His lips brushed against her cheek. She sucked in her breath and felt her tight, conical tits swell and harden, the pink nipples thrusting against the satin material of her dress.

The world and you, too, Logan? she wanted to ask.

She couldn't face him. She felt too jittery inside, knowing he was right, knowing that time was running out. "I haven't buried myself, Logan," she said weakly. "I just haven't gotten over…"

"It's been three years since Carl piled himself up in his Porsche, honey," he said bluntly. "What good is this beautiful house on the beach and the boat in back and all the money he left you, if you bury yourself in a hole of grief and won't come out and enjoy it?"

She looked at him quickly. "Is that what bothers you, Logan? That my money isn't being spent the way you think it should be?"

"Aw, come on, Chris. What is this? Do you think I'm after your money? Is that really what you think? By God, let's get it out in the open-right now!"

"You wouldn't be the first," she said tightly. "A rich widow, left alone in the prime of her life-"

"A beautiful widow, younger than prime," he smiled, half mocking her. "I've told you a hundred times, you don't look thirty-five. You look younger than I do, tall and willowy and slim and absolutely delicious."

"Easy pickings for some young stud to sweep off her feet, with a daughter who's just-"

"Just as beautiful as her mother, even if she is only fifteen, with high, thrusting tits and a twitch in her tight little ass that only a lecherous stepfather's prick could quiet."

"Oh, shut up!" Christine cried, gasping at the suggestion.

Even though the thought had occurred to her before, she couldn't help but notice the slight smile on his mouth when he said it.

"And let's not forget old Midnight over there, snoring away with his head between his paws. Surely there must be a place in the grand and treacherous scheme for a black Labrador. Let's see, now-hush up that wailing sound of self-pity and let me think of a way to use the dog in my sinister plot."