearing from her eyes.

[p73]  

[p

]  

“Will I still do?” She asked.

“Do what?” He croaked.

“You know?” She laughed at him, kneeling on the rug. “Will I still do as a model?”

He laid down flat and chuckled. “A model, sweetheart, is a small imitation of the real thing. You don’t look imitation to me.” He reached up and grabbed her arm to pull her down with him onto the rug, but she jerked away.

“Oh, no, you don’t. You have to undress too.”

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