French Silk(52)

"Well, sit down. I'll turn on some music. What kind do you like?"

"I'm not particular." He took off his coat and tossed it over the arm of a chair, but he didn't sit down.

She switched on a CD player and a Randy Travis song began to play. "Do you like country?"

"It's okay."

She studied him for a moment, then propped her hands on her hips. "Look, Cassidy, I'm glad you dropped by, but I'm at a loss here. What's going on?"

"I came to f*ck."

She blinked twice, obviously taken aback. Then her lips spread into a wide grin. "Why didn't you just say so?" She pivoted on her bare heels and headed for the bedroom.

Cassidy followed.





* * *



Chapter 10

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Ariel unwrapped a bite-size Snickers and popped it into her mouth. Her teeth split the chocolate covering, crunched through the peanuts, and sank into the caramel and nougat. She savored the luscious combination of flavors as the candy melted and oozed on her tongue. After maximizing the greatest caloric pleasure from it, she sucked the sticky caramel off her teeth.

Candy wrappers littered the coffee table in front of the divan. As a kid, treats had been prohibited on her family's budget, and Ariel had been lucky if she got a piece of stick candy every few weeks. For the past several years she'd been making up for the deprivation; she couldn't get enough.

She stretched for the sheer pleasure of seeing, hearing, and feeling her silk lounging pajamas slide against her legs. The mirror across the room reflected a woman of leisure, surrounded by nice things all belonging to her. Ariel liked that. Indeed, she wanted to crow about it.

The house she'd grown up in had had indoor plumbing, and that was about the only amenity it could boast. It had been distinctly ugly, the large rooms spartanly and cheaply furnished. She shuddered with revulsion at the memory of it. She had never invited friends over because she was ashamed of her family's old, creaky, ugly farm house. She was also ashamed of the people who lived there. Her brother had been meaner than sin and had terrorized everybody. Her parents had always seemed old, although now she realized that weariness had aged them beyond their years. Nevertheless, that didn't make her feel any more kindly toward them. She was glad they were long dead and buried.

She wished she could bury her memories of poverty as easily and as permanently. But whenever she started feeling complacent about her present life, those recollections would emerge from their dormancy to taunt her. They reminded her of who she'd been before she threw herself on the mercy of the Reverend Jackson Wilde.

Those impoverished days are over forever, she vowed as she gazed around her living room. Objets d'art filled every nook and cranny. Most of the pieces were gifts from Jackson's followers. He had frequently suggested that they give some of the things away, but Ariel had refused to part with a single item, no matter how cluttered the house became. If she had to install extra shelving, or store things in the attic and under the beds, she would keep everything that came her way. For Ariel, possessions were tantamount to security. She would never be without them again. As she reaffirmed that pledge, she unwrapped another Snickers and devoured it with hedonistic relish.

When Josh came in carrying a cup of coffee and the morning newspaper, he noticed the candy wrappers immediately. "Is that your breakfast?"

"What of it?"

"Not exactly oat bran, is it?" He sank into an easy chair, placed his cup at his elbow, and unfolded the paper. "It's a miracle. We're not front-page news anymore."

Watching him almost soured the candy in her stomach. Lately, Josh was about as much fun as a forty-year plague. They still made love every night. He was skilled and ardent and had an artist's sensuality. His fingertips played her body as they did the piano keys, with strength and sensitivity.

But half the excitement of sleeping with him had been the thrill of cuckolding Jackson. Since secrecy and guilt were no longer adding spice to the affair, the lovemaking had grown bland. Even after an orgasm, she hungered for something more.

Yet, she couldn't account for her restlessness and dissatisfaction. The Cincinnati crusade had gone exceptionally well. Two TV shows had been taped and were ready for broadcast. During the tapings, the auditorium had been packed to capacity.

Ariel had sung. Josh had played. Several disciples had tearfully testified to what Jackson Wilde and his ministry had meant to their lives. Then Ariel had taken the podium and begun her heartrending sermon. It had taken days to memorize. Each crack in her voice, each gesture, had been carefully choreographed and rehearsed in front of her mirror. The time and effort had been well spent. Before she was finished there wasn't a dry eye in the place, and the offering plates were overflowing with greenbacks.

Those who, weeks before, had been skeptical of her ability to continue the ministry without Jackson's stern leadership had been effusively complimentary. She'd proved them wrong. She was just as charismatic and persuasive as her late husband had been.. People had flocked by the hundreds to see her, considering every word she spoke a precious gem. The world was in her pocket.

So why was she feeling vaguely discontent?

It just still wasn't enough. She had hundreds of thousands of followers, but why not millions? Suddenly she sat up. "I don't think so."

Josh lowered one corner of his paper. "Pardon?"