Page 76 of Close Up

“No waiting necessary.”

She sat up, straddled him, and slowly lowered herself until he was filling her completely. His eyes half closed. He gripped her thighs. When she began to move, he thrust into her again and again. She was still so sensitized from her release that the experience of having him deep inside her was almost unbearable. She was balanced on the exquisite edge between pain and pleasure. She knew from his sweat-soaked body and the fierce expression on his face that he was there on the same edge.

When his release struck with the force of a storm, they both went over together.

Chapter 37

Nick emerged from the bathroom smiling a decidedly satisfied smile.

“What’s so funny?” Vivian asked.

“You. Sorry.” He climbed back into bed. “Where in hell did you get the notion that you were frigid? Been reading Dr. Freud or one of his followers?”

“Winston Bancroft.”

“Oh, right. The art photographer who insulted your talent. You said things ended with a major scene.”

“Yes. There was a bit more to the story than the insult to my talent. That was reason enough to end things, of course. But I also discovered the reason he lied to me and said glowing things about my art was because he wanted to get his hands on my family’s money.”

“Talk about adding insult to injury.” Nick paused. “Huh.”

“It’s hard to make a living as a photographer, even for someone of Winston’s stature. In his defense, he has his dreams, just as I have mine. Winston’s goal was, and probably still is, to establish his own art school,an academy, and a gallery that will focus on elevating photography into the fine arts.”

“What, exactly, got said in the course of the big breakup scene?”

“Well, first I told him that I’d had to fake every orgasm I’d ever claimed to have had with him, all three of them.”

“You said that in front of the gallery owner?”

“Yep. That made Winston furious, of course. That’s when he called me frigid. He said I obviously had a deep-seated neurosis that prevented me from achieving orgasm.”

“That must have been some scene.”

“I’m afraid so. When I told Winston that I didn’t think there was anything wrong with me and that he was the one with the problem, he was even more outraged. He turned a very interesting shade of purple. I stormed out of the office and out of his life. Haven’t spoken to him since.”

“Huh.”

“That’s the second time you’ve said that in the past couple of minutes.”

“Well, damn.”

“Damn?”

“Looks like we have to add another suspect to our list.”

“Winston?” Vivian was floored. “Forget it. He was angry when I walked out but not that angry.”

“Is he still living in San Francisco?”

Vivian hesitated. “Well, no. Last I heard he had joined an artist’s colony on the coast.”

“Where on the coast?”

Vivian groaned. “About twenty miles south of here. That’s why he’s been able to get his work installed at galleries in places such as Burning Cove and Adelina Beach. Curators and gallery owners love him. He can be very charming.”

“That puts him squarely in the Los Angeles area. If we’re right that the killer finds his clients in and around L.A.—”

“I just can’t see Winston wanting to murder me. There wouldn’t be any point. The only way he could have gotten his hands on my father’s money is if he had married me. That option is definitely off the table.”

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