The Sex Life of the Gods Part 8

"Then it's settled. You go sit somewhere and I'll get things packed."

She whisked away, almost running up the stairs to pack some things for him. He walked to the kitchen, without turning on a light, and poured himself a gla.s.s of water. Outside, through the window, he could see the twilight fading into evening, the heavy purple clouds of night sweeping steadily across the sky. A star winked later and he knew it. Venus. He stood there in the darkness and picked out many of them as they flickered into being. Mars. Sirius, Vega and others. There were...

... She came into his arms and talk was insignificant and quite unnecessary. The soft, white arms wound about his neck, tugging fingers pulled playfully at his hair and she smiled at him. His lips moved down against hers and they were lost in themselves. He could feel the taut pressure of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s playing against his chest and the firm roundness of her thighs working against his.

Her strong fingers worked against the muscles of his shoulders, pulling him down onto the cottony moss beneath the strange tree. The small litheness of her body molded into his and his hands stroked her b.r.e.a.s.t.s beneath the filmy cloth that covered them. Her hands moved upward to the straps that swept over her shoulders and pulled them down. His eager fingers helped her, working the straps down until the firm mounds of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s lifted their rubbery, coral tipped nipples toward the sky. His fingers worked them, kneaded the warm muscles, while his mouth worked on hers. When he had released her lips, she pulled his face down into the twin cus.h.i.+ons of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. His hand moved against the flesh of her thighs, caressingly...

"Ready, dear?"

It was gone. Like that. A sudden flickering memory of some long vanished event that might have given him some hope. It had been fantastic again, the strange colors and the weird landscape, but he wanted it despite that. She had stolen it, ripped it viciously from his mind; but she was not to blame. He turned and smiled at her as she came into the kitchen.

She had turned on a soft light in the front room, but had allowed the kitchen to remain dark. In the half-light of the room, he thought that she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. It would not be hard to love her, he thought again.

He reached out and took her by the shoulders, pulling her gently against him to kiss her. Her mouth moved against his, satiny with desire, until they parted.

"I'm ready, if you are," he said.

"For what, darling? The bedroom, or the car?"

He chuckled. "The car. The bedroom will keep until we're up in the woods."

CHAPTER SEVEN

In the glow of the headlights, the car swallowed the road voraciously and they moved toward the north country - not, he noticed, on route 87.

They had not been seen leaving the city, nor had they been seen packing the car. The garage had a door that led into the kitchen, and Nick had laid on the back seat floorboards until they were in the country. Now, sitting in the front seat, he wondered vaguely if Beth, in her joy at having him home, had given herself away to her friends. He hoped not. He glanced sidewise at her and noticed that she drove with a smile on her face.

"Is it far to the cabin?" He asked.

"Not now. We're almost to the turn off."

He lapsed again into silence, the old questions still whirling about in his mind. Who were the men who were after him? What did they want? How much had the FAA learned of the plane? Had they found something to pin it on him? What were these tiny, fleeting thoughts that cropped up in his mind? Was his mind trying to tell him something via the nightmares?

And what of his best friend, Nolan Brice. Where has he been? What is he up to? It struck Nick as odd that he had not encountered the detective yet: surely he and Beth had been close the past year. How close? Suppose Brice stumbled upon Andy Hoc.u.m. Would the old man talk?

Feeling more helpless than he had ever felt in his life, at least the life he remembered, Nick stared at the road until Beth turned off on another road that was little more than a wagon track beside a small creek. A few minutes of bouncing over ruts and stones, and she turned off again, parking beside a grey, frame cabin.

"Here we are, darling."

They got out, each taking a box from the back seat, and Nick followed her up the stairs to the porch. Beth set her box down and found the key.

A moment later the lock clicked and she shoved the door open.

"Wait'll I find the light, Nick," she whispered.

A moment later, the light snapped on and a soft glow filled the front room of the cabin. They took the boxes to the kitchen and set them on the table, then went back into the front room. Nick studied the place.

He liked the room a lot; there was a rugged manliness in the stone fireplace and the knotty pine walls, mingled with just a touch of Beth's femininity to make it neat. All in all, it was a well laid out place. He was attracted to the oil paintings that hung about the walls.

"Like it?" Beth asked.

He nodded.

"But it doesn't bring back any memories?"

"No. h.e.l.l, honey, I can't even remember what I did for a living."

She smiled sadly. "Want to see?"

When he nodded, she motioned him to the other side of the front room and opened the door. She flicked on the light and he stepped into a small study filled with the trappings of an artist. Tubes of paint lay on small tables, beside cans of turpentine, lacquer and old paint rags. A half finished nude adorned one of the heavy easels. There were a few water color sketches laying around as well as several oils.

"Want to see some of your favorite models?"

He nodded numbly, and she drew open a drawer in the table and pulled out four fairly large oil paintings done on commercial painting boards.

The first two were of Beth, one a nude and the other a semi-nude, with only her lovely b.r.e.a.s.t.s exposed. The second two paintings were of a girl who was not familiar at all. In the first picture, a portrait, she was seated before a table, contemplating a vase of flowers. A rather good looking girl with jet black hair and a soft, warm looking face. The next painting was of the same girl, but this time she had been painted as a Hawaiian dancer and her skin was a trifle darker. She was a pretty girl, but her face and nicely formed body didn't ring a bell.

"Who is she?" He asked.

"Her name is Janet Holman. She lives about four or five miles from here, on her father's farm." Beth nodded toward the green filing cabinet in the corner. "You have her file over there with your records. Doesn't any of this ring a bell, darling?"

"No."

She looked at him sadly, her face mirroring the way she felt. "I hope it'll come back, darling."

He reached out and pulled her to him, holding her tight. "It'll come back," he whispered. "C'mon. I want to build a fire in that fireplace.

It's cool in here, even if it is summer."

They went back out into the front room and, while Beth found some kindling, Nick wadded up some newspapers and stuffed them in the fireplace. When she brought it in, he lighted the stuff and after it was going good, he added a couple of logs. He snapped off the light and grinned at her.

"I like firelight," he told her. "It's restful."

She smiled back at him. "Restful? I think it's s.e.xy." She had kicked off her pumps and was lying before the glow of the hearth on the thick rug.

He arranged the mesh screen before the fire and laid down beside her.

"s.e.xy, huh?"

"Uh huh. I don't know, darling ... the warmth of the fire warms me up, I guess."

He grinned and dropped his head to the cus.h.i.+ons of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Her fingers played in his hair.

"I'm glad," he told her.