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out, were an inadequate shield for that lovely bulge. Grace slowed down further, savoring.
    Once inside the lot, she continued toward the elevator. “I’m at the top. Would you mind walking me up, Roger?”
    “Sure, no problem.”
    Bypassing the elevator, she led him to the stairwell, clung to his arm as they climbed. “Here’s my stop.” One level short of where the Aston waited.
    Guiding him across the tier to the farthest, darkest unoccupied corner, she pulled him into the empty space, pressed her back against the wall, shook her hair so that it fanned beautifully across her face before parting to reveal the heat in her eyes.
    She knew the parking lot well. Every space came equipped with a cement stop. Perfect perch for her right foot. She hoisted it, bending her leg nearly perpendicular to its mate.
    Geometrical Woman. On the face of it, a strange stance.
    Roger’s nice blue eyes darted around. Absolutely addled.
    Grace said, “Thank you so much for being a gentleman.”
    “There’s no car here—”
    Taking his face in both of her hands she kissed him softly, then harder. He resisted for an instant, then surrendered. Insinuating her tongue between his lips, she worked her way in easily.
    He yielded like meringue. Placed a tentative hand on her shoulder then moved it to her breast. She pressed down gently, letting him know he was on the right track.
    He kneaded gently.
    Nice subtle touch, Roger. You really are turning out to be a winner.
    Unzipping his fly, she freed his cock, stroked slowly. His breath caught. His eyes clamped shut as he groped for the front of the gray dress. But she’d gotten there before him, hiking cashmere above her hips, keeping the right leg bent and the left leg straight and thrusting her pelvis forward as his fingers made contact.
    She offered herself to his touch, guided him into her. His eyes shot open, rounded and bright as those of a frightened child.
    True blue; no lenses for Roger.
    Grace set the rhythm, starting slowly, quickening gradually, one hand around his neck.
    He said, “Oh, God,” and shut his eyes. Grace held him fast and sped up.
    “Oh…God.” Weak, panting voice, baffled, frightened, ecstatic.
    He seemed to teeter again.
    She braced him with a hand on his ass.
    “Go for it, Roger,” she whispered into his ear.
    He obeyed. They always did.
    Lovely Leap into molten gold as he trembled and let out a sound that was part gratitude, part triumphant war whoop, and Grace kissed him hungrily, maintained capture with both sets of lips and gave him time to finish completely.
    Basic etiquette. She had no further need for him, had finished earlier, within seconds.

W hen Roger’s breathing eased and Grace felt him grow soft, she moved away from their embrace, kissed his cheek, and zipped him up. His eyes remained shut. Tugging the gray dress back into place, she took his hand and held it until his pulse had slowed sufficiently.
    “Roger?”
    His eyes fluttered, struggled to stay open. A faint, loopy smile took hold of his mouth. He exhaled and Grace smelled herself streaming out of him.
    “Thank you, Roger. Now I really do need to go.”
    “Your car—”
    A finger on his lips silenced him. Kissing the tip of his nose lightly, she took hold of his shoulders and pointed him toward the stairwell, a window dresser positioning a mannequin.
    He said, “Helen?” Hoarse voice. Plaintive.
    “It was really nice meeting you, Roger. Good luck with your project.”
    He flinched again. Dreading whatever business had brought him to L.A.? Nudging him forward gently, she watched as he took a few rocky steps.
    He stopped. Looked back at Grace.
    “Good night, Roger.”
    Salvaging pride, he strode across the parking tier, taking extra-long strides, flung the stairwell door open and was gone.
    Concealed in the shadows, Grace waited a few moments before making her way up the ramp to the Aston. As she got into the car, her head filled with power and joy, the most delicious variety of