After Pai-mei had departed, Forbes belted on an old brocade robe and went in search of a highball. The woman was positively dangerous in her allure. The place smelled like her for hours after.
He was content with that.
The tiny kitchen contained no food to speak of, only bar supplies such as lemons and cherries. Forbes would have to find something to eat on the way home — oh, goodness was he tired of Chinese food. Why this country couldn't manage a decent steakhouse was beyond him. Americans around every corner for the past thirty years, and still it was eggplant pizza and dubious fried foods.
Though he tried not to dwell on such things, Forbes had to admit that he felt guilty for having made love with his informant. Not guilty enough to quit, admittedly, but guilty enough to wish he could be a little smarter about it. She was so damned hard to turn down. A man had to be made of sterner flesh than his to resist that sparkling smile, those pneumatic breasts and that taut belly.
|Originally published at jlake.com.|