Sydney was in the grip of a meltdown. Temperatures had been in the high 30's for two weeks; bushfires were erupting across New South Wales, and local television stations bombarded viewers with warnings about total fire bans, arson investigations, conserving water, and protection against UV rays. Even in the evening, the heat was so unbearable it was impossible to sleep; and, as she lay there irritable and tired, she prayed for the break in the weather everyone was talking about, and dreamed of racing out into a heavy downpour, allowing the warm kiss of the rain to soak through to her tingling skin. Bring on the storm, she thought.
Suddenly, the peal of the bell interrupted her wishful thinking. She had answered many arrivals from the airport in the past, but there was something different about this one. His booking had been by phone, like many others, and yet her brief discussion with him remained at the forefront of her mind since. She had never met the man, and yet the cool timbre of his voice and the total sense of confidence that had pervaded his conversation were so overpowering that she had felt her anticipation grow from the very moment she had put down the phone.
"Don't be a loser," she said to herself, easing up from the disheveled bed.
Jenny quickly slipped her lithe, naked body into a short silk robe, kicked on a pair ofloafers, and headed out to the motel's reception, tousling her long black hair with both hands. When her eyes fell upon the dimly lit stranger who stood smoking beyond the locked glass doors of the lobby, her heart skipped a beat.
She was riveted by the primal lure of his features and the shadows cast upon them by the lights outside. She felt his piercing eyes strike at her through the darkness, unashamedly traversing every inch of her body. His solemn mien and casual self-confidence was intimidating. But in the instant that she began to feel uneasy and vulnerable, the tall, dark traveller flashed a broad smile, allaying her alarm and compelling her to let him in. Her heart was beating faster, and as she held his gaze assuredly she was aroused, discreetly drawing the already undersized robe up further over the peachy cheeks of her slender, tanned behind. Her movements suggested modesty but her erect nipples betrayed her.
"Now, don't tell me you're the little lady I spoke to on the phone?" His voice was a deep rumble. "A man couldn't be that lucky."
"It's me, I'm afraid. Manager, maid, cook and receptionist. All wrapped up into one tiny little package." She flirted openly, letting him in.
"And what a fine package it is," he breathed, deliberately allowing the back of his hand to brush against her thighs as he eased his way inside.
'I'm Jenny," she said softly.
"John," Lundt replied, using the pseudonym he was travelling under. "John Bogle."
He took her hand, holding it longer than necessary. She felt her anticipation rising.
"Have you decided how long you're going to stay here at the Sandpiper?" "Well, sweetheart, I reckon meeting you just added a week to my plans.
How about I pay for seven days and we'll see what happens?"
'I'm sure I can fit you in," she cooed. "This place can g.et pretty boring. People usually only stay a night and then fly off somewhere else. We're cheap, but we're close to the airport. I'm used to entertaining myself, so it'll be nice to have someone regular around."
She moved closer, leaning on the counter beside him, studying every inch of the rugged stranger as he signed into the motel register. She knew he wanted her. He made no attempt to disguise it, allowing his eyes to shamelessly wander all over her. Jenny wanted him, too. She couldn't explain it. It had been so long since she'd been with a man.
Slowly she slid even closer, cradling her full breasts in her arms, just inches from him, allowing the soft folds of the robe to fall open a little more, her swollen nipples pushing hard against the tight fabric.
"Here's your room key," she whispered, rattling it in her hand. "Number seven. Back outside and to the right. You can't miss it."
"Lucky seven," he replied softly, licking the end of the pen and sliding it deeply between the mounds of her breasts. "I might just pour myself a drink before I hit the hay. I could sure use some company."
"Give me a minute to freshen up. I'll be right with you."
CHAPTER 55
"You OK?" Morgan whispered into Arena's hair. The music had stopped. He didn't know how late it was, but it was starting to get dark outside. Dusk. He felt a small patch of dampness against his shirt. Tears? "Ari?" he whispered again. She stirred.
"So much has happened," she began quietly. "So much that it's all become a jumble. William Evans's illness; that weasel Johnson sending me off to Malfajiri like Lara bloody Croft, supposedly to help you, only to find I was actually spying on you for him. All those people killed over there. Thousands of them. All that violence. And that smell, that terrible smell. Death, everywhere. Then, back in London and everything's the same. It's like a different world, a different planet." Morgan stroked her hair gently. He remained silent, letting Ari find her way amidst the mess of thoughts and memories streaming through her. "Following Cornell around the city on some stupid errand for Johnson that made absolutely no sense, and with nothing to go on, only to find out I was being followed by Scotland Yard. And now all you've told me about ] ohnson, this Lundt person and the Secret Service. God! When I agreed to go to Malfajiri, I thought it would be good for my career. Ifonly I'd been able to speak to Violet. None of this would have happened."