turned her attention to the newspaper that Hamish had left behind. A banner above the masthead read,
BOBCATS’ HOPES DASHED
AS RAMSEY BASHES KNEE
IN L.A. OPENER
Once again, she pushed Baker Ramsey out of her mind.
She scanned the front page and stopped at the bottom.
ATLANTA LAWYER FOUND DEAD
IN BEVERLY HILLS POOL
She read on:
Albert Schaefer, a prominent Atlanta trial attorney, was found dead on Sunday morning in the swimming pool of the Beverly Hills Hotel by a lifeguard who arrived for work. His body was fully clothed when found.
A Beverly Hills Police Department spokesman confirmed that death was by drowning and stated further that the alcohol content of Schaefer’s bloodstream was elevated. The investigating detectives surmised that Schaefer had fallen into the pool while drunk, during the early hours of Sunday morning, and had been unable to save himself. The lawyer’s ex-wife confirmed that Schaefer was a nonswimmer with a fear of water, and the spokesman said that foul play was not suspected. Liz had known Al Schaefer only briefly, but she was shocked and immensely sad at the news of his death. Then she looked again at the headline.
L.A., she thought. No, it was a coincidence. But if it was a coincidence, why was she suddenly so frightened?
15
B aker Ramsey looked through half-closed eyes at the nurse on top of him. Her name was Mary Alice, and she rose and fell upon his body, making little whimpering noises, her starched skirts pushed up around her waist, the front of her uniform unbuttoned to allow her large breasts to spill out into Ramsey’s kneading hands.
“Oh, you, you, you …, ” she whispered as an orgasmic shudder ripped through her.
Ramsey came, too, but more quietly. This one was good. He’d see some more of her. He held her off him as she tried to collapse onto his chest. “No, baby, you can’t go to sleep,” he cooed at her. “You’ve got to get back down the hall. If you get caught, we can’t fuck again, right?”
She ran her fingers down his huge arms. “God, what muscles!” she said. “You jocks are really something!”
Ramsey placed his hands under her buttocks and, as easily as a normal man would hoist a doll, lifted her off him and onto her feet beside the hospital bed, careful not to bump her against his knee.
She giggled as she looked for her panty hose under the bed. “You’re the only man I ever knew who could pick me up like that.”
“We’ll do it again,” he said.
“How long do you need?” she asked, kissing him lightly. “Shall I come back in an hour?”
“Not tonight, baby,” he replied. “I’ve got surgery at seven; I need some sleep. You wore me out, anyway.”
“Sure, I’ll bet,” she said lasciviously, rubbing her hand over his penis. “I’ll check on you during the night, anyway.”
“Don’t do that,” he said. “I’m a light sleeper; you’ll wake me up. Just put down on your clipboard that you looked in. Don’t worry, I won’t die in the night.”
“Whatever you say, Bake,” she cooed. She gave his limp penis a final kiss and swung out of the room, smoothing her skirt as she went.
Ramsey waited until her footsteps had receded before he gingerly removed the ice pack from his knee and swung his legs over the side of the bed. The clock on the night table read just after 2:00 A.M. As he stood he caught sight of himself in the full-length mirror on the wall. Automatically, he flexed his biceps, then struck a bodybuilder’s pose. Right, he said to himself. That’s what turned the girl on—all that muscle. He’d seen the look in her eyes when he’d checked in to the hospital that afternoon, and he hadn’t been the least surprised when she came to his room after midnight. He took one more look at himself in the mirror. Women loved him like this. Except Liz, the bitch. She’d started to go off him when he began to put on the heavy muscle.
Ramsey moved across the room, limping; he had used crutches, for effect, when he
BOBCATS’ HOPES DASHED
AS RAMSEY BASHES KNEE
IN L.A. OPENER
Once again, she pushed Baker Ramsey out of her mind.
She scanned the front page and stopped at the bottom.
ATLANTA LAWYER FOUND DEAD
IN BEVERLY HILLS POOL
She read on:
Albert Schaefer, a prominent Atlanta trial attorney, was found dead on Sunday morning in the swimming pool of the Beverly Hills Hotel by a lifeguard who arrived for work. His body was fully clothed when found.
A Beverly Hills Police Department spokesman confirmed that death was by drowning and stated further that the alcohol content of Schaefer’s bloodstream was elevated. The investigating detectives surmised that Schaefer had fallen into the pool while drunk, during the early hours of Sunday morning, and had been unable to save himself. The lawyer’s ex-wife confirmed that Schaefer was a nonswimmer with a fear of water, and the spokesman said that foul play was not suspected. Liz had known Al Schaefer only briefly, but she was shocked and immensely sad at the news of his death. Then she looked again at the headline.
L.A., she thought. No, it was a coincidence. But if it was a coincidence, why was she suddenly so frightened?
15
B aker Ramsey looked through half-closed eyes at the nurse on top of him. Her name was Mary Alice, and she rose and fell upon his body, making little whimpering noises, her starched skirts pushed up around her waist, the front of her uniform unbuttoned to allow her large breasts to spill out into Ramsey’s kneading hands.
“Oh, you, you, you …, ” she whispered as an orgasmic shudder ripped through her.
Ramsey came, too, but more quietly. This one was good. He’d see some more of her. He held her off him as she tried to collapse onto his chest. “No, baby, you can’t go to sleep,” he cooed at her. “You’ve got to get back down the hall. If you get caught, we can’t fuck again, right?”
She ran her fingers down his huge arms. “God, what muscles!” she said. “You jocks are really something!”
Ramsey placed his hands under her buttocks and, as easily as a normal man would hoist a doll, lifted her off him and onto her feet beside the hospital bed, careful not to bump her against his knee.
She giggled as she looked for her panty hose under the bed. “You’re the only man I ever knew who could pick me up like that.”
“We’ll do it again,” he said.
“How long do you need?” she asked, kissing him lightly. “Shall I come back in an hour?”
“Not tonight, baby,” he replied. “I’ve got surgery at seven; I need some sleep. You wore me out, anyway.”
“Sure, I’ll bet,” she said lasciviously, rubbing her hand over his penis. “I’ll check on you during the night, anyway.”
“Don’t do that,” he said. “I’m a light sleeper; you’ll wake me up. Just put down on your clipboard that you looked in. Don’t worry, I won’t die in the night.”
“Whatever you say, Bake,” she cooed. She gave his limp penis a final kiss and swung out of the room, smoothing her skirt as she went.
Ramsey waited until her footsteps had receded before he gingerly removed the ice pack from his knee and swung his legs over the side of the bed. The clock on the night table read just after 2:00 A.M. As he stood he caught sight of himself in the full-length mirror on the wall. Automatically, he flexed his biceps, then struck a bodybuilder’s pose. Right, he said to himself. That’s what turned the girl on—all that muscle. He’d seen the look in her eyes when he’d checked in to the hospital that afternoon, and he hadn’t been the least surprised when she came to his room after midnight. He took one more look at himself in the mirror. Women loved him like this. Except Liz, the bitch. She’d started to go off him when he began to put on the heavy muscle.
Ramsey moved across the room, limping; he had used crutches, for effect, when he
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