Until Proven Guilty - J. A. Jance [78]
Chapter 22
Freshly shampooed hair, newly dried and fragrant, awakened me on Saturday morning. Anne slipped into bed beside me, her body still warm from a steamy bathroom. “Been out running?” I asked.
“Yes.”
She rested her head in the curve of my neck and ran her fingers along the stiff stubble on my jaw.
“What time is it?” I asked, not wanting to turn to see the clock.
“Six,” she replied.
“In the morning?” I groaned. “On Saturday? You get up and run at this ungodly hour on Saturday?”
She closed her teeth gently over the muscle on the side of my neck, sending involuntary chills through my body. “What’s the matter with being up at this hour?”
“Nothing at all,” I said, “now that you put it that way. ”I rolled over on top of her, pinning her beneath me.“ You shouldn’t start something you can’t finish.”
“I can finish it,” she replied, placing her hands around the back of my neck and pulling my lips to hers.
What she said actually turned out to be a gross understatement. She was a wild woman, frenzied in her demands for gratification. Had I not known better, firsthand, I might have thought she had gone without for years. She crouched naked astraddle me, plunging herself down on my body with wild abandon, her head thrown back, her face reflecting a fleeting mixture of pain and pleasure. I held back as long as I could, wanting to prolong her enjoyment, but that wasn’t enough.
She came back again for more, kissing me, touching me, renewing me until I was able once more to probe inside her, to touch that part of her that had gone for far too long untouched. This time she collapsed on my chest afterward, breath coming in short gasps, her heart thumping wildly from exertion. “Not bad for an old man,” I managed.
“Not bad at all,” she agreed.
We lay together for a long time, our legs entwined, her head pillowed on my chest. She dozed. We both did. The next thing we knew it was almost eight o’clock. I woke up first, and gave her a gentle slap on the rump. “All right, now it’s time to rise and shine,” I told her. “We’ve got to go shopping, and I suppose you’re starved. You always are.”
“You called that shot,” she replied.
I got up and wandered over to the window. The first thing I saw was a diligent meter maid making her way down Third Avenue. “Oops,” I gulped. “I’d better run and feed the meter. Where’s your car?”
“I already moved it to a lot,” she said.
I hurried down to the Datsun and got there as the parking cart was pulling to a stop. “You just made it,” the driver said.
Happily I hurried back to Anne. “Saved us ten bucks just now, which I intend to blow on breakfast. I only put half an hour in the meter.”
“Where are we going?”
“I’ve got a friend who left the force to run a jewelry store in Northgate. We’re going there for wedding rings. All we have right now is an engagement ring. I’m the old-fashioned type.”
“I never would have guessed.”
I took her arm and pulled her to me. “Look, young lady, just because we’ve been having the honeymoon before the wedding, doesn’t mean I approve.”
She laughed. “I haven’t heard any strenuous objections.”
We had breakfast before the jewelry store opened and made what plans we could for the day. Ralph Ames’ plane was due in at eight fifty-seven, and I thought it only reasonable that we pick him up. I found myself wondering if he was coming as a guest or if his attendance was an official function for which Anne would be billed later. It was none of my business, however, and I didn’t ask.
I wished Peters would call. He had left the name of a hotel in Phoenix, and I tried reaching him there but was told he had checked out. I wanted to invite him to the wedding, now that it was on again. He was the only guest from the department I wanted to be there.
The jeweler, Jackson Hall, was a cop until he got ulcers. A partial disability had made him take a second look at the family jewelry business. He had accepted the Northgate branch with good grace if not enthusiasm.