Dave Carter's tall, broad form was all but hidden behind the tiki-bar as he searched for the bottle of expensive Scotch that was hidden by the cheaper party booze. His head was already spinning, both from drinks and from the jarring fact that his wife's sister was now visiting them.

A good drunk might calm down the crazy erotic images that flashed through his mind every time he looked at his sister-in-law. Scotch and cream were supposed to help ulcers; so he had been told, but it wouldn't help the burning fire in his gut for Connie.

Everybody had a lost love, a person who had passed through their lives, leaving unfinished business behind to haunt them. His wife's older sister was his demon fantasy.

The years had been physically generous to Connie, what life had been like in Hollywood, they didn't know--that had always remained somewhat shaded, details avoided. Pat had said her sister was going through a difficult time. The two sisters had talked quite a bit in private during the first hours of her arrival. The details had not been shared with him. Pat never revealed any confidence. Pat was a quiet, thoughtful woman, gentle and caring. Her sister had always been more extroverted.

Connie had managed to keep a more or less safe distance from Dave, except for that momentary embrace when she entered the house.

She was a breathtaking woman, far more beautiful then when she'd left town for California, so many years ago. She was pure glamour with a polish and sophistication that hadn't been evident when they had their summer romance.

The first look at Connie had stunned him. And when she'd come warmly into his arms for a sisterly hello the feel of that lush body had sparked old memories. That one, innocent seeming, momentary greeting had shaken him to the core. For just a moment she seemed to cling needily to him.

Her visit was unexpectedly jarring. The timing was very bad. All he needed was Connie lounging around the house.

At this time of his life an affair with someone, anyone, might be a logical solution to a lot of problems. And if Connie so much as batted and eyelash his way it would make things terribly awkward.

He'd never cheated on Pat--not that the idea hadn't been tempting at times. There were plenty of women who were willing to enter into casual one-night stands. The single life was hell and some marriages were much the same. Just surviving on a daily basis could be a crushing experience. Nothing was perfect. No relationship ideal.

And his marriage was going through some difficult times.

"Hey, what's you doin' down there?" a throaty female voice chanted above the churning conversational and musical blare of the party.

That voice! Ruth Milton. Oh, god, seduction city itself!

She was Ben's dark-haired, bouncy spouse. They lived down the street and were great party people. But very open about their views concerning sex and marriage. They had an open marriage but had never made unwanted passes at anybody. Yet the stories he'd heard about Ruth were pretty fiery! Considering his mood, she was all he needed!

Ben delighted in telling detailed, possibly extrapolated, versions of his sexual adventures, both with Ruth and other women. He never named names, but the stories were pretty racy. He went out of his way to say things like: "She'll do ya with hands, mouth and where it does her the most good! Likes doing it while watching me with another woman!" It was obvious that an arrangement could be made for a swap-party with them. Something nobody had ever come out and talked about.

Yet Ben, at parties, was innocently friendly with the women. Ruth, on the other hand, took a more aggressive path--dancing with her was like having sex, standing up, with clothes on! She enjoyed brazen flirtations, even if innocently played with untouchables like himself.

He figured she got a charge creating mental fantasies in men's minds. And Ruth knew just how to package herself, and how to inspire desire without stepping over the line.

Actually, conversational gambits with her could be a lot of fun, flitting around the edges of verbal seduction without crossing a line.

"Well?" she pushed, throatily. "What's ya doin' down there?"

"Finding myself a drink," Dave laughed, a little embarrassed, much like a boy caught reaching into a cookie jar.

"With all this stuff on the bar?" Her voice was far too low; husky.

Dave found the Scotch bottle, stood. "Ulcer!"

Laughing with full lips spread wide over even teeth, she said a little too loud: "That's new, never heard of Ulcer Scotch!"

"No ... my ulcer! Scotch and cream, good for the ulcer," he explained, pouring himself a stiff three fingers of the amber liquor. Dipping down behind the bar, he opened the small icebox, got cream, and then added it to the booze.

Ruth was already helping herself to a stiff shot from the bottle. "Gotta see how Ulcer Scotch tastes!"

He nodded, irritated by her depletion of his private stock; and frustrated by the low-cut of her dress that revealed a good portion of bulging flesh.

At parties she was always dressed in low cut, tightly revealing dresses, that caught a man's eyes. Suddenly he realized he was staring down her neckline.

"Like what ya see, lov?" she laughed.

"Sorry." He felt embarrassed.

"Don't be. Nice havin' a man enjoy the sites!" Then she said more seriously: "Kinda funny how men are so taken by a woman's boobs."

He laughed, asked: "What's so funny about that? Pretty natural."

"Oh, I know that, honey. But what is it that turns you guys on?"

"Are you kidding?"

"No, not at all." She grinned up at him, almost seductively, certainly teasingly, said: "Well, what is it that you like?"

"Well..." he stumbled on that one.

"Come on, Dave. I'm serious. Always wondered. And I'm asking a man who ... I figure is a friend in need. And I need to know."

"Yes, I can imagine what you need," he chuckled.

She reached out and gripped his arm, caressingly, while looking rather seductively into his eyes.

"You know my rep. Just ask and you'll receive!"

"Now, be a nice lady."

"I am. Nicer than you'll ever know. Sad to say," she murmured.

At that point she fell silent as if she knew the line had been drawn and stepping beyond that would be simply impolite.

Their eyes met for a moment, Ruth's hiding--far too awkwardly--amused sexual invitation. Par for the course. But it seemed as if she were saying, out loud, "I wonder what you're like in bed."

Of course that was his imagination.

Still she seemed to be literally shredding the clothing off his body. She had never been so obvious. At least not with him.

A shiver rushed though him.

In order to escape that seething hot gaze, Dave's eyes flinted around the room then spotted Connie, through the door that led into the large playroom. She was talking to, of all people, Ruth's husband.

God, she looks beautiful, he thought, a real jab of jealousy stabbing at him. Ben would just love to make a pass at her. In fact he had said as much to Dave earlier that evening.

"Does she or doesn't she?" the man had asked.

"What?"

"Well, being in show-biz. That's a pretty wild life out there in Loony Town. And she's decked out to seduce a blank wall!"

"Hands off," Dave warned.

"Hell, you know me. I only make passes at willing lasses! But, she's something out of heaven--and hell combined."

"She's had a rough time of it," he suddenly confided in his friend. "Hollywood's been tough on her, I guess."

"Really? You'd never know that from the look of her. She's a super lady!"

The conversation stopped there and now he saw that Ben was being very cozy with Connie.

She knew how to take care of herself. It was never said in so many words, but he guessed she'd slept with some men here and there to get parts.

Suddenly Ben left Connie and she turned Dave's way. For a moment their eyes met.

Ruth's voice broke into his thoughts. "Your sister-in-law is quite a woman, making a real point with all the men. You knew her before you knew Pat, didn't you?" He turned, looked at Ruth. She had already consumed her first drink of Scotch and was now feeling the combined effects of that and the rum punch he'd mixed for the party.

"We knew each other," he admitted blandly. "That was twelve years ago or more. Ancient history!" He wanted to be rid of Ruth, but couldn't think of any polite way of going about it. One innocent flirtatious push and he'd ended up making a bloody fool of himself. Anything to escape thoughts of Connie.

Taking the Scotch and cream, he swallowed down half of it as Ruth said: "Isn't it wild, having her staying here?"

"Not really," Dave lied. "Just another sister-in-law story."

Ruth touched his check tenderly. All quiet sex. "You're cute, Dave." She laughed lightly, as if joking. "I've always found you such a darling. Could just eat you all up ... well ... if you were on the dinner table, that is."

"That's what you say to all the guys."

"Yes. Perhaps."

"You're just a naughty flirt!" he chuckled, trying hard to avoid the obvious implication of her words.

"Sometimes naughty, sometimes nice. You know me! I just love to flirt!"

"Yes, I've noticed. Though ... sometimes it can be difficult to tell where it really is meant to lead."

She smiled mysteriously up at him, shrugged, said: "Well, there's flirt and there's flirt!"

"And the difference?" he asked.

"Well, there's the flirt that teases without any temptation to do more than that. Then there's the flirt that can lead to a cozy nicely shared bed."

"Okay. That's obvious."

"Well ... I don't make passes at any ol' laddie. But it wouldn't be difficult to find you a desirable target."

That was edging just too close to a serious pass.

As if realizing how close those words had come to crossing the line, Ruth leaned back, glanced over his shoulder at Connie, then said softly: "Why do I think you're lying to yourself and to me ... about your lovely sister-in-law?"

"What in the world would make you say that?" he said, defensively, almost angry.

"Well, she is one sexy package. And considering what I know about life and women and men ... and all that stuff ... I'll tell you she's one wild lady to have swimming around in our town, and in your house. What a beautiful hot temptation she'd be to any man alive! And so close to you!" She glanced back at him, eyes probing. "I can imagine what must be hankering in the back of your mind!"

She laughed lustily at that. "She's one hot lady!"

"Christ!" he muttered, half to himself, then to her: "She's Pat's sister, for God's sake."

"Yes. Of course, an untouchable." The wicked twinkle in her eyes added: just like me!

"Ancient history!" he blurted. "Nothing more!"

"If you say so," she offered, smiling knowingly. Then more seriously added: "Well, never mind that. But I've never seen you so on edge. You look like a man on fire."

"Oh, come on, now."

"Well, okay. But I've never seen such a hungry look in a man's eyes ... who wasn't on the make for some fun and games. And ... honestly? You literally look..." Her voice trailed off. "Never mind."

"What?"

"Just never mind. Maybe I should just step into your arms and make the most of it!" she teased, winking. "I sure know when a man's ripe for the picking, I do know that, you can bet you ... well, whatever." She shrugged, looking a bit uncertain, as if she had leaped across a line beyond which she shouldn't have moved. "I'm sorry, Dave. I'm in one of those moods. And you're not the man to be playing that kind of game. Just that ... the drinks, I suppose. And ... well..."

The words and the expression on her face lacked conviction. But she added: "Just you seem ... lost and needy. Sorry, I don't make passes at ... well you know what I mean!"

"Sure."

She shrugged, and merely smiled at him.

A flush burned his cheeks. He looked away, then back at Connie. Now she was talking to Harvey Peterson, one of the bachelor-studs from the office; a man who, by reputation, would probably be making a direct pass at her body before the night was up--and he wouldn't stop at Go or collect two hundred dollars ... but, maybe score. Probably not.

He kept trying to avoid Ruth's eyes. She was kind of frightening. There was no doubt that she would make a serious pass if he gave her any encouragement. He wished she'd go away.

Through the double-glass doors that led from the den to the patio, just beyond Ruth, Dave spotted his wife dancing with Ben Milton at a respectable distance. The music beat loudly from the playroom. Suddenly Dave wanted to be someplace alone and quietly get drunk.

Or in bed with Pat. Then maybe things would look different. Maybe she'd be different.

He finished off the Scotch, lay the glass on the bar, his fingers gripping it in an effort to restrain himself from the sudden urge to scream. His mind whirled with memory of how it had been with Connie.

Frantically, he attempted to shake off such thoughts. She was off-limits; had been ever since he married Pat Anderson. Yet, when his wife had called him at the office the other day to say Connie had telegrammed from Reno that she was arriving for a much-needed vacation and visit, Dave had reacted electrically.

Until that moment, he had almost managed to forget Connie. He'd actually believed it was completely over between them.

Then this afternoon, coming home early, to help with the party, meeting Connie at the door, had been like a physical blow in the stomach. All worries about the contract, the political shifting at the office, slashed away. Connie had been dressed in a tight-fitting white blouse and red shorts. The blouse was opened at the top to reveal the upper swell of her full breasts. Her legs were still flawless, the flesh tanned, smooth, sensual in the way women dreamed of, but usually never managed at any age.

He didn't want to think of Connie.

His eyes focused on his present surroundings, glanced at Ruth, then moved swiftly away. He looked at the modern painting hanging over the bar which Pat had bought for two hundred dollars last Christmas, as a present for him. It was attractive in its sweeping blue and red lines, painted on an emerald green background. The subject matter was up to the viewer to decide on--and, he believed, so was the top and bottom and side. It hung with the artist's signature upside down because the design then reminded Dave of a sailing ship making its way through a greenish fog. Very unearthly, but imaginative. He passed over the squat Buddha, which had been his present to Pat the year before and then rested on the desk where he did his nightly homework. He should be there now, doing some paper work on Hendricks contract.

Connie's voice sounded very close, and he turned in time to see her and Harvey step through the door.

David felt trapped.