Page 59 of Sinful Crimes for the Artistically Inclined
“Up in my hotel room, there’s a little gift waiting for you. I thought, as things were, you and I might end up there later. But now…”
He placed his drink on the table—a sign the conversation and the night were coming to an end. “That’s quite all right. I understand. Thank you, for the, uh, thought, but?—”
“It’s the sheath.” She said the words bluntly, a little callously.
Percy’s face fell to a disbelieving sort of angry. “What did you say?”
“Cut the crap.” She leaned close, her expression just as dark as his. “Do you really think I’m that stupid? Art restoration, my ass. You went for the sheath. I knew you went for the sheath, and I took it before you could get it.”
“How could you know?”
“You’re not so subtle as you think you are, Percy. All night you pumped me for information last time we were here.” She fanned herself, still scowling at him through long lashes. “A woman notices such things.”
“Those two matters are not related,” he replied.
“I didn’t care if they were related. We had a nice night, didn’t we?”
“Yes, but that was then. Things have changed.”
“So I see. Things have changed, so now you don’t get the sheath.”
Percy let out a furious breath and walked to the window, taking in the lights of Tripoli below, the complete black that was the ocean at night, and the few bright stars standing out in the darkness of a new moon.
Joe watched, wondering what his next move might be, half wishing he had some champagne to enjoy the show, half not wanting to admit he wondered how far Percy might go for the sheath.
Percy turned his head to look at her side-long. “Name your price.”
She didn’t need a second to think about it. “Sex.”
He stared at her, his beautiful lips parted with an incredulous smile. “You can’t be serious.”
She stood and strode across the room to him. “Why ever not?” She thrust her breasts against him. “I have your sheath, and you, Doctor Ashdown,” she placed her lips against his cheek, a hand on his belt, “you have my spear.”
Aghast, “Who told you I have the spear?”
“I know it from personal experience,” she murmured.
“Oh.” He chuckled out a relieved laugh. “You mean…”
Her entire body glued itself to his. “You know exactly what I mean.”
He looked down sharply. “I didn’t say you could touch that.”
“Ugh!” She threw her hands up in exasperation, striding back to the couch. “My price is clear. My sheath in exchange for you. The good sex. Not just regular sex.”
He followed her back to the lounge and lit a fresh cigarette, throwing the burning match down indignantly. “I’m not for sale, Cleo.”
A short, sharp, derisive laugh. “Everyone has a price.”
“Then what’s yours? For the sheath. How much do you want?”
She raised an eyebrow and bit her lip, looking him over from head to toe.
“Money!” he yelled. “How much money?”
She studied him a few seconds longer, then, “Fifty thousand.”
“Dinars?” he asked hopefully.
