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THE FALL OF ZUNABAR Battle at Fort Zunabar was coming to an end.

My mother, Susan, while not the most attractive of women, still has a good body for her forty-eight years.

I’m not ashamed to admit she’d probably look good in a bikini.

“Tighter,” she whispered and felt his grip tighten.

“Harder.” “Jesus, Laurie,” the man said in disgust.

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Alice was still up, paintbrush in one hand, wine glass in the other. The canvas she’d been working on was a swirl of white colours, far too delicate to be so arresting.

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