Chapter 1
The moment she stepped through the doorway, my eyes and ears blocked out all other sights and sounds of the cocktail party. I was completely overwhelmed by her.
She was tall, about five-nine probably, with a beautiful mane of honey-colored hair that billowed and swirled around her bare shoulders as she glanced regally around the room. She was statuesque, with a body so perfect it could have been put together with a computer. Her dress was molded to wonderful hips and a flat stomach, a small waist. Her breasts were large and lush and bite-sized, and entirely self-supporting in the dress. Beneath the hem of it there was enough calf showing to promise wonderfully shaped legs.
Her eyes were smoky, tiny flecks of fire showing beneath the long lashes as her glance hit me and then moved on to the hostess. The two women appraised each other critically for a moment with neither showing a sign of recognition. Then she glanced briefly at the host and I caught a slight flicker as though she knew him and in that instant had shared some personal secret with him.
Now the blonde's escort was introducing her to the hostess and then to the host. He played it straight, and it was a great performance. If they had shared the same bed, then I'd completely underestimated George Heatherington.
Suddenly the chatter of the party broke into my thoughts and I remembered Pat Gordon had directed her question at me.
"And how do you like Genoa, Mr. Cody?" she'd asked.
Glancing down at her now I saw that she was still waiting for my answer. "I'm sorry," I said. "I like it very much, although I just arrived this morning. And please call me Chris."
We continued to chit-chat and I met the Italian who joined our group, Giovannia Longo, a police official from the local Questura's office. "Call me Johnny," he said with a grin. "It's much easier."
The other man was a swarthy, heavy-set individual who said his name was Nick, and that he was in shipping. Before long we split up and I moved on, picking martinis off the tray each time the white-coated waiter came around.
I met and talked briefly to other members of the American Consulate, members of European consulates, diplomats from South and Central American countries; and they all had their women with them, sleek and attractive things of a dozen different nationalities. Diplomats tend to be stiff and formal at first, but give them a couple of belts of booze and they get loose. Maybe that's the way they get the high-level treaties and pacts signed, but it's also an easy way to get into trouble.
That's why I'd come to Genoa on this special assignment.
There were reports that George Heatherington could get Washington into trouble. Washington wanted to know exactly what he was up to and to stop it before it got out of hand.
While I moved about, I glanced occasionally at the blonde, knowing that I was going to get her and talk to her. And more, if possible. It didn't make any difference to me whether she was George Heatherington's cutie, or the wife of the President of Italy. A woman like that makes me think big. Especially after several martinis.
She certainly wasn't ignored because every time I looked in her direction I saw that she was surrounded by men. The women were keeping an eye on her too, appraising her with cold, analytical glances.
I was about to make my move when Terry Heatherington suddenly stepped up to me. "How are you doing, Chris?"
"Your party's a success."
She picked a fresh highball off the tray the waiter was holding out to us. "Don't stop now," she said, glancing at the tray.
"I wouldn't think of it." I picked off a fresh martini.
"Cheers." Terry stepped up close to me and held out her drink. I touched my glass to hers and then I was looking right down into the cleft between her tanned breasts.
"How do you like the scenery around here?" Her glance never left my face.
"It's not bad," I said. "At first glance."
"Then you're waiting for a good look?"
"I'd like to see everything there is to see." I glanced downward again. Her breasts were full and firm and exciting, even though she was slender, looking like a fashion model with that hungry look in her cheeks.
"How about tomorrow?" she asked.
"What about tomorrow?"
"I'd be happy to show you a few things here in Genoa. We could start by going for a swim at the Lido."
"Sounds great, Terry."
"How about ten-thirty?"
"I'll make it a point to set my alarm clock, ant me to drop by here?"
"Yes," she said, "do that." Her glance shifted to the right, and I knew she was watching her husband, George, who was talking to the blonde. The corner's of Terry eyes tightened momentarily, but that was the only visible reaction. Finally she took a quick sip of her drink.
"Who is she?" I asked.
"The blonde?"
When I nodded she said, "Her name is Zora something or other. It all sounded Greek to me, her last name. She came to the party with the Spaniard. Senor DeSoto."
"Ole," I said.
"Haven't you met her?"
When I shook my head Terry said, "Come on. But remember we have a date tomorrow morning."
George had just walked away, and for the first time that night the blonde was by herself. She was picking a smoked oyster off a tray as we came up to her.
Terry said, "May I introduce Chris Cody, fresh off the boat from America."
Looking at her up close for the first time was even more exciting than I'd expected. Her skin was light golden, almost creamy in texture, her eyelashes long and dark, and her eyes were those of a cat. They were watching me critically as we shook hands. She pulled her hand out of mine too quickly.
"I'm not going to bite you," I said, "even though I'd like to."
I saw the surprise in her glance change to humor. "If that's a compliment, I thank you."
The voice was low and electric in quality. I studied the general area from which it had originated. Then I said, "The way I bite, it has to be a compliment."
Terry spoke up. "Excuse me, but I'd better say goodbye to some of the guests who are leaving."
After she'd departed Zora asked, "So you're fresh off the boat from America?"
I nodded. "And where are you from?"
She slipped the oyster into her mouth and Chewed it briefly before answering. "Does it matter?"
"Not really."
She dropped the toothpick into an ashtray and then a guy from American Export Lines joined us, bringing the waiter with him, and he became a real busybody, making sure everyone was supplied with drinks.
She took a scotch and soda and I had another martini. By that time the guy's wife had arrived to keep an eye on him and a second later there was a crowd around Zora. She politely excused herself and joined Senor DeSoto. Moments later they were saying goodnight to the host and hostess and then she was gone.
The guy from American Export said, "Damn, oh damn, she is something." He made sure his wife didn't hear it.
"What do you know about her?" I asked.
"Nothing. I've been in this town for eight years and I've never seen her before tonight."
"That Spaniard-is he new in Genoa, too?"
"No. But he's pretty secretive about her. Claims she's just an old friend."
I remembered the way she and George had looked at each other when she'd arrived and I recalled that George had been in Rome before coming to Genoa.
"Come on, Peter," the woman said, "forget that blonde. We've got to get to that dinner party."
I told them both good night. The guests were leaving now and I didn't want to be the last one to depart. When I stepped up to George and Terry to say goodnight, I found that a group of people were getting ready to go out and eat. They insisted I come along with them, and suddenly Pat Gordon was at my side, clinging to my arm, and begging me to go with them.
Coaxing I like.
We all went to a restaurant on a narrow side street, and we had a feast with lots of wine and it was after midnight when we came out again.
A vice consul dropped me off at the hotel and he promised to drop off Pat on his way home. When I shook his hand I felt the limp wrist so I knew he would. I kissed Pat Gordon goodnight and got out of the car.
Pat smiled. "We'll have to do it again, sometime."
"We haven't even done it the first time yet," I said.
Pat smiled. "You're a devil. Too bad my boss is George Heatherington. Anyway, Ciao."
I waved and the car pulled away.
I went into the Savoia Majestic. The lobby was deserted and while I got my key at the desk I left a call for ten in the morning. As I walked to the elevator I remembered the night before, the last night aboard ship and the way I'd finally gotten to Trixie.
I remembered after we'd touched glasses in her stateroom we took a sip of our champagne. Then she asked, "Are you trying to get me drunk?"
"You're the heiress," I said. "What's the usual reason for buying a lovely girl champagne?"
"Because you want to make love to me."
"It's been on my mind during the crossing," I told her.
Trixie was the sole heir to a plastics fortune; and now as she'd just turned twenty-one, she was on her way to Switzerland to study art. Swiss art had never impressed me, but what the hell. Trixie impressed me.
Her eyes were brown, and so was her hair, and she wore it long and straight. A fairly attractive face, nothing spectacular, but what a body! Long, perfect legs, a high, hard bust, and a firm, rounded fanny; but along with all that she seemed deliciously soft. She had the type of equipment that turned me into a grabber.
We'd spent a lot of time together the last few days, walking around the deck, playing shuffleboard, drinking and dancing, and the rest. We'd had a lot of fun. Good, clean fun. This was the first time I'd ever gotten inside her stateroom.
Now she was saying, "And because this is the last night on board ship, you want to go. It's now or never. So, using the excuse you wanted to help me pack, you dropped by, ordered the champagne, and here we are."
"Well, you found me out," I said.
She smiled. "It was pretty obvious, Chris."
I drained my glass and pulled the magnum out of the bucket. I refilled her glass, then mine, and dropped it back into the ice again. "A toast," I said, "to your future."
She touched her glass to mine and while she was looking up at me, I leaned down and kissed her on the mouth. Her lips were soft and wanting, and she pushed her head up a bit and crushed her mouth harder against mine. Then she gasped and stepped away from me.
I thought it was passion but then I realized she'd tipped her glass and spilled some of the chilled champagne down the front of her.
"Oh," she said disgustedly, and set her glass aside. There was a long damp spot following the row of buttons down the front of her blouse. I unbuttoned the top one and I intended to go right down the line.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"I'm trying to take this off so you won't catch cold."
Her arm came up and pushed me aside. "I'll take care of it, thank you."
She wore her way through the suitcase scattered about the floor, went into the bathroom and shut the door.
I turned around and filled my glass, thinking how life's disappointments can drive a man to drink. I drank.
Then I heard the bathroom door opening behind me and I heard her say, "I've got a clean blouse around here somewhere."
I turned around.
Trixie was bare from the waist up. Her breasts were beauties that firmed upwards, the nipples dark red and nubby. One thought kept running through my mind: she didn't have to come out without her brassiere, now did she? I shoved my empty glass into the ice bucket and stepped over to her.
"Here it is," she said, picking up a greenish silken blouse.
I tore it from her hands and tossed it aside. She was laughing as she whirled around and tried to get out of my reach. I was glad that she did. It gave me a chance to grab her.
I caught her from behind, with my hands going around her and each one fastening to one of her breasts. It was like squeezing a couple of luscious oranges in the summer sun, except that her skin was wonderfully smooth. She tried to get away from me, but not very hard, and we fell against the wardrobe trunk. I picked her up then, squirming and kicking, and headed for the bed.
"What are you doing? she asked.
"I'm going to make love to you." I dropped her onto the bed, and it was a very good bed. She bounced. Then I started getting out of my clothes.
"Turn out the light," she said.
I punched the cord button and the lights went out. In the darkness I could hear her breathing rapidly and rustling about, and I guessed she was taking off the rest of her clothes. If she wasn't, I would help her.
The moment I was undressed I stepped up to the edge of the bed, leaned forward, and I sent my hands out, searching for her. She found me first. Her hands slid up my arms, went around my neck and then she pulled me down on the bed. I sent my right hand along her heated, silken hip, down her bare thigh, and then I checked the flaming flatness of her stomach. My lips found hers in the darkness and then as I came down she came up to meet me, to welcome, to bring me down to her level. Horizontal.
But only for a moment because she suddenly became uncoiled like a spring, slamming those beautiful hard breasts against my chest and hammering her hips against mine. She was firm, and strong, and very active but there was still that wonderful softness about her that permeated through her and enveloped me passionately and hungrily.
The liner lurched cooperatively and I heard her little cry and then her hands and fingers were digging and torturing my back in rhythm to the surges and the swells and it seemed, as though we were riding in a little boat in the middle of the silent wonderful darkness.
To keep a steady course, I got busy with the paddle and then we began our journey through the night, tipping and swaying and listing, each pressured stroke moving us forward through the exquisite tropical void.
And then came the first sudden gust of a heated gale that shuddered our closeness and shook us violently, and suddenly the shore was in sight ahead of us, beckoning to us, and I became caught up in her vicious reactions to get to it quickly and then we were powering and thundering frantically together.
Closer and closer came our objective and wild and savage lunges churned up the world about us until the waves rocked and twisted the boat, shoved it into oblivion to be suspended for long excruciating moments, and then we came down hard and crashed onto the rocks and we were spilled out upon a shore that was covered with a million precious jewels that flickered and flashed about us and then we clung to each other and let the wonderful heated surges of ecstasy enclose us and wash over us.