God, she was always a lusty little hot-box right after, wasn't she? Tanya Foster thought racily to herself, wriggling the naked roundness of her full white buttocks in little sensuous undulations against the smoothness of the satin-sheeted mattress. A tiny shiver of erotic delight tingled along her spine. Reflexively, she brushed her long slender fingers with a light touch over the excitable, resilient flesh of her full, white breasts, absently teasing at their tiny, ruby-like nipples until they were quivering buds of sensitive hardness. He could have at least waited until morning; she'd certainly dropped enough hints all evening long. She thought this as she lay there uneasily in her aroused nakedness, the soft glow from the bedside lamp playing over the smooth curves and hollows of her young, supple body, heatedly adding to her sensual appetite.

Of course, the drinks hadn't done anything to cool her down either, especially the last two she'd had, after Clete Anderson had led Rodney off on a leisurely tour to the various places the dog pack had struck, killing animals and frightening women. Rodney had gone at this hour on the half-chance that they would sight the dogs and perhaps be able to photograph them in the act. But she'd needed the drinks; she'd been so damned mad when Rodney had told her he probably wouldn't be home until morning. Such absolute nonsense, the whole ludicrous yarn, a wild dog raping a girl! It surprised her that an intelligent man like Mark Denning could lend any credence at all to such an absurd story. But he had looked a trifle skeptical himself, almost shrugging off Rodney's questions. However, DesirЋe, before her fantasy wedding, had practically refused to discuss the matter, continuously changing the subject. Frankly, she'd been just as satisfied, Tanya remembered, half smiling to herself, any reference to sex doing nothing but turning her on that much more.