Out of the Past by J. R. Roberts Page B

for several seconds, then began to bob her head up and down, suckling him wetly.
    â€œMmmm,” she murmured, as her head began to move faster and faster. He reached down to put his hands on her head, but he exerted no pressure. His hands just rode with her and then he began to move his hips in unison.
    Finally, she released him, slid on top of him and guided him inside her.
    â€œOoooh, yessss,” she hissed as she sat down on him, taking him all the way in. She closed her eyes, said, “This is going to be good,” and then started riding him.
    She was right.
    It was.
    Later they were lying in bed together, knowing that it was time to get dressed and go their separate ways.
    â€œYou did this just to get to my husband, didn’t you?” she asked.
    â€œThat was my initial thought, yes,” he said, “but that doesn’t mean I didn’t enjoy it.”
    â€œOh, I know you enjoyed it,” she said, her eyes glittering. “So did I. You’ve ruined me now for the men in Kansas City.”
    â€œThen I feel bad for the men of Kansas City.”
    She sat up, pulled on her underthings and stood up to put her dress back on. Then she went to the mirror to try to do something with her hair.
    â€œYou know,” she said, looking at his reflection, “he’s a horrible, horrible man who will do anything to get what he wants.”
    â€œThat’s what I’ve heard.”
    â€œBut he’s been nothing but good to me.”
    â€œThen why do you . . .”
    â€œWhat? Sleep with other men? Well, I do have needs,” she said, then turned and said, “In my own way, I’m as selfish as he is.”
    â€œBut not horrible.”
    â€œNo,” she said, “not horrible.”
    She walked to the bed, reached out and took his hand in both of hers.
    â€œI wonder . . .”
    â€œYes?”
    â€œShould you get what you want . . . do you think you can do that without . . . killing him?”
    â€œOlivia,” he said, “believe it or not, I’d prefer to do that. But I think that’s going to be up to him.”
    She nodded, as if she understood, and he squeezed her hand.
    â€œYou know, he’s very lucky to have someone like you to beg for his life.”
    â€œWell, I have another hope, too,” she said, moving to the door.
    â€œWhat’s that?”
    â€œI hope that if you don’t get what you want,” she said, “that he won’t end up killing you.”
    As she went out the door, he said, “Believe it or not, I’d prefer that, too.”

THIRTY-ONE
    When Clint came down, he boldly looked over at the clerk, who averted his eyes. He wondered if that man had sent a message over to Cameron that his wife had been there with Clint Adams. Or was he too afraid to give the old man that kind of news?
    Walking to the front door, Clint saw Sandy Spillane sitting in a wooden chair, her arms folded across her full breasts.
    â€œI won,” she said, looking up at him. “Katy took Little Sandy someplace safe.”
    â€œGood,” he said, “then I don’t have to worry about her anymore.”
    â€œI saw Olivia Cameron leave,” Sandy said. “She looked a little . . . disheveled? Is that the word?”
    â€œSandy, I can explain—”
    She stood up and said, “You don’t have to explain anything to me, Clint. What you do with you time is your own business. As long as you don’t forget what we’re doin’ here.”
    â€œI’m not forgetting anything,” he said. “I went to see Cameron and his wife was—”
    â€œYou went to see him?” she asked, cutting him off. “Why?”
    â€œI wanted him to know I know,” he said. “I wanted him to know I’m coming for him.”
    â€œSo you warned him that you were coming,” she said. “Now he’ll be ready.”
    â€œHe had his chance,” Clint said. “He had a