Stuart Woods - Cold Paradise

She took his hand and led him forward. In less than a minute they were standing at the end of his bed, undressing each other. In Callie’s case, it was quick; she was wearing only the two pieces. She sat on the bed and watched him peel off his clothes.

He knelt before her and began kissing the inside of her thighs, as she ran her fingers through his hair. He pushed her back on the bed and explored her delta, kissing the soft, blond fur at the edges. She gave a little shudder as he took her into his mouth. It took only a minute for her to come, and when she was finished, she pulled him onto her by his ears and felt for him, guiding him in.

“I love the first time,” she said, as they made love. “It’s always so…”

“So new,” Stone panted.

“And exciting.”

“Sometimes it gets better as it goes along,” he said, thrusting.

She thrust back. “We’ll see,” she said, and they both came together.

When Stone awoke his cabin was filled with sunshine, and it was past eleven o’clock. He never slept that late, and he was surprised. Callie was gone, and her side of the bed had been made. He shaved and showered, got into some slacks and a polo shirt and, since the palms outside were moving with the breeze, tied a light cashmere sweater around his shoulders.

He found Callie on the afterdeck in a bikini, reading a novel.

“Good morning,” he said, kissing her.

She kissed him back. “You slept late,” she said.

“Something I rarely do. I must have been tired.”

She chuckled. “I should hope so.”

“You look awfully fresh,” he said.

“I’ve only been up for half an hour.”

“Good book?”

“Starts really well. A writer I haven’t read before, but I saw a good review in the Times Book Review last week. Fellow named…” She looked at the cover. “Frederick James.”

“I don’t know him, either.”

“A first novel, the review said. You had breakfast?”

“No, I was considering waiting for lunch.”

“How about brunch? I’ll take you to the Breakers.”

“Isn’t that a hotel?”

“Yes, and it has a nice beach club.”

“Am I dressed properly?”

“Very.” She stood up. “I’ll get into some real clothes.” She put down the book and walked off toward her cabin.

Stone sat down and picked up the book. He read a couple of pages, and by the time she returned, he had read thirty. “You’re right,” he said, “it starts well.” He looked up at her. “You look wonderful.”

“Thank you, sir.” She was wearing a yellow shift that set off her tan.

They walked through the main house, and as they were about to get into her car, a small procession of Mercedes convertibles pulled into the driveway behind them, and a man got out of one and came toward them, carrying a clipboard.

“Where could I find Mr. Shames?” he asked.

“He’s on his way to Palm Beach, but he won’t be arriving until this afternoon.”

“Are you Ms. Hodges?”

“I am.”

“Oh, good. You can sign for the cars.”

She looked at the three convertibles. “Sign for them?”

“I’m delivering them from the dealer,” the man said. “Mr. Shames ordered them some time ago.”

“Sure, I’ll sign,” Callie said, and did so. “Just leave the keys in them.”

“They’re all registered. You want me to show you how everything works?”

“We’ll figure it out,” she said, getting into her car. She pulled out of the drive and headed toward the beach.

“Thad has bought three Mercedes convertibles?”

“He does things like that. Come to think of it, he mentioned this a few weeks ago, and I had forgotten. He bought them for himself and the guests on the yacht to use.”

“I’m unaccustomed to people who buy expensive cars three at a time.”

“Well, if you’re going to work for Thad, you’d better get used to that sort of thing.”

“Actually, my work here is nearly done,” Stone said. “I thought I’d fly home tomorrow.”

She glanced at him. “Whatever your work was, it seems to have been conducted in restaurants. You haven’t been anywhere else here, have you?”

“I guess I haven’t,” Stone replied, “and you’re right.”

“Can you tell me about it now?”

“Afraid not.”

“This is all very mysterious.”

“It isn’t, really, or at least, it wasn’t until I got here.”

“This has to have something to do with the lady in the restaurant the other night.”

“Could be.”

“What’s her name again?”

“Elizabeth Harding.”

“That wasn’t what you told me the other night. It was Alice, or something like that.”

“Allison. Allison Manning.”

“Oh, yeah, Paul Manning’s wife.”

“Widow.” Then it occurred to Stone that she wasn’t Manning’s widow, since he was still alive. He made a mental note to think about that later.

A guard let them through a gate and they drove down a narrow road beside a golf course.

“The Breakers has golf, tennis, the beach, the works,” Callie said. She parked the car. “Come on, I’ll show you the inside of the place before we eat.” She led the way into a huge, twin-towered building and into a lobby that looked like some part of an Italianate cathedral.

“Jesus,” Stone said.

“Yeah. It was built by Henry Flagler, the railroad magnate, who seems to have built just about everything on the east coast of Florida. Come on, let’s get some lunch.” She led him out of the hotel and through another security gate, where she flashed a photo ID. A minute later, they were seated on a broad terrace, overlooking a huge swimming pool and the sea.

The sun shone brightly, but the breeze made it cool, and Stone put on his sweater.

“You dress well,” she said.

“Thanks. So do you.”

“Are your suits, by any chance, made by Doug Hayward?”

“Yes. How did you know?”

“I’ve met a number of men who go to him, and I dragged Thad in there once and made him have a suit made. Doug’s a nice man, isn’t he?”

“I’ve never met him.”

“Oh? How can he make your clothes without meeting you?”

“I inherited a lot of stuff from a friend who died last year. It was all from Hayward.”

They ordered lunch.

“Nice friend,” she said.

“Well, I’ve known his wife for a while. She insisted I take the clothes. In fact, she just shipped them to me and said I could send them to the Goodwill, if I didn’t want them. She was afraid they’d end up in some celebrity auction.”

“Celebrity? Who was he?”

“Your favorite movie star, Vance Calder.”

“Holy mackerel. I’ve been dining with Vance Calder’s clothes?”

“You have, indeed.”

“Who killed Vance Calder, anyway?”

“Good question. There were suspects, but no conviction.”

Their lunch came, and Stone dove into a chicken Caesar salad. “How much time do you spend here?” Stone asked.

“Quite a lot, it seems. Thad does more entertaining here than in New York, so I’ve just camped out on the yacht.”

“Does he have a New York apartment?”

“He keeps that suite you saw at the Four Seasons.”

Stone shook his head.

“Yes, I know, it’s a lot of money. Thad would really prefer to live in hotels full-time, but he thought he ought to have a home somewhere, so he bought the Palm Beach house. I think he bought it as much for dockage for the yacht as for the house, but he’s got a big-time designer doing the place up. There’s a warehouse in West Palm already bursting with stuff that’s ready to move in, as soon as the builders are gone.”

“Which is when?”