Chapter Twenty Two
Irene felt a painful squeeze in her chest. Was the humiliation worth it? She glanced around the confined quarters of the flight-deck, hoping for solace. Flying was all she knew; all she had ever wanted. Was it time to give it up? Maybe she shouldn’t sell the Cessna. She could fly it to Honduras.
Irene battled with her emotions a moment longer, then, still looking past Scirocco, she slipped a hand into the opening of her swimsuit. She pulled her right breast free, rolled it out into the arch of his fingers. Reaching across, she slipped her other breast out from beneath the crumpled nylon. “Enjoy,” she sighed, feeling totally defeated under his gaze.
“Dark brown,” he said, lifting her breast and studying the n****e. “You’re Italian?”
“My mother is. Dad’s an American.”
