She took the last wedge from her half of the pizza andgazed at Matthew. They should shower first shethought. Her skin was moist and sticky, the evenin... was nearly as hot as the day had been. She could smellthe musky, woman-scent of herself drifting up. Herarmpits were wet and, as if to underline the facts, adrop of sweat trickled down into her bra. There werestill tiny pieces of grass on her forearms from themowing. Damn it, she was a mess - but oh god, sohorny. She squirmed on the chair and. ‘Mmm… a woman in black panty hose,’ the gravelly American voice said. ‘Political correctness not yet arrived on yourside of the pond, then?’ Trina answered, unfazed. ‘Shit, no. Not when there’s a broad in the offing in the kinda shape you’re in.’ Her admirer introduced himself. ‘Al Fresco, FBI.’ ‘Hello, Al Fresco.’ Trina resisted smiling at his name. It was hard. ‘DCI Christine Edwards. Call me Trina. What’s the FBI doing here?’ ‘Just a watching brief. And I do like watching briefs, though it. More

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