Too Damn Rich

by Gould, Judith

  And he added softly, "It still does."

  "Even after all these years."

  "Yes," he nodded. "Especially after all these years."

  Then his gaze cleared, became focused.

  "And there you have it, Kenzie. The reason I devoted my life to law enforcement. Though admittedly—" He smiled wryly. "—I imagined myself tracking down killers, not specializing in art theft."

  "So how did that come about?"

  "My superiors decided it for me. At any rate, it turned out for the best. I seem to have a special aptitude for it."

  A mask seemed to drop over his features, obliterating them of emotion.

  "But enough of this," he said gruffly, waving the subject aside. "I didn't invite you to dinner to burden you with my demons. Now then. Shall we order?"

  Kenzie picked up her menu and scanned it.

  It was useless. The words blurred. Food was the last thing on her mind. All her powers of concentration were centered upon Hannes.

  If he hadn't told me, I'd never have known the suffering he's gone through, she thought soberly. Too, she knew it couldn't have been easy for him to share his misery. He's the type who normally keeps his emotions bottled up.

  Not surprisingly, the knowledge that beneath his charming, secure exterior lay a core of sensitive vulnerability made him more attractive than ever.

  "Do you know what you want to eat?" he asked.

  Kenzie smiled vaguely; she chose the easy way out.

  "Why don't you choose for both of us?" she suggested, putting her menu aside.

  She eyed him appraisingly as he ordered Luma verde salads and grilled and roasted vegetable platters.

  A man both macho and sensitive. Now there was a rarity.

  She felt a rush of warm satisfaction. She knew exactly how she wanted this evening to end.

  And, judging from his sudden grin, so did he.

  Finally, the Wall Street warrior was home. Late, lumbering, wheezy, and crabby.

  Dina wasn't fazed. She accorded him a hero's welcome right inside the front door. Pressed herself tightly against him. Nibbled on his ear. Purred, "Sweetie, I thought you'd never get home!"

  Her affection was instantly suspect. "Awright, Dina," Robert rasped. "Whaddya want now?"

  Dina pulled back and batted pale, innocent lashes. "Why, nothing, sweetie!" She had lying through her teeth down to a science.

  "Ha!" He didn't believe a word and treaded heavily on down the hall.

  "Rooooo-beeeeert ..."

  Now what? he grouched. Heaving a sigh, he stopped, turned around, and did a double take.

  Small wonder.

  Dina, who suffered his cigars in aggrieved silence, had produced one of his Flor de F. Farach Extras and was slowly, deliberately, passing it under her nose and rattling it against her ear before snipping off one end.

  As he watched, she sucked obscenely on the other end, all the while salaciously closing the distance between them.

  Her efforts had the desired effect. Robert A. Goldsmith sported an instant boner.

  God damn', he thought. What is it about a woman with a cigar? There was definitely something priapic about it. Yes, indeed. Still ...

  "Dina? You flippin' out, or what? I thought ya hated—"

  She popped the cigar in his mouth.

  That silenced him, and she struck a wooden match and held it to the cigar end.

  Saurian eyes squinting with suspicion, and knowing full well he was being manipulated, Robert nevertheless puffed away like a gulping fish. Soon he was churning up affluent clouds of expensive blue smoke.

  The hand-rolled tobacco went smoothly on the palate. Lulled him into a deceptive sense of well-being.

  Her hands were clasped girlishly behind her back and she was twisting her torso from left to right and right to left.

  "Daddy!" she squealed. "Baby's got a surprise for you! A big surprise!"

  Wincing, he glanced furtively around.

  It was all Dina could do to keep from bursting out laughing. Really! Did Robert think she was brainless enough to perform in front of the help?

  Give me a break! she thought, and said: "Don't worry, Daddy. Baby gave everyone the night off!"

  "Oh yeah?" he growled. "Then what're we gonna eat? Huh? I'm starved."

  "Baby's gonna bring Daddy food in bed. Just go upstairs, Daddy. Please?"

  He hesitated. Gave her an unblinking, appraising stare. Wished, not for the first time, that he could read her mind. At least that way he'd know what she was after.

  Whatever it was, it had to be something major. She wouldn't have gone through the trouble of banishing the staff otherwise.

  "Please, Daddy?" Dina tilted her head and pouted. "Pretty please? Baby'll be right up. I promise."

  Robert puffed away with deceptive nonchalance. Then he gave an inward shrug and thought: Why the hell not? It wasn't as if it had to cost him anything. He turned and lumbered down the corridor; trudged slowly up the curved marble staircase.

  Dina waited until he got upstairs, listening to his heavy echoing gait and wheezy expelled breaths. Only once she heard his bedroom door shut did she go on up, glancing at the giant Old Masters hanging on the yellow marble stairwell as she passed them—lusciously clothed Renaissance princelings and elegant noblewomen. Yet further validation of her own power, position, and taste.

  On the second floor, she stopped in the service kitchenette. Took a precooked platter out of the refrigerator. Popped it in the microwave.

  Then, repairing to her suite, she headed straight for her dressing room, where she opened the closet in which she kept her stash of erotic costumes.

  No teddies, girdles, garters, micro nighties, or crotchless panties were on the agenda tonight. No, sir. Nothing that ordinary would do. With a clenched face, she contemplated the outfit she'd selected. If this is what it takes, she told herself grimly, so be it.

  Without further ado, she shed her designer clothes, left them scattered on the floor for Darlene to pick up in the morning, and squeezed into the teensy costume.

  Two minutes at her vanity table and one wig later, she inspected herself in the floor-length mirrors.

  "Heidi Heidi Heidi ho," she said.

  At which point she went to fetch Robert's nuked dinner.

  It went without saying who would be dessert.

  Outside Luma, Hannes flagged down a cruising cab. Without consulting Kenzie he gave the driver his address.

  Kenzie didn't object, just made happy little noises and snuggled against him on the backseat.

  In short order they were in his high-rise bedroom, bodies locked in carnal passion.

  Hannes was nothing if not inventive. Besides being a skilled lover, he enjoyed giving pleasure as much as taking it, something Kenzie could appreciate. Able to count her sexual partners (including Charley and Hannes) on two hands, she had learned the hard way how truly special such attentiveness was. All too often, men were only after one thing. Their own gratification.

  This did not apply to Hannes. He knew it took two to tango, and went out of his way to accommodate a lady.

  Tonight he was in exceptional form.

  Laid out on the bed, she felt him surrounding her completely, a great masculine force, arms and legs slithering, intertwining hers like serpents: powerful, sinuous, sensuous. His fingers fluttered along her naked flesh and his tongue flicked, snakelike, into every crevasse, and over each curvaceous mound and hollow, causing her skin to ripple with delicious shivers.

  It was like being caught up in a riptide, in the throes of forces beyond her control, forces she felt absolutely no desire to control, so great was the rush of exhilaration.

  He lifted his eyes and gazed at her, his breaths warm puffs against her fiery flesh.

  "Are you familiar with the Kama Sutra, Kenzie?" he whispered.

  She shook her head. "No," she whispered.

  He said: " 'Kama' is what one learns from the Kama Sutra, which literally means 'Science of Love.' It is a love manual written b
y the Hindu sage, Vatsyayana, some two thousand years ago.

  "The word 'kama' means to enjoy oneself using all five senses. Seeing. Hearing. Smelling." He put his nose in the cleft of her breasts and inhaled deeply. "Feeling." He smoothed clever fingers along her inner thighs.

  She raised herself on her elbows and gazed raptly down at him.

  "Tasting." Looking solemnly at her, he fastened his lips around one erect nipple.

  She arched her spine and uttered a little cry.

  "According to the Kama Sutra, Kenzie, there are many places one may kiss." Knees on either side of her, he leaned forward, then slid down along her body, tenderly kissing each spot as he named it.

  "Forehead." Kiss. "Eyes." Kiss. "Cheeks." Kiss. "Lips, throat, bosom, breasts."

  Paralyzing, these kisses; this magical, ritual lovemaking. Kenzie lay back and shut her eyes. Body and soul, she surrendered. She was his, and he hers, and nothing outside these four walls seemed to exist.

  Sliding yet farther down her body, he gently parted her thighs and lifted her bare buttocks. "The jewel of your secret place ... that, too, Kenzie, is to be kissed," he murmured, and pressed his lips against her vagina.

  She nearly wept with joy, and whimpered with anxiety when he lifted his head and lowered her thighs.

  "Also, Kenzie," he said, "everything in the Kama Sutra has a special name," he continued, moving his body up along hers until he was once again face to face with her. "For instance, should either of our tongues touch the other's ... that is called 'The Fighting of the Tongue.' "

  He covered her mouth with his, and their needs were such that it seemed they would devour each other in a feeding frenzy.

  Finally he tore his lips from hers. "And, if I were to capture you in my arms, place my legs outside yours, and enter you while I squat, pressing your knees against my sides, that is the position called Dadhyataka."

  Her fingernails dug into his arms. "And if we were to ... to lie side by side ... or atop each other ..." She stared at him. "If I were to take you in my mouth, and you used your tongue on me ... ?"

  He laughed softly. "That, Kenzie, is called Kakila."

  "Kakila," she repeated.

  "It means 'The Crow.' It is an act supposedly performed by slaves ... and other lowly persons."

  Her eyes were wide and shiny. "Then let us revel in lowly pleasures! Hannes! Let's be base and coarse!"

  Her voice dropped to a trembling whisper as she added: "Let me be your slave!"

  "Papilein!" Dina crooned.

  She skipped into Robert's bedroom looking like she was struggling with the big serving tray. Which, in truth, she was. The steaming platters of sauerkraut, knockwursts, potato salad, and four chilled steins of beer weighed a ton.

  Robert's eyes all but popped. Beached on his California king-size bed like some great pink cigar-puffing whale, he endeavored to sit up.

  Dina glanced at his already-hard pecker. She ascertained that it was responding nicely, as evidenced by its sudden twitching.

  As well it should.

  Papi's little girl was wearing a blonde wig with two long fat braids, a minute Bavarian-style minidirndl which left her breasts entirely exposed, and a smile that went from ear to ear. Plus a variation on the usual makeup—giant starry lashes and oversize, penciled-on freckles.

  Heidi Does Manhattan, she thought grimly, and quickly suppressed the image. She had no room for negative thoughts. A positive frame of mind was essential, especially since she intended to hit him with a double whammy.

  "See, Papilein?" She glanced at him shyly from where she'd stopped just inside the door. "Baby's brought you dinner! Just like I promised!"

  "Well? Don't just stand there, l'il girl!" Robert patted the mattress. "Bring it 'ere!"

  "Ja, Papilein?" Dina feigned wide-eyed, childish pleasure. "May I really?"

  "Yeah," he rasped with a lecherous leer. "L'il girl's Daddy's real hungry. So c'mon. What're ya waitin' for—Christmas?"

  "Oh, danke, Papilein!" she squealed.

  And braids, hooters, and tushie bouncing, Dina bounded across the room. Deposited the tray on the bed. Leaped up beside him. Acted as frisky as any six-year-old with energy to burn.

  The fact that Dina had turned thirty a month earlier made absolutely no difference. She gave the performance her all. And Robert loved every minute of it.

  She began by finger-feeding him, as if he were one of those corpulent, licentious Roman emperors.

  A prolonged game of "hide the knockwurst" followed.

  Robert couldn't get enough, and Dina worked her oral magic.

  Soon his brain was where she wanted it to be—in his cock. His resolve not to promise her anything had evaporated.

  For nearly half an hour, Dina kept him on the very brink of orgasm. Then, and only then, did she make her move.

  Deciding to start off small, she sprang the weekend at the Faireys on him. Believing he was getting off cheaply, Robert committed himself with alacrity. Hell, it wasn't as if it was going to cost him anything.

  However, Dina wasn't quite finished with him yet. She continued honking his horn and stopping moments before he could climax.

  From his wheezy groans, she finally judged his faculties to be sufficiently impaired. If she dragged it out much longer, he'd start getting crabby. Or worse, he might surprise her and shoot his load.

  She decided it was time to go for the jackpot.

  "Papilein?" she ventured, alternately tonguing his penis and giving its ruffled head little tugs with her lips.

  He grunted unintelligibly.

  "Baby needs something real badly!"

  Robert snickered. "All baby needs is Daddy's dick!"

  Very funny, she thought, not in the least bit amused. Nevertheless, she batted starry lashes. "Baby needs to redecorate!"

  He rolled his eyes. "Should'a known there'd be a payoff!" he growled.

  "Is not!" she countered, with a pout.

  "Then what would you call it?"

  She tossed her head indignantly. "Baby calls it a present!"

  "Yeah," he guffawed. "So does every hooker in town."

  Shit! He obviously wasn't incapacitated enough.

  Dina quickly fixed that by showing him what her mouth was really capable of.

  "Oh, Baby," he moaned. "Oh, yeah. Yeah! That's the spirit—"

  She gave it her all, head bobbing furiously, mouth working triple-time.

  "Oh, Baby," he gasped. "Baby—"

  Then she felt the telltale tremor shuddering through him, knew he was reaching the point of no return—

  —and stopped.

  Right in the nick of time, too. A few more tugs of her lips and he'd have exploded.

  "Goddammit, Dina!" he howled, aggrieved.

  She puckered her lips. Blew teasing puffs of air at his penis. Tickled its swollen red head with the tip of her tongue.

  "Please, Papilein? Can Baby have her present?" She kissed the tip of his penis. "Pretty please?"

  He drew a deep, resigned breath—and knew she had him.

  "Oh, aw right!" he croaked grumpily. "You win. Now will ya finish what ya started?"

  Bingo! She'd hit the jackpot!

  Dina deemed it time to show her gratitude. The way he liked best. By bending her head and setting seriously to work.

  Robert climaxed half a minute later, unaware what those thirty short seconds would cost him.

  Well, he'll discover that soon enough, Dina decided. Why ruin his pleasure by telling him he'd just had a multimillion-dollar blow job?

  The sandman wouldn't come.

  Hours had crept by, and still Zandra lay awake in the dark, alone with her thoughts.

  Even though her room faced on the back, she could hear the songs of the city. Distant wails of sirens and the screams of car alarms; the bass beat of a stereo seeping out of a neighboring building, the billow of laughter and raised voices in the stairwell, the thunder of rap music blasting from a passing vehicle.

  But she'd become inured to these
sounds, and knew they weren't the reason sleep kept eluding her.

  The real reason was because her mind, like an endless loop, kept replaying every detail from lunch—or rather, from that instant when Karl- Heinz first entered Mortimer's to the moment she had made her escape from him in front of Burghley's.

  She simply couldn't get him out of her mind. Karl-Heinz. Her cousin. Her—

  —obsession?

  No. Never. Not in a million years.

  Zandra heard Kenzie return and tiptoe past her door. She glanced at the alarm clock. It was going on one-thirty.

  How she yearned for sleep.

  Trouble was, it wouldn't come.

  Karl-Heinz couldn't sleep, either. He prowled restlessly from window to window in his sky-high penthouse. Earlier, the view had resembled the platinum-processed Berenice Abbott photograph hanging in his hallway. But that had been hours ago.

  Now the cleaning crews had departed from the office towers, and most of the windows had gone dark. So had many in the high-rise apartment buildings.

  But he didn't notice. Even as he stared out at it, the cityscape was the furthest thing from Karl-Heinz's mind.

  His thoughts were consumed by Zandra. By the myriad questions he had concerning her. The mental list he'd compiled was endless: What goes on inside that beautiful head of hers? How does she feel about me? Is there someone else in her life? Will Becky's scheme work?

  For one of the few times in his life, His Serene Highness, Prince Karl-Heinz von und zu Engelwiesen, was at a total loss. He knew that he loved Zandra. He'd known that since the night of his birthday party last October.

  However, what he didn't know was the extent of—or the lack of— Zandra's feelings toward him.

  If only I had an inkling, he thought.

  But he didn't. Nor would he, until the weekend after next.

  He stared out one of the north-facing windows. At this very moment, she was out there somewhere, in one of the countless thousands of buildings of this great metropolis.

  Zandra. No doubt sleeping the deep, contented sleep of the innocent.

  Suddenly he was tired. For a moment he shut his eyes.

  Please, God, don't let me corrupt her.