26
SECOND ACTS
winding their way up the path, weaving through the maze of hallways, and every time they realized they’d taken a wrong turn, they stopped to whisper and kiss. He traveled slowly from lips to neck to collarbone to breasts and southward, taking unpredictable, circuitous side trips, making her shiver...making her weak in the knees. The sun, the surf, the drinks, and her slightly sunburned skin——not painful, but ultrasensitive——created a sweet, tingling, coconut-flavored sensory overload. With each new corridor, more zippers unzipped and buttons unbuttoned. It took a while to find the right room and by the time they arrived, they were unhooked, untied, unfastened, and utterly unraveled—their clothes more off than on. Along the way, he made her laugh by sliding the key suggestively into lock after incorrect lock, before finally easing gently into number fourteen and, at last, mercilessly consummating the evening and shaking her to her core. Plink: Another photo, interior, room fourteen, fresh bouquet. When Max wanted something, he never, ever, ever gave up. BZZZZZ: Walter calling. Sorry, Mr. Bubble Wrap. Beep: straight to voicemail. Plink: Chocolate on pillow. HONKKKK! BMW behind Cynthia leaned on his