stunning gold sequined cocktail dress. It clung flawlessly to her well-toned body, as if it was almost a second skin. And it shimmered miraculously. The front was cut low and wide, generously enough to show a great deal of incredible suntanned cleavage while not revealing more than a sexy suggestion of her marvelous bosom. Her thick wavy blond hair, hanging free and full, was silky and luminous.
Wow! Payne thought. The goddess glows!
She looks so full of life, her eyes so warm and inviting.
And that dress! It radiates like a sea at sunset.
Sorry, Luna. Your greeting just got bested.
Far, far and away . . .
And he saw that Amanda—Perhaps even better, though it’d be the absolute last damn thing I’d ever admit to—was holding a cocktail napkin wrapped around a squat, heavy crystal glass that was dark with what had to be an intoxicant.
“Glad you could make it,” she said, her tone warm, genuinely meaning it. “I was beginning to worry.”
As she turned her head slightly to the right, offering her left cheek, Matt said, “Sorry, baby, crazy day,” and kissed her affectionately.
She held out the glass and flashed her dazzling smile.
“Macallan Eighteen, half water, two ice cubes.”
He took it and grinned. “You not only have an incredible mind, but also a very dangerous memory.”
She smiled again. “I’ll take that as a compliment. Thank you.”
“That said, you’re not only an angel but a lifesaver. I’ve been longing for one of these all day.”
As he took a big sip, she reached for his other hand and tugged him toward the interior of the condominium.
“Come on and sit down. Relax.”
With Luna leading the way, they went into the living room and sat on the big, soft, black leather couch. It faced the floor-to-ceiling windows, and the lights of the city twinkled far into the distance. From the high-fidelity digital music player that Matt had bought Amanda when she started spending so much time at home came the soft, soothing voice of Diana Krall singing “Besame Mucho.”
Matt looked at Amanda, thought, Kiss me much, indeed—then leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek again.
She smiled almost shyly.
He sat back and suddenly said, “You’re not having anything?”
“Oh, yeah,” she said, brushing her hair behind her ear and glancing back toward the kitchen.
She pushed herself up off the couch and said, “I’ll be right back.”
“How was your day, baby?” Payne asked as she went.
Amanda called back, “Interesting. Thanks for asking. I was going to tell you about it. But first enjoy your drink.”
Uh-oh.
Was that a red flag, or maybe a yellow caution one, that just went up?
Matt watched over his shoulder as she disappeared into the kitchen. As he looked back at the lights outside, he could hear the sounds of her getting something out of the refrigerator and unwrapping it.
Oh, shit. She’s had food prepared.
So she was waiting for me to reply when I sent that text.
But I was up to my ass in alligators. . . .
Then that made him think: Surreal.
Four dead just three blocks from here.
Absolutely surreal . . .
He heard the soft padding sound of bare feet approaching.
“Here you go, sweetie,” Amanda said, putting an enormous platter of antipasto on the low marble table in front of the couch. Her other hand held a crystal stem, its huge goblet full of red wine. “I thought we could do this instead of any dinner.”
“It looks marvelous. I love it. Thank you.”
He reached down and grabbed a giant black olive and wrapped it in a large, thin slice of salami, then shoved the whole thing in his mouth. He chewed, nodding appreciatively at her, his eyes following her as she dropped back onto the couch.
She scooted closer beside him, holding her wineglass up and then tucking her bare feet under her golden-sequined fanny.
Just beautiful, he thought. And so damn sexy.
He touched his glass to hers, and said, “Cheers!”
He then watched as she reached to the table and picked up a salad fork.
She attempted to delicately spear a prosciutto-wrapped rectangle of cantaloupe. Twice. On the third attempt, made very slowly, she hit her target. She chewed the morsel and followed it with a very generous gulp of her wine.
Over the top of her glass, she made eye contact with him. When she’d swallowed the wine, she smiled.
My God, she truly is a goddess.
But why do I suspect that may not be her first glass of vino?
Or her second?
And that is a huge glass. . . .
Matt drained the rest of his eighteen-year-old single-malt.
“I’ll make