Tough-To-Tame

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Nan Mikell shook out the full length of her glowing auburn hair until the tips, hanging far out over the sparkling blue pool, dipped lightly in the water. Her brown, firm-fleshed arm lazily went over the edge of the pool and followed it; she watched the prismatic effect of the water bend her arm, immersed up to the forearm, at an acute angle. She saw the scarlet-tipped fingers of her hand waving gently at her under the water.

Nan rolled over on the cushion. The water of the pool was icy cold; the air was warm and humid. The effect of the two temperatures on her skin was sensual in the extreme. And the Florida sun beat down body, leaving a fine film of silvery sweat over her aroused body. For she was aroused, after all. No use trying to hide that from herself. She had been lying here in the sun on the deck of the big Bal Harbour house for an hour now, and her reverie had passed from her body-slim and brown in its fashionably Palm Beach string bikini, too daring for wear among any but the most intimate of friends-to the mornings calls, to the appointment book (with its dreary succession of charities and obligatory appearances), back to her body again.

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