again today and many of the guests had escaped the humidity with a dip in the pool. Most were beginning to head into the house to watch wonderful Sara's debut on News Flash But seeing Cassandra striding toward the pool, several of the men froze.
Cassandra was tall and wild-eyed, with wavy dark hair and olive skin.
She differed so from Sara that no one would ever suspect that they were sisters. To put it simply, Cassandra was hot. Burning hot.
Dangerously hot. Where Sara's eyes could best be described as gentle ponds, Cassandra's smoldered like coals.
Cassandra arrived at the pool and kicked off her sandals. With a slight smile she slipped her robe down off her shoulders. It fell to the floor, revealing a sleek one-piece bathing suit that struggled to contain her voluptuous curves. She stepped onto the diving board, knowing that all eyes were following her, and sauntered to the front.
Then, stretching her arms over her head, Cassandra dove in, the cool water tingling her skin all over. She began to swim the length of the pool, her long torso reaching forward with each stroke, her well-toned legs kicking ever so slightly. Her body sliced through the water effortlessly, leaving barely a ripple.
"It's almost eight o'clock," a voice from the house called.
News Flash is about to start."
Once again the women began to move toward the house, but the men could not free themselves so easily from Cassandra's spell. Oh, they strove to look casual, silently sucking in their paunches or putting shirts over all-too-obvious flaws. They walked by her slowly, trying desperately to sneak one last peek.
Cassandra stepped out of the pool and slowly made her way toward a chaise lounge. She did not bother to dry herself.
Reaching into the pocket of her robe, she withdrew a pair of sunglasses, put them on, and lay back, crossing her legs.
Cassandra appeared to be resting quietly, but behind her sunglasses her eyes were very much on the move.
She spotted chubby Stephen Jenkins, the sixty-two-year-old former senator from Arkansas. Stephen Uncle Stevie, she and Sara called him was an old family friend. He and John Lowell had gone to Amherst together, their wives had hosted parties together, their children had gone to summer camp together. It was all very sweet and nice. And let's be frank here having sex with the conservative minority leader of the United States Senate had been something of a challenge for thirty-something Cassandra. A sexual thrill, however, it was not.
"Hello, Cassandra," Jenkins called out.
"Hello, Uncle Stevie."
Cassandra had considered seducing the senator's handsome, single son as well, but Bradley was kind of a pain in the ass. And worse, he was Sara's friend. Every time they saw each other, the two of them gabbed for hours, ignoring Cassandra completely.
If Sara and Bradley had been lovers, Cassandra might have considered it. But they weren't. From the day of her marriage two years ago, Sara was dedicated to Michael to the point of absolute boredom.
Cassandra poured some suntan oil into her cupped hand and began to massage it onto her legs. From across the pool Senator Jenkins watched, his eyes wide and hungry.
"Stephenr Mrs. Jenkins called.
"Bradley?"
The senator looked away regretfully.
"One minute, dear."
"Hurry, everyone! Sara's on!"
The crowd moved quickly now. In a few minutes everyone was inside, watching the television. Cassandra lay back and closed her eyes. Sara was on national TV. Who gives a rat's ass?
Sara felt a knot form in her stomach. She knew that the Reverend Ernest Sanders was sitting in the next room, waiting to be interviewed.
He was good in an interview slick as a greased pig. If the Reverend Sanders did not like a question, he dodged it by an old, proven method: he ignored it. He could frustrate and fluster an interviewer with the best of them.
Most of Sara's report on Sanders and his Holy Crusade was taped, so she removed her glasses, took a deep breath, and willed herself to
Cassandra was tall and wild-eyed, with wavy dark hair and olive skin.
She differed so from Sara that no one would ever suspect that they were sisters. To put it simply, Cassandra was hot. Burning hot.
Dangerously hot. Where Sara's eyes could best be described as gentle ponds, Cassandra's smoldered like coals.
Cassandra arrived at the pool and kicked off her sandals. With a slight smile she slipped her robe down off her shoulders. It fell to the floor, revealing a sleek one-piece bathing suit that struggled to contain her voluptuous curves. She stepped onto the diving board, knowing that all eyes were following her, and sauntered to the front.
Then, stretching her arms over her head, Cassandra dove in, the cool water tingling her skin all over. She began to swim the length of the pool, her long torso reaching forward with each stroke, her well-toned legs kicking ever so slightly. Her body sliced through the water effortlessly, leaving barely a ripple.
"It's almost eight o'clock," a voice from the house called.
News Flash is about to start."
Once again the women began to move toward the house, but the men could not free themselves so easily from Cassandra's spell. Oh, they strove to look casual, silently sucking in their paunches or putting shirts over all-too-obvious flaws. They walked by her slowly, trying desperately to sneak one last peek.
Cassandra stepped out of the pool and slowly made her way toward a chaise lounge. She did not bother to dry herself.
Reaching into the pocket of her robe, she withdrew a pair of sunglasses, put them on, and lay back, crossing her legs.
Cassandra appeared to be resting quietly, but behind her sunglasses her eyes were very much on the move.
She spotted chubby Stephen Jenkins, the sixty-two-year-old former senator from Arkansas. Stephen Uncle Stevie, she and Sara called him was an old family friend. He and John Lowell had gone to Amherst together, their wives had hosted parties together, their children had gone to summer camp together. It was all very sweet and nice. And let's be frank here having sex with the conservative minority leader of the United States Senate had been something of a challenge for thirty-something Cassandra. A sexual thrill, however, it was not.
"Hello, Cassandra," Jenkins called out.
"Hello, Uncle Stevie."
Cassandra had considered seducing the senator's handsome, single son as well, but Bradley was kind of a pain in the ass. And worse, he was Sara's friend. Every time they saw each other, the two of them gabbed for hours, ignoring Cassandra completely.
If Sara and Bradley had been lovers, Cassandra might have considered it. But they weren't. From the day of her marriage two years ago, Sara was dedicated to Michael to the point of absolute boredom.
Cassandra poured some suntan oil into her cupped hand and began to massage it onto her legs. From across the pool Senator Jenkins watched, his eyes wide and hungry.
"Stephenr Mrs. Jenkins called.
"Bradley?"
The senator looked away regretfully.
"One minute, dear."
"Hurry, everyone! Sara's on!"
The crowd moved quickly now. In a few minutes everyone was inside, watching the television. Cassandra lay back and closed her eyes. Sara was on national TV. Who gives a rat's ass?
Sara felt a knot form in her stomach. She knew that the Reverend Ernest Sanders was sitting in the next room, waiting to be interviewed.
He was good in an interview slick as a greased pig. If the Reverend Sanders did not like a question, he dodged it by an old, proven method: he ignored it. He could frustrate and fluster an interviewer with the best of them.
Most of Sara's report on Sanders and his Holy Crusade was taped, so she removed her glasses, took a deep breath, and willed herself to
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