Her small round breasts were vulnerable under her mostly nonfunctional Kmart bikini bra. She had to school herself to speak the words which she knew would cut him like a knife. Hadn’t they settled that already? “I want you as a friend,” he persisted, almost as if he disputed something. Yet her aunt, with a ringed hand flitting to her lips and a puzzled, worried look in her eyes, deaf to all this riot of warmth and flitting desire, was playing Patience—playing Patience, as if Dionysius and her curate had died together. " Nor was this all. “My husband!” she laughed a little derisively.
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