Coats disappeared first. Hands explored the others body. Breathing quickened. It had begun. Passion suddenly unleashed itself. Like a floodgate openin... emotion consumed them. He pressed her up against the wall of the room, their tongues writhing across a void of lust. She felt him grinding at her waist, his arousal filling his pants. A sensation caught her off guard a moment, a tingle, a brief brush against her thigh, then suddenly under her skirt, his hand cupping her mound. He buried his. Just give me the bitch."His eyebrows shot up."For tonight, Pablo. Just forget the drink for tonight. I'll be back here tomorrow."He smiled. When I was writing, I came in for inspiration. When I was rewriting, I came in for consolation. Particularly these past few weeks, since I had inherited William Tecumseh Sherman as my editor. Not really, of course. The real General Sherman has been dead for a century or so, God be praised. But his modern counterpart, a New York editor whose name I didn't. More

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