I looked up, the Madonna looked back.Two of Madonna’s fingers were lost in her curls, circling, slowly circling.I grabbed the unguent, warmed it fie...cely between my palms, began to attend her calf.Her right foot made a circular movement. I leaned into it, her foot pressed back, poking, exploring, rubbing . . .Was this my Squoots?‘. . . lina oggi . . . Cerruti . . . Trussardi . . . Fendi . . . Schiaparelli . . .’Damn. I was losing her.Scrapping the oils, I began nibbling behind her knee, a. It was immediately clear that her arrival had interrupted a heated argument going on within the house, because he already looked furious. A duffel bag, one of the ones she presumed contained Brian’s packed clothing, was clutched in a quashing grip in his enormous hand—he wasn’t holding it by the handles. With his broad, fat body and impressive height, six foot ten at the least, he seemed like an ogre brandishing an oblong rock.A flash of fear crept into the righteous anger she’d been building. More

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