Page 135 of New Storm Rising
“Hello there, handsome.” Limpet number one batted her eyelashes at my husband. “Did you miss me?”
“Probably not,” Limpet number two cut her off, elbowing her out of the way. “Leastways not half as much as me!”
“What about me?” Limpet number three threw her arms around him from behind. “You still remember me, Mr I-don’t-pay-for-things-that-I-could-get-for-free, don’t you?”
“Ha! He likes me the best, you all know that! Unlike you all, he actually paid me!”
“For a meal from the staff kitchen.”
“It still counts!”
“My oh my…he’s grown even more handsome since he’s been away.”
“This time, should we keep him?”
I took a deep breath.
All right.That was it!
“Dear?” I purred, catching the one arm of my husband that wasn’t yet in the clutches of prostitutes. “Could you explain to me how you came to be friends with a gaggle of…liberal ladies?”
Welcome to Mama Dumant’s
“Could you explain to me how you came to be friends with a gaggle of…liberal ladies?”
Mr Ambrose considered how to answer for a moment. Then…
“I followed your example?”
“What? I—”
…didn’t actually have a good counter for that.
Dang! Dang and blast Amy for being such a good friend! Why couldn’t all the prostitutes I knew be fiendish villains?
“And do you think,” I continued, my purr descending into a growl, my gaze burning into the ladies clinging on to his various body parts, “that I usually getthisintimate with my ladyfriends?”
In answer Mr Ambrose simply cocked his head at me, in a “How would I know?”-kind of way.
“You…! Don’t look at me like that!”
“You look flushed. Did you do something with your friend Amy I should know about?”
My face heated like a pan at breakfast time. “It was you who dragged me to that brothel in the first place!”
“Then you can hardly object to me reviving an old tradition of the two of us, can you? One could almost call it romantic.”
“Roma…”
“In addition, the rooms here are cheap, and the beds quite soft.”
I jabbed a finger at him. “You…one day, I’m going to grab you by your cheapskate neck and choke you!”
He gave me the most indignant husbandly look a man can manage without moving a single facial muscle. “Choke me? I never would have thought an innocent young lady such as yourself would indulge inthosekinds of proclivities. I am afraid that I shall have to decline. If you enjoy those kinds of things, I’m fairly sure there is someone here who can be hired to…indulge your inclinations.”
“You…” I was speechless. So I did what I always did when the English language failed me: resort to expletives from other languages. After all, with such beautiful linguistic variety, why limit myself? “Cérebro de burro![29]Progéniture erronée d’un phacochère![30]”
My little tirade had no effect whatsoever on Mr Rikkard Ambrose, the living granite statue. It did, however, have one result: the five women clinging to my husband finally seemed to notice my existence.
