Kitty Spencer - Three-way weekend

He took a final look in the mirror. His narrow eyes – amber colored and long, like the eyes of a cat – studied every detail of his reflection. Apparently reassured, Carlo moved away from the glass and sat down on the iron-frame bed.

He picked up a bunch of papers and flipped through them. It took him only minutes to check the schedule for the afternoon. One of the travel-office clerks had written out the pertinent information in an untidy scrawl. Rendezvous: two-thirty p.m. at the hotel. Number of persons in group: twenty. Eighteen girls – ages fourteen to seventeen – and two adult teachers. The teachers were a Mr. and Mrs. Horace Clark.

Carlo hummed to himself, softly. The setup suggested inviting possibilities.

The tour's schedule read: "Take group by bus from hotel to Fisherman's Wharf. Visit Maritime Museum. Take four p.m. Harbor Cruise. Upon return, tour Fisherman's Wharf. Group to be back at hotel in time for dinner (this means seven p.m.)."

A routine deal, Carlo had lost count of the number of times he'd done it before.

Quietly, he let himself out of the family apartment. On his way to the hotel, he considered the afternoon's prospects. He was confident he could handle the teachers and, out of the eighteen teenage girls, he estimated he could pick out at least half a dozen nymphets. In fact, if these girls were anything like the last group he'd handled, he would be more likely to have trouble dumping those he didn't want.

No, there wouldn't be any trouble with the girls. Which meant he had to decide how he could best make use of them. The Count? The Count de Andros would be interested, of course, but perhaps he wasn't the right man to approach in the first instance. It might be better to make the first approach to Marceau. Marceau Verner III: middle-aged, rich, former international playboy, now confined to his sumptuous mansion with gout and – it was hinted – something rather worse by way of sickness. Marceau liked young girls. Mostly, he liked them two or three at a time, playing special games he had invented for his own diversion.

Carlo smiled to himself. He would give Marceau a call that evening…

The walled garden behind the small cafe was cool in the early afternoon. Vines covered the walls and the overhead trellis; a light breeze blew through the leaves. Fog silently slipped through the Golden Gate.

Elaine Craig shivered slightly, and Nino immediately put his arm around her. His fingers traced a pattern on her bare forearm; and somehow the young blonde divorcee felt comforted by his touch.

"You are cold?" Nino asked, his expression full of concern. It was one of the things that she had found so appealing about him during the past few days: he took their friendship so seriously. It seemed a long time since a man had been concerned about her thoughts and feelings. Too long, in fact. She was accustomed to being spoiled.

Everything about Elaine seemed important to Nino and the girl luxuriated in his interest, telling him all about her Baltimore childhood and endlessly detailing her likes, dislikes and opinions on practically every subject under the sun. The Italian boy had been sympathetic when she told him she was divorced – and that she didn't wish to discuss the matter, ever. He had understood. He seemed to understand so many things about her. She smiled up at him.

"You must have a cognac," Nino said. "It will warm you up."

His arm tightened around her and she felt his fingers into her flesh; his animal warmth seeped through her light cotton dress.

What is the matter with me? she wondered. What is there about this man that arouses me?

As Elaine speculated, the darkly handsome youth slipped his arm further around her, letting his fingers brush lightly across her breast. Then, for a brief second, he held its firm fullness cupped in his hand. Immediately, she pushed his hand away. But it was impossible to conceal her involuntary reaction. At his touch, her nipple grew hard; its outline could be clearly seen pressing against the thin material of her dress.

She flushed, seeing Nino's hot downward gaze. The boy's tongue moistened his lips, and Elaine imagined she could feel his soft warm mouth close around her breast and sense the pull as he sucked on it. She shuddered! When she looked into his eyes, she realized that he had been thinking of exactly the same thing.

"I'll have that cognac," she flustered, trying to cover her sudden confusion. Her voice came out more huskily than usual.

Nino signaled the waiter for two cognacs. As they waited for their drinks in an uneasy silence Elaine remembered that she had not given him any money. She glanced around the garden. There were only three other people there – a very young couple and a man, the latter drinking steadily – but she did not like giving the bill to Nino in front of them. Or in front of the waiter.

It had been difficult to persuade Nino to put their friendship on a reasonable basis.

"No!" he had exclaimed on their second date when Elaine had offered to pay for herself. "You make me feel ashamed."

Elaine had been patient in her argument. She had also been determined to win and finally she had gotten her own way, as usual.

"I appreciate your sentiment, Nino," she'd said. "But this is different. Us, I mean."

Without saying it outright, Elaine managed to convey that she understood Nino's financial difficulties. He had told her he worked as a tourist guide and his salary was abysmally low. After her first date with the young Italian, the young divorcee had decided that she wanted to get to know him better. Besides, she would have her very own tourist guide. And she was quite certain in her or mind that she did not want to spend her time in cheap bars, which would be the only places he could afford.

While Elaine had been arguing her point, the boy had sat staring moodily into his empty coffee cup. She had not been sure whether he had understood her reasoning, but she was perfectly sure that he shared her desire for them to be together as much and as often as possible.

"Your husband – he gives you money?"

The blunt question had come unexpectedly, and she had recoiled in surprise. She had not expected him to ignore her expressed desire to avoid talking about her husband (her ex-husband, she reminded herself). But, on second thought, she supposed Nino's sudden callousness stemmed from his embarrassment about the money situation. She decided to be brisk and businesslike.

"No. I receive no alimony. My father gives me an allowance." Elaine's voice was very cold and her tone successfully fended off any more unwanted questions.

Suddenly, his hand had covered hers as it lay on the table.

"I'm sorry," he'd said softly. "My poor, beautiful Elaine…"

So he had understood after all! That night, Elaine paid exactly half the cost of the dinner and drinks.

On their next date, the young blonde had slipped several bills into the youth's hand and told him to pay for everything out of it. When he tried to return the bills, she'd pushed him away. Nino had stood firm; their argument developed into a physical struggle.

Fighting apparently aroused him. In the middle of their hassle, he had grabbed her and kissed her so roughly that her lips had been bruised. They had been standing in shadow, oblivious of passers-by in the street, a few feet from Elaine's hotel, and the girl could not help wondering what might have happened if they hadn't been in such a public place. She hadn't realized before how strong he was, nor how quickly and easily inflamed.

Later that same night, she had lain in bed in her high-ceilinged room, restless and unable to sleep. She could still feel the boy's virile young body thrust itself demandingly against her. Her own desire swelled as she remembered it, and her hands moved of their own volition to trace the memory across the curve of her stomach and down. She rolled over onto her side, her body shuddering spasmodically. It was a long time before she drifted into uneasy sleep.