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‘Yep.’ ‘Will you be okay here? Do you want me to wait?’ I resisted the urge to laugh. Right now, there seemed to be enough adrenalin coursing through my veins for me to consider going a couple of rounds with a heavyweight boxing champion. ‘I think I’ll be fine, thanks.’ Gathering up Drew’s jacket and my handbag, I leaned forward to inspect the taximeter. ‘How much do I owe you?’ ‘You don’t, love. It’s all been paid for already. Charged to the hotel.’ ‘Oh!’ Trust Marco. I hadn’t even known you could do that sort of thing. ‘Well, er—thank you.’ Was I supposed to tip him anyway? Deciding to err on the side of caution, I gave him a couple of pound coins. ‘Thanks.’ ‘No, thank you love,’ he called as I got out. ‘And hey, wait a mo?’ He wound down his window and held out a business card. ‘Take this, just in case? I’m on all night. Just ask for Joe.’ I pushed it into the side pocket of my handbag with a smile. ‘Thanks.’ He nodded, gave me one last concerned glance then drove on, leaving me. Marsdale watched his tiny Oriental wife with fascination. She was a superb dancer and he marveled at her muscular control, the sensuousness of her movements and her projected sexuality that never failed to arouse him. She had kept up with her dancing even after their marriage. He felt the familiar crawling, tensing sensation in his scrotum and the rush of throbbingly hot bl**d into his penis, as it began to rise to erection under his tennis gear that he had not changed yet since his arrival home. He wanted to rip off his sports clothes, grab her and lay her on the glass coffee table, but he had found long ago that it was better to play her game. When she was ready she would let him know. He must wait for her, and he had learned to wait, to reap the benefits of the waiting in heightened enjoyment for both of them. She ended her dance and Nina Marsdale slid lithely from the glass topped table, casting about an eye for her drink. And then she came to him. Insinuating her.
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