Page 21 of A Dark and Stormy Night

He looked guilty. Cecily was sure he looked guilty, and she smiled for all she was worth and went right into his arms. She pressed her breasts onto his chest—Gwen was as flat as two peas on an ironing board, so Cecily didn't have to imagine the way his eyes widened in delight—and she said, "I love salmon. Why, in Minneapolis, we get fresh Atlantic salmon and I chomp it right down." She licked her lower lip.

Cousin Mario leaped away like her embrace scalded him. "This is Pacific salmon. Superior flavor and very healthy."

"That sounds absolutely . . . yummy." Cecily started along the gallery toward the kitchen where she could hear Gwen rattling the pans, and knew perfectly well he was watching her bottom in the tight black skirt.

"Stop!" he called.

With a taunting smile, she turned to face him. "Why, Cousin Mario, what is it?"

"We don't wear shoes in our house. Gwen reclaimed the hardwood floor from the original home, and heels such as yours can damage the finish." He frowned and looked toward the pantry.

She saw what he saw—tiny divots in the floor where she had already walked back and forth.

Her voice came out louder and more culpable than she intended "I can't walk around without the proper footwear. As a child, I suffered rheumatoid fever."

Gwen popped her head out of the kitchen. "Rheumatic fever?" She sounded incredulous.

"Yes! That! It damaged my heart, and I almost died! My poor father . . . I remember him holding me in his arms and crying. My circulation is terrifying."

Like a clown jack-in-the-box, Gwen disappeared again.

Cecily continued, "Sometimes my toenails turn blue. If I went barefoot, I would fer-eeze!"

Cousin Mario acted as if he hadn't quite heard her. Or he heard her and didn't care. "We have heated floors and slippers for our guests. What size do you wear?"

"I wouldn't dream of wearing someone else's slippers." Cecily shuddered in simulated horror. "Why, that would be as germ-laden as wearing rented bowling shoes. With my poor circulation"—maybe if she said it again, he would understand—"that would be incredibly dangerous."

Cousin Mario smiled in a rather steely fashion. "The slippers are new, of course, and we have different sizes. Please take off your heels before you do any more damage."

She looked down the half story into the living room. "This is such a beautiful house!"

"Thank you." Cousin Mario looked at her feet. "When I was a young man in Italy, I worked in leather and shoes. I would say you wear a size nine."

"A size eight. I have small feet for my height!"

Landon, that loser, said, "I thought you wore a size nine, too."

She shot him a glare. "You know how it is. Sizes vary. There's no quality control anymore." She smiled at Mario. "Eight and a half."

He opened the coat closet, rummaged around, pulled out a box and brought out a pair of white scuffs.

She frowned. "Those look like something an old lady would wear."

"We also have soft-soled flip-flops, but those would bare your toes." Mario's eyes were big, soft and brown. "I would hate for your toenails to turn blue."

Was he teasing her? She would make him pay. "I'll take the flip-flops." She sighed when she saw them; they had a bow. But at least this way Mario could admire her pedicure. Leaning against the handrail, she said, "My back. I can't bend over. Cousin Mario, would you do it for me?"

"Of course." He knelt at her feet. He rather brusquely removed her heels and slid her feet into the flip-flops.

She spread her legs.

He got to see that she wore a thong; she knew it by the way he flushed and scrambled to his feet. Taking her stiletto heels down to the first floor, he placed them in a basket by the door.

She made her way into the kitchen, trying not to shuffle in those appalling slippers, and halted in dismay.

My God. Cousin Gwen not only couldn't dress with a lick of fashion, she was also a card-carrying member of the Absurdly Gaudy Decorative Tile Association. Her backsplash was matte gray subway tiles interspersed with mosaics of bright blue shiny ocean scenes. Why not fling in tiny pictures of the Little Mermaid, Prince Eric and Ursula while she was at it?

Cecily managed to sound breathless and admiring. "Cousin Gwen, did you have a decorator to help with this? Because I can't imagine how you would do this on your own."

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