"Obviously," he grinned. "Well… aren't you going to ask me in? I came to see the new abode."

"Y-Yes… yes, of course, come in," she stammered, still surprised at the sight of his presence, but more embarrassed with her own appearance. "I-I just took a bath…"

"Oh? If I'd known, I'd have come earlier… maybe even have gotten to wash your back," he said, moving inside as she closed the door behind him. He was still smiling. He watched the tinge of blood rush into her cheeks, an easily detected sight with her alabaster like skin, and one that always delighted him.

Hell, she was absolutely stunning, he thought. Of all the women he had ever seen, known, and made love to in his prime young existence, she had to be the most beautiful and desirable. His brain raced wildly. What a stupid bastard Cal Sheldon had been. He'd plucked a gem and traded it for a poor facsimile. And Jamey'd thought that Elaine Trent represented beauty when he'd laid her at the Roadhouse… but Christ, there was no comparison. Thirty-one? She looked younger than her own daughter!

"Why don't you sit down, Jamey, while I slip on something…" she was saying, still embarrassed by his unexpected call.

"I'd rather help you," he said, making no move toward accepting her offer to a chair. "As a matter of fact, I prefer you remain as-is. You're lovely when you're natural, Susan… but then, you're always lovely."

It seemed that the redness wouldn't leave her cheeks. She couldn't remember when she'd ever felt quite so embarrassed, nor quite so excited.

Dear God, he was young and handsome! And the wickedness of it was, that she never felt her superior age with him… but more like a teen-ager, or maybe it was that he became older, more mature, when he was with her.

"You're at your best tonight, I see," she heard herself say, surprised at her own repartee. She smiled. "Can I fix you a drink?"