Isabel recognized Peter's voice right away. "Hello? Who'sthis?" "Ha-aaa-kkka!" (help, Peter), Isabel replied. "My name's Peter Metcalfeand I am lookin... for Isabel Metcalfe who should be there tonight? Can you connectme, please?" "Aahh-iiff-eee-rrr" (help us; it's me, Peter). "Blast, this mustbe a bad connection. Hello? I can't make you out. I'll call back again whenthe line is clear. Thank you. Good night, whoever you are." Click. Mmmm. Hehad hung up. Isabel stared, dumbfounded, at the. By the time he’d recovered she was busy undoing his trousers. She kissed him over and over, speaking in half-sentences between each: “It’s okay, isn’t it? I know we wanted to wait, but I just can’t. And now that you’ve met everyone it’s basically official already, right?”“Sure. Of course. Yes.” She stripped him in record time (most of him, anyway—he was still wearing his undershirt). Climbing on top, she loosed the little bow on her nightwear and let if fall open, pushing his hands underneath.. More

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