She glanced at the clock and saw that it was eleven-thirty already. He should have been back from Loon Key for dinner.

Worry nagged at her. Then a muddle of resentment and anger. It was that damn motel. The new one he was building that had taken him from her like a tight-skirted tramp.

She would be glad when it was finished. There were ten others in the Hanson chain, from Palm Beach south along the Gold Coast to Miami. After he'd married her, she'd shared in the building of nine of them, helping him create the tiny little empire that was all theirs.

But this one on Loon Key was different. He'd excluded her from it. He was building it just as he'd built the first one-without her. And he'd excluded her from himself as well, making her nearly a widow. A frustrated one. This past year had been degrading When she should have been serene and satisfied at thirty-eight, she was having to finger-fuck herself like a girl younger than her son when the need became too great

The motel was nearly finished now. God, she'd be glad! There weren't going to be any more of them added to the chain, even if she had to strap him to the house, because she wouldn't go through another year like this one.

She glanced at her lush body-in the mirror again. She wondered if she was too much for him, if his age was really catching up with him. Paul was going to be fifty-eight this summer, after all. But he'd always been robust, his plunging prick amply satisfying to her. Until this past year.

He'd claimed it was the new motel, the worry over it. He denied there was another woman sapping him. Vera believed both statements. They'd made her resolve not to be tempted by other men. And there were plenty of offers. They thought she was fair game because of Paul's age and her deceptive youth.