Other conversations melded into the music. He was still talking. They were still dancing. Dancing. Dancing. Dancing up the spiral staircase. Gliding a... if they were riding on a pillow of air. It seemed to take forever to reach the upper level. Then they were there. He stopped talking. His dark eyes were gazing into hers, asking, wanting. His mouth took hers. Scorched hers. He tasted of champagne and she was at once intoxicated. He was turning the knob on the locked door. It opened. The attic. He lived alone in a bungalow, they parked on the drive and both got out and walked up the drive to what was a side door. He quickly unlocked the door and they walked straight into the kitchen. She was immediately aware of how old the kitchen was as he opened another door which led into a lounge area which again was sparsely furnished. The bungalow was warm as she quickly took her coat off and him his jacket. She was wearing a lilac satin material blouse, knee length black skirt with a black. More

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