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been a difference in the quality of their lovemaking. An abandon and a tactile intensity that hadn’t existed before.
    “Was it different for you, too?” asked the billionaire.
    Gail nodded. “I always thought our lovemaking was wonderful. But this was better than wonderful—”
    She wondered about the future. Could it be that the key to marrying Nicky was as simple as giving him the best orgasms he had ever had? Rich men, poor men, Gail thought, maybe they were all the same. Maybe sex was the secret of possession.
    “Much better than wonderful,” said Nicky. “The best—”
    “Is he the reason?” Nicky asked. “The doctor?”
    “I’m not sleeping with him if that’s what you want to know—”
    “I don’t mean that,” said Nicky. “I mean his treatments. His cure. Whatever you call it. You’re different and I want to know why—”
    “Yes. I think it
is
his treatment,” Gail said and caressed her own breasts in a lascivious way which appealed to Nicky and which he had never before seen her do. “My breasts are bigger, more sensitive. I feel sexier. I want it more. I want
you
more.”
    As Nicky pulled her down on top of him, Gail wondered if she could lure Nicky away from Adriana Partos. Her sold-out concerts were winning rave reviews and wild ovations but rumor had it that Nicky was tired of coming in second to the diva’s career. The world was at Adriana’s feet, but perhaps, Gail thought, maybe Nicky wasn’t.
    At the same time, Nicky’s thoughts went in a different direction. He had almost but not quite made up his mind about Dr. Jenkins. He would invite him to a dinner party the next evening and make his final decision. A decision on which could rest the fate of eight hundred million dollars.

10
    “He’s as repulsive as ever,” X told Nicky. She was calling ship-to-shore to
Lydia
from Abd-el Sadun’s villa on the island of Cilek. Cilek was the property of Nicholas Kiskalesi, who had bought it for eighteen million dollars fifteen years before as a favor to the Turkish government. The Turkish pound was in perilous condition in the world’s money markets and Nicky’s eighteen million dollars in hard U.S. currency had saved Turkey from a major financial crisis. Nicky ran Cilek as a personal kingdom and favored Sadun with the use of a villa and staff, rent-free.
    “He’s eating like a pig,” continued X. “He has a boy and girl here. They can’t be much over thirteen—”
    “Is he still taking hashish?” asked Nicky.
    “He mixes it with honey,” replied X. “And there’s been a new development. He’s been eating rams’ testicles before lunch and dinner. He complains he’s impotent.”
    Very interesting, thought Nicky, recalling vividly Gail de Córdoba’s confident new energy and enhanced eroticism. “Is Rudy still there?”
    “Yes, he is,” said X. Rudy Sarvo was Sadun’s bodyguard, drug connection and procurer of pornography, adolescent boys and girls and any other perverted whims of his master.
    “Tell Rudy no more drugs,” said Nicky. “And no more children—”
    “Sadun won’t like it,” said X.
    “I don’t give a damn what Sadun likes—”
    The dining salon of
Lydia
glowed with the reflection of dozens of candles in crystal holders set against the mirrored panels that lined the octagonally shaped room. The polished mahogany table was set with translucent white china and vermeil flatware. Red anemones and white orchids and pink roses filled gleaming silver vases.
    Caviar was served in the original blue tins marked with the port of origin on the north shore of the Caspian Sea. Champagne, Roederer’s Cristal, flowed as if from a bottomless well and waiters wearing white gloves served lobsters fresh from the sea, buttery fillets of beef, Bibb lettuce grown in greenhouses owned by the host and dressed with olive oil from groves also owned by the host.
    The company was as glittering as the setting. Roz Symonds was unforgettable in violet silk with enormous