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she’d never imagined. Sex books just didn’t tell you everything.
    She gulped in air and hung on to his broad shoulders while he rode her hard and mercilessly, each thrust eliciting a grunt from him and an answering whimper from her until she couldn’t stand it any longer, and her whimper turned to a full-borne scream in a key she wasn’t sure she’d ever been able to achieve before.
    She remembered a funny movie she’d seen once and began singing about the mysteries of life. He didn’t skip a beat, but pumped against her with the stamina of a young bull or, what had Henry Miller once written, a stallion. Then she lost all train of thought. It was impossible to be cerebral when what was happening to you demanded all of your physical being. She gave up thought and reason and concentrated on feeling.
    A sense of well-being settled over her, a place of such absolute rightness that she never wanted to leave it, never wanted to feel any other sensation. She just wanted to rest here in the arms of this demon Incubi while he took her higher and higher to a final destination no one had ever achieved before, and after that she would simply die, because she couldn’t come back to earth and ordinary feelings after this.
    Dimly, she heard her screams mingling with his hoarse shouts. He arched against her, and she strained to meet him at that special place lovers go, tumbling over and over through conscious thought and tangled feelings. She swam in a sea of light and color edged by a darkness that threatened to claim her. But she clung to her Incubus and the storm passed, and she began the spiral back to earth, back to reality. They cradled together on the bed, their bodies glued by sweat and other body fluids—which smelled of smoking sex and passionate culmination. So this was what she’d been missing, she thought vaguely and slid into a deep rejuvenating sleep.
    When she woke, Jack was gone, but the kitchen sink was fixed.
    * * * *
    Trent connected the equipment that gave him access to Sera Spencer’s phone line and settled down to listen. He refused to think about what had happened—thinking was something he hadn’t been doing lately, otherwise he wouldn’t have made love to the lady. Mannie’s lady. Over the months, he’d come to hate Mannie Somner with such completeness he could never have imagined he would sleep with the man’s girlfriend. Well, he had, and it wasn’t the first mistake he’d made in his life. Maybe the biggest, but not the first.
    An image of Sera, all blonde and pink, sprawled asleep on the mussed bed came to him, and with resolution, he pushed it aside. The worst thing about making that kind of mistake was to repeat it, and he wouldn’t be doing that. He’d never set foot in that house again, never enter that bedroom, never make love to her. The thought didn’t make him happy. He’d get over it. He’d walked away from women who appealed to him before. She was just one more. He was a man with a mission, and it wasn’t to play footsie with a con artist’s sidekick.
    She had to know about the money. She probably had millions of it stashed away in overseas accounts under different names. Yeah, sure, he’d done his research on her. She was the youngest of three sisters who had lived in town her whole life, and she worked at the library and owned her own little bungalow, etc. etc. A perfect innocent. The cover story was too good to be true.
    Just as he’d hoped, she’d tipped her hand with her sexual prowess. He hadn’t meant to go as far as he had, but she’d been so insistent and appealing. Yeah, sure, it was all her fault. He was just the innocent this time. Right!
    Okay, how about he hadn’t had a woman in months, and she’d gotten his adrenaline going the night before, and when she’d continued her sensual seduction this morning, he’d lost control. That didn’t work either. Still made her the seducer, and he wasn’t about to accept the fact that she’d made him lose control.