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Chapter 30

When he was done laughing, Jack joined Rhea back on the couch. The gargoyle might have done him a favor, he decided, or given him one final chance to be a fool—or maybe to be smart. "Rhea," he said, "is this a good idea?" He sat straight, with his hands on his knees. "Remember, tomorrow morning I work for you."

Rhea put her hands over his, and he felt his resolve waver. "Jack," she said seriously, "if you don't want this, tell me now. I'll go, and tomorrow we'll get back to work. That'll be the end of it."

He didn't think he could stand a might have been like that, but he had to go the distance. "And if you don't go?" he said. "What will we do tomorrow then?"

Rhea brought his hands to her lips and kissed them gently. She raised her eyes and held his while she traced her tongue down his lifeline. "You're sweet," she whispered, her breath drying the slight moisture, "but we're grownups. We'll deal with it. Still want me to go?"

Like he wanted a date with Jesse Helms. "No," he said, "not in this lifetime." He pulled her hands to him for his own caress, then slowly drew each finger into his mouth for individual attention, paying homage to each ridge and cuticle. The stray thought, Mama never told me not to suck someone else's thumbs, drifted through the transom of his mind.

When he was done, Rhea closed her arms around him and laid her head against his. "That was wonderful," she breathed into his ear, "but don't forget . . . I've got toes, too!" She nibbled at his earlobe, and Jack felt his breath catch.

"I think I'll take the scenic route," he said and turned to cover her mouth with his. Rhea pushed him back into the couch and swung her leg over his to straddle him, sitting in his lap facing him. He was suddenly and wonderfully aware that at most four thin layers of cloth kept them from an NC17 rating, and from her vantage point, Rhea had to know it too.

She broke their kiss and grinned down at him. "That peak's not in my atlas."

"Then I'll have to make a new entry." He took the opportunity to unfasten the first few buttons of her blouse; she leaned back and wriggled her atlas distractingly, but he would not be diverted, and slowly the lush curves of her breasts came into view. He licked the hollow between them; it was already salty with her sweat. Rhea shivered, though he was sure she wasn't cold.

She started undoing his shirt, working the buttons much more effectively than he had hers, yanking the shirttails from his trousers after she freed the last one. She ran her fingers through the sparse hair on his chest, then dropped her mouth to his nipples.

"Hey," he said after a moment, "turnabout is fair play, you know." He pushed her back and undid her final button. He slid the blouse down her shoulders and stared, transfixed for the moment, at a fire-engine red microbra holding breasts that obviously didn't need the support. "My God," he said, "you wear that all day at work?"

Rhea cupped her breasts. "Or less," she confirmed.

"That's going to drive me crazy, knowing that," he said.

"Good."

He edged his hands under hers, holding the firm, lush curves of her, feeling the thrust of a nipple in each palm. Awkwardly, he freed the center clasp of the bra and drew the cups away.

"Well?" Rhea said when he was silent for a second.

"They say anything more than a mouthful is a waste," Jack said finally. "Here's to wretched excess!"

He pulled her forward and traced an areola with his tongue. The nipple rose even higher and he took it into his mouth. He could feel the pulse of her blood racing through it, and he savored the beat of life.

Rhea moaned softly into his ear, and started working his belt and zipper. She worked her hand inside his pants; then it was his turn to moan. Jack was trying to unfasten her skirt—a simple engineering problem normally—but his attention was distracted and he wasn't making any headway.

"Let me," Rhea whispered. She leaned back, and Jack let go reluctantly. She worked magic with the clasp and zipper, and her skirt fell open across his lap. The panties she was almost wearing were fire-engine red too, except where they were darker with moisture. She raised up, and Jack eased them off. He was suddenly aware of what he hadn't noticed before on her arms and legs—Rhea had no body hair.

He used the waistband elastic as a rubber band and shot the panties across the room; they landed on the television. "Best thing that's been on TV this year," he murmured.

Rhea stood, and tossed the unfolded skirt aside. He drank her in from head to toe—every inch a wonder—and the old Mose Allison song came to him: "Your molecular structure—it really suits you fine!"

Rhea grinned. "Thanks," she said. "Now it's your turn." She tugged on his trousers and Jack raised his hips obligingly. She took down the pants, and worked them over his feet. Getting his underwear off was more complicated than hers had been—a problem she solved finally by grabbing the source of the obstruction and moving it bodily above the waistband. She looked him up and down critically. Jack couldn't pretend to himself that she saw anything other than a pale, slightly overweight desk worker's body, but she winked, squeezed where she was still holding him and said, "You pass! Now how about that scenic route you promised me . . ."

Jack set out to see the sights. First there was a bit of leisurely mountaineering in New England, and he was sorry to see the peaks fade from view, but going on maneuvers at the Norfolk Naval Station was almost as fun, and the flatlands of Mexico had their own charm. He flew over Central America, making a brief stop in Panama, and after some hard slogging, finally found himself off the coast of Tierra Del Fuego.

Jack looked up at Rhea. She raised her head and grinned. It wasn't the kind of grin you brought home to mother. "Do that again," she said.

He looked at her feet. He'd never really noticed them before. All the toes were straight and true, even the littlest ones. That was unusual. He nipped at one lightly, and earned an encouraging moan. He worked for a few more minutes, then decided it was time to head north to Panama again.

As he started serious excavation work at the canal, Rhea murmured, "You said turnabout was fair play—so . . . turn about."

It took a bit of seismic activity and plate slippage, but in the end he was able to stay in the Canal Zone while Rhea headed for the North Pole—it had been a while since there was any volcanic activity there, but the magma was building.

"A liggle hiter, yeth, yeth! Right there!" Rhea said.

"Don' tak wif your mout full," Jack remonstrated. He didn't take his own advice too seriously, but shifted his attentions obligingly to the low promontory above the canal.

The disaster, when it came, was nearly total. The pole erupted in volcanic fury, and earthquakes rocked Central America. In the end, the two survivors could only hold on to each other and ride it out.

"Wow," Jack said, when he could speak again.

Rhea rolled off of him, and landed catlike on the floor. "That was a good start," she said.

 

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Framed