Too Damn Rich (24 page)

As they moved to the music, her hand
tightened over his phallus and he drew a deep shuddering breath.
There was something about playing with fire that ignited some base
sense of urgency within him. He could feel his blood speeding in
his veins, his pulse racing, and his heart pounding away like
kettle drums. Trapped inside boxer shorts and trousers, his penis
strained and reared, craving to release the juices of life itself.
If only she would undo his fly and take it out! Hold his cock in
her hands and bring him to orgasm right here amidst this crowd!

After a minute, she looked up at him. "Well,
Robert?" Her voice was softly mocking. "Still want to throw me to
the wolves?"

Silently he cursed his cock. Ever since he
could remember, he'd had to guard against it being his downfall—and
if he wasn't careful, he knew that one of these days it would
be.

He was breathing heavily. "All I was ...
saying," he managed, disgusted with his ill-timed physical
reaction, "is you . . . you better not blow your promotion. I can
only ... go to bat for you ... so often ..."

It was as if he'd struck her. Her body
suddenly tensed and she iced him with her eyes. "If you intend to
leave me in the lurch, then be man enough and say so now." Her
breathy little girl's voice had gone cold and bitter. "But
remember, Robert. If you don't scratch my back, don't expect me to
be around to scratch yours."

To make her point, she let go of his crotch
and pulled away again.

He still had her by the arm and tightened his
grip. "Listen, you little prick tease." His voice was soft but had
a harsh, savage edge. "You wanna join the big league and play
hardball? That it?"

She did not reply.

"Then how about we start by taking this
promotion of yours one day at a time? Huh?"

Suddenly she felt unsure of herself, as
though the pond she was skating upon had inexplicably turned to
very thin ice. Her voice almost trembled. "What's that supposed to
mean?"

"Exactly what I said. You displease me once
and you're out on your ass." His fingers dug into her flesh. "Still
like the big league?" he taunted.

"Ro-bert! You're hurting me!"

His eyes drilled right into her. "I wonder if
you know what pain really is."

She remained silent.

"But just so we're on the same wavelength,
I'll give you one last piece of advice." He drew his lips back
across his teeth. "Never forget that you're expendable. Blow jobs
come a dime a dozen in this town!"

Angrily she tried to wrench herself free, but
he was too strong. Her eyes flashed with spite and her bosom heaved
with every quickened breath.

"Well? Still wanna threaten to withhold your
cunt?"

She seemed on the verge of hissing a reply,
but then thought better of it. Her lips tightened into a thin line.
"No, Robert," she said almost meekly. "But I want to be more than
just another blow job."

"Smart girl." He loosened his grip and
grinned. "Maybe now that we understand each other, you'll stop
bitching. You got what you wanted, didn't ya?"

She was no longer certain of anything. "If
you say so," she said guardedly.

"Just don't let me down," he warned. The
orchestra was segueing into "Smoke Gets in Your Eyes." He looked at
her questioningly. "Well? What're you waitin' for?"

Bambi looked puzzled. "What do you mean?"

Pulling her close, he guided her hand back
down to his groin. "Aren't you going to show your
appreciation?"

"But I thought it was time I made myself
scarce."

"Why? Is there a fire?"

"You said one dance," she reminded him.

"So I changed my mind." He gave her a lewd
wink. "Seems to me, there's a lot more to dancing than I previously
thought."

Dina was enjoying herself immensely. Lord
Rosenkrantz was such an unbelievably good dancer that even the most
intricate, out-of-date steps were a breeze to pick up. Despite his
beer-barrel physique, he was so light and agile on his feet that it
was easy to fancy herself as Ginger Rogers to his (well, his rather
plump, she allowed herself charitably) Fred Astaire, so smoothly
and effortlessly did he lead her, and ...... and unless her sharp
eyes were deceiving her, wasn't that her husband, Robert—the very
same Robert who always refused to set foot on a dance floor, and
claimed to absolutely loathe dancing!—doing exactly that with a
peach-complexioned blonde plastered right up against him?

The momentary glimpse she'd caught became a
dark, ominous cloud hovering on her social horizon. Strangely
enough, what she found most troubling of all was not Robert's
weakness for PYTs—Pretty Young Things. Nor was she particularly
disturbed by possible philandering on his part, at least not for
the time being. No; that could wait. What evoked her wrath was his
sense of timing.

Why now? Why did he have to overstep the
bounds of propriety on this, the night of her single greatest
social triumph when everyone all but salaamed obsequiously before
her?

Well, he'll soon be sorry
! Dina vowed
darkly, and immediately detached herself from her dance
partner.

Lord Rosenkrantz looked concerned. "Is
something the matter?"

She summoned her best false smile. "Only my
feet, Lord Rosenkrantz," she lied. "I'm afraid it's these new
shoes. I should have known better than to wear them tonight."

Lord Rosenkrantz looked as sorrowful as if
she had announced a death in his immediate family. "More's the
pity, madam," he murmured, and then his voice regained its
ebulliency. "However, your comfort and well-being must take
priority!"

He cocked his arm, she hooked hers through
it, and he gallantly escorted her off the dance floor.

"Alas," he told her when they reached the
sidelines. "I am bereft. Having once experienced feet lighter than
air, I cannot conceive of dancing with anyone else."

"You, Lord Rosenkrantz," she laughed, "are
the most incorrigible flatterer!"

"And you, madam, flatter me with your very
presence." He took her hand and raised it to his lips.

She felt the merest whisper of breath on her
fingertips.

"May I get you a libation?"

"Please." Dina decided some serious
fortification was in order. "I'll have a double vodka," she
decided. "Straight." Then, remembering her calories, she quickly
changed her mind. "On second thought, make that a club soda. No
ice."

"At once, madam," he said with a courtly bow,
every inch the Continental gentleman.

She waited until he was gone, then hopped on
tiptoe and craned her neck, her slitted eyes sweeping the area of
the dance floor where she had last caught sight of her husband.

Where had he disappeared to ... ? She knew
she had seen him, he must be—

—there! A sudden opening in the cluster of
dancers momentarily revealed him before obscuring him once
again.

She felt her cheeks draw in; her stomach
shift poisonously. The glimpse she'd caught was only fleeting, but
she had seen enough to sense—to know!—that something untoward was
going on.

Because Robert and the blonde were not so
much dancing or flirting as they were positively glued to one
another, joined as though in sexual embrace!

Dina felt the jolt of physical agony.
Suddenly she had a dissonant sense of confinement in this vast,
jam-packed space. Makeup-laminated faces took on a menacing,
Daliesque surreality; ordinary laughter curdled into the screeches
of the deranged.

How could Robert! she quailed. How could he?
He's my husband!

Through sheer willpower, Dina forced away the
hallucinatory edge of panic; fought to bring reality back into
focus.

Slowly her breathing calmed and anger
replaced shock.

She thought:
I could always pretend I
didn't see anything and confront Robert later, after we get home.
The only trouble is, by then he'll have thought up any number of
excuses, and even try to convince me I was imagining things. No,
best to nip things in the bud now—before they get out of hand
...

Having decided upon a strategy, Dina was
ready to slay dragons. She marched onto the dance floor and
expertly navigated her way through the slow-dancing crowd.

Homing in on her target, her raptorial eyes
didn't miss a trick.

Not Bambi's aerobics-toned body or sensuous
movements, nor the way Robert's hands were all over her, and
especially not the way the girl's arm was—
good
heavens!
—covertly doing the hokey pokey!

Robert, Robert, Robert
, Dina chided
wordlessly, shaking her head and clucking her tongue against the
roof of her mouth.
What am I going to do with you?

But she already knew.

Stealing up on him from behind, she gave his
buttocks a sharp tweak and exclaimed: "Sweetie! Why didn't you tell
me you have a girlfriend?"

For once Robert A. Goldsmith was caught
completely off guard. He and Bambi leapt apart like scalded
cats.

"D-D-Dina!" he blustered. "What a
pleasant—"

Dina cut him off with a merciless glare.
Then, turning to Bambi, she snapped, "Adios, Cinderella!"

Bambi wisely made tracks.

Dina watched her departure through slitted
eyes. Knowing trouble when she saw it, she filed away a mental
mugshot; chances were, this girl might pop up again sometime in the
future. Of course, it behooved Robert to make certain she
wouldn't.

Still, I've been forewarned. It won't hurt to
monitor him more closely from now on.

With Bambi gone, Dina turned her full
attention upon her husband.

"... goddamn hot in here," he mumbled,
mopping sweat from his forehead with a white handkerchief.

"Well, you know what they say, Robert. If you
can't take the heat, stay out of the fire."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Sweetie, you know exactly what it means."
She smiled saccharinely. "Crossing the line with your little Junior
Miss, what else?"

"Crossing the line?" he said indignantly.
"What line? We were only dancing. Anyway, if you hadn't been so
busy with Lord What's-His-Name, I'd have asked you."

"Oh, really?" Dina's voice dripped sarcasm.
"Well, never mind. You were looking to dance with me, so how about
it?" She extended bracelet- laden arms and awaited his embrace.
"Shall we?"

Robert had no choice but to comply. He held
her clumsily, dancing with stiff, awkward movements.

Dina burst out laughing. "My God, Robert, you
dance as if you're constipated! You certainly weren't this uptight
with your little Junior Miss. Now relax—" She enjoyed his
discomfiture immensely. "—all you have to do is follow my lead. But
first, you might want to hold me a little closer ... you know . . .
like you held her?"

Robert, loosening up a little, stole a
longing glance in the direction in which Bambi had fled.

A major mistake.

Dina's spiky heel came down on his toes.
Hard.

Letting out a yelp, he hopped comically up
and down on one foot. "Now what did you do that for?" he accused,
looking aggrieved.

"Why, to get your attention," Dina cooed,
"what else? And while we're on that subject, I strongly suggest you
forget her."

He played dumb. "Forget who?"

"Your little Cinderella. Really, Robert. Need
I remind you that we're married? Or reel off the names of men who
were toppled from the Forbes Four Hundred, and all because of
divorce settlements?"

She was pleased to see him blanch.

"I didn't think so," she purred, smugly
secure in the knowledge that she had scored her point and hit where
it hurt most.

Not below the belt, but in his most painful
spot of all.

His wallet.

As soon as they stepped outside, Hannes's
features knotted into an expression of disgust. The night was wet
and shiny: what had begun as a drizzle had turned into a
full-fledged cloudburst. Sheets of silvery rain, hard as a
heavyweight's fists, thrashed the city with a vengeance.

To his surprise, Kenzie uttered a cry of
sheer joy and turned a bright face to his. "Isn't it glorious?" she
breathed.

And before he could reply that no, this
abominable weather was definitely not glorious, she waved away the
footman who came rushing with an oversized umbrella, left Hannes
standing in the shelter between two massive columns, and darted out
into the downpour.

Tilting her head heavenward, she spread her
arms wide and twirled, reveling in the pounding, cleansing
rain.

"You are mad!" Hannes shouted from under the
sanctuary of the overhanging cornice. "Do you know that? Utterly,
depravedly mad!"

"Wonderfully mad!" she enthused, her hair
already plastered to her skull like a sleek dark helmet. Running
back to him, she grabbed both his hands and tugged him, protesting,
out into the rain. Then, clinging tightly to his arm, she tromped
happily beside him down the sodden, red- carpeted steps.

"Now admit it," she said. "Doesn't this feel
great?"

"Being with you feels great," he offered with
meaningful emphasis.

"Oh, yeah?" She stopped and tipped her head
to one side in order to favor him with a pleased look.

"Yeah." He pulled her into an embrace.

Agile as a Fagin urchin, she squirmed out of
his arms and laughed, playfully skipping the rest of the way down
with him in hot pursuit.

Reaching the bottom, she found herself facing
limousine row. From left to right, slant-parked as far as the eye
could see was a veritable armada of dark limousines and Lincoln
Town Cars—plus a single white superstretch Caddy with blacked-out
windows and DINA G vanity plates, whose chauffeur was leaning
against the driver's door under an umbrella. He had observed
Kenzie's descent with interest. Now that she was within ten feet,
he pushed his peaked, visored cap back on his head and gave her an
appreciative once-over.