The Lady Doctor's Alibi by J. Roberts Page B

again,” she said. “My ass is sore enough . . . for a while. Come downstairs. Breakfast is ready, and we have to talk.”
    “I’ll be right there.”
    She left the room and he got dressed. Maybe he’d finally worn her out, for a change. As he went downstairs, he could smell the bacon and coffee. Maybe this wouldn’t be a bad life, for a while.
    As he entered the dining room, she was putting breakfast on the table.
    “No servants?”
    “I don’t want to make it obvious yet that you’re here,” she told him. “Sit.”
    He sat, piled his plate with eggs, bacon, biscuits. By God, the woman could cook?
    “Enjoying it?” she asked, seated across from him.
    “Oh, yeah.”
    “And the sex?”
    “Well . . . yeah, you know that.”
    “And the money,” she said, “you’re going to enjoy the money.”
    With his mouth full, he asked, “What’s your point?”
    “If we want to keep living this life, certain things have to be done,” she said.
    “Like what?”
    “Like murder,” she said.
    He stared at her.
    “I thought that was how we got here?” he asked.
    “Yes,” she said, “but if we want to stay here—if you want to stay here—then more people have to die.”
    He took a big mouthful of coffee and swallowed thoughtfully.
    “Who?” he asked finally.
     
    Clint woke with Josephine’s head on his chest, her breasts pressed to him. He put his arms around her, held her that way for a few moments, his face in her hair. It smelled like her cooking. Then he ran his hands down her bare back, enjoying the feel of her smooth skin. One hand came to rest at the small of her back and she stirred. She lifted her head, looked at him, then kissed him. He kissed her back. She slid one leg over him and straddled him. His penis swelled between them. She rubbed her hairy thatch up and down him, wetting him with her juices before actually taking him inside her.
    She leaned over him so her big breasts dangled in his face. He reached for them, held them, squeezed them, sucked on those amazing nipples while she rode him, her hair a wild black cloud around her head.
    She rode him that way for a while, her hips never stopping. He let her have her way for a long time, but finally flipped her onto her back so abruptly that she yelled—but didn’t object.
    He hooked his elbows underneath her knees, spread her wide, and pounded into her without stopping until they both finished with a long groan from him and a loud shout from her . . .
     
    “Breakfast?” he asked.
    “Soon,” she said, her head on his shoulder. “First I need to rest.”
    “No,” he said, “I don’t mean I want you to cook it. There must be someplace else in this town that has decent food. I’ll take you out for breakfast.”
    She lifted her head and stared at him.
    “Really?”
    “Why not?”
    “I have not been to a restaurant in Veracruz in . . . well, a very long time.”
    “Well, let’s make today the day.”
    “But . . . I need some clean clothes.”
    “You’ll look fine—”
    “Cabrón!” she snapped, slapping him on the chest. “I cannot go somewhere to eat wearin’ the same clothes I wore yesterday!”
    “Okay, okay,” he said. “We’ll stop by your rooms and you can get some fresh clothes.”
    She sat up in bed, pulling the sheet up to her neck, and said, “And now I must decide where to eat.”

TWENTY-NINE
    Clint expected Josephina to take him to some fancy restaurant in a better part of town, maybe one that she’d been wanting to eat in for a long time. Instead, they only went a few blocks from her place, where most of the customers seemed to be dockworkers and sailors, with a few other citizens sprinkled among them.
    Fish was never a favorite meal of Clint’s. He usually only ate it when it was all he could get, when he was on the trail and camped near a stream. Since Veracruz was right on the water, fish was popular, and Josephina said she was taking him for some of the best fish she’d ever tasted.
    As they entered,