Gemini Heat by Portia Da Costa

Author:Portia Da Costa [Costa, Portia Da]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Romance, Erotic, Adult
ISBN: 9780352341877
Google: Ze0bIAAACAAJ
Amazon: 0352341874
Goodreads: 2857733
Publisher: Virgin Books
Published: 1995-03-27T11:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

Samurai Dreams

It was the first time Deana had ever truly envied her sister, and she didn't like the feeling.

Throwing off the single sheet from her naked, perspiring body, she gave up on sleep, slid her legs out of bed and stood up. Whether getting up would make things any better was debatable, but she'd always preferred action to inaction. Snatching up her thin cotton robe, she shrugged it on and padded her way to the kitchen.

Deana loved this little flat of theirs, and she'd invested a lot of her flair in it, but suddenly it looked drab and uninteresting. Because of where Delia was. And who she was with . . . Taking a sip from her glass of fizzy water, Deana switched off the light again. The dark was far easier to brood in.

It was a better environment for imaging too, although that maybe wasn't such a good thing to be doing right now. It would be better to keep fantasy to a minimum tonight. To resist dreams. Because they'd probably hurt like hell.

When she closed her eyes, though, it seemed that the damage was done. The pictures had already arrived . . .

You're mad, she told herself, stroking her thighs through her robe as Jake appeared in her mind. Cool, dark Jake and her sister Delia, nude in an acre-sized bed, screwing like animals and screaming with pleasure . . .

Oh well done, Deana, anyone would think you were a masochist!

She found it difficult to believe how badly she was reacting. In this same position, Delia had shown far more sense. When it was her night 'off', she'd found another man to keep her company.

For half a second, Deana considered turning the game back in on itself. She could sneak upstairs and pass herself off as Delia ... It could work if she was sharp, but Peter would be trickier to fool than Jake. He'd been around her and Delia for years and years and might notice the differences. They were almost indiscernible, but they did exist.

There was one big flaw in this plan however, and in her heart of hearts, Deana was glad of it. Peter knew that it was Delia who was out tonight, because she'd told him herself. Damn!

She considered her options with little enthusiasm. Maybe I should just get a proper drink and watch TV on the all-night channel? Or I could try sketching, perhaps, or read a good book . . .

Hold that thought!

On the word 'book' another vision had formed. A quite different one this time. The dim and decadent interior of the so-called club 'Seventeen' . . . And in it a certain beautiful authoress with a long, fire-red plait and a distinctive taste in clothes.

Vida Mistry.

Who wrote books.

Ignoring her flapping robe and the loss of its flimsy tie, Deana ran through into the living room. She stubbed her toe on the way and swore, then shrugged philosophically. It was that kind of night.

Down beside the window was an over-filled bookcase which threatened to collapse any second.

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