"Connie Willis - One-Eyed Jack" - читать интересную книгу автора (Willis Connie)

skirt just slightly at the front. "Well, come on if you're coming," she muttered.
For just an instant, before her skirt overlapped the threadbare cuff, she had
another glimpse of that jade-green serpentine form, its blunt tip almost entirely
taken up by a single, glistening eye.


As the creature coiled its way up her silk-clad calf, she stood unmoving, head
bowed as though in grief, suppressing an almost overpowering urge to shudder
and cursing Jack for not telling her what to expect. "Amazing what they've got,"
he'd said. "Live things in big jars and baskets." Hardly enough warning for this.
But, as the sinuous pressure reached above her garter to her naked thigh, the
creature's familiar touch ignited other, pleasanter urges.
Gundersen, the undertaker, approached Miss Lily warily, and she realized she
was gripping her whip as though she meant business. "Give him your best coffin,
Sam. I'm paying."


Then she walked, very slowly and carefully, out of the street and toward her
verandahed haven. Her hips swayed only slightly, so as not to dislodge her
passenger, but all male eyes were on her, and she knew she must be projecting
a good deal of what she was feeling. "If you only knew it, fellows," she thought,
with a sly inward smile in spite of genuine grief, "I've got more between my legs
just now than any ten of you." Not that it made her feel in the least like a man.
Far, far from it.


Walking up the stairs toward her room was . . . interesting.


Slow Joe burst through the front door just as she reached the landing. "Joe,"
Miss Lily said, "Get me a train ticket to San Francisco for tomorrow. And tell
Annie to come up and pack for me -- but not for an hour or two yet. Make
damn sure she knocks first!"


She'd more or less promised Jack to take care of his . . . whatever. In the long
run she was going to need to find out more about its care and, well, feeding. For
now, she knew all she needed to know.


"Thanks, Jack," Miss Lily murmured in the sybaritic privacy of her bedroom. Her
breasts were beginning to heave again and her breathing was getting out of
control. "Thanks for everything."




Copyright ┬й 2001 Connie Wilkins