She felt her stomach tingle as her nostrils detected his strong male scent, and she took his face in her hands. “I suppose I jumped from Hiram’s bed into yours merely to prove that if he didn’t need me, I could just as easily do without him.”

“A perfectly human reaction.”

She kissed him on the chin. “Forgive me, Frederick. In a sense, Hiram and I both used you: he to gain your goodwill for congressional support, and I in an adolescent game to make him jealous.”

He smiled. “This is one time in my life that I can honestly say I’m happy I was taken advantage of.”

She took him by the hand and led him into the bedroom and expertly undressed him. “This time,” she said, her voice low, “I’m going to show you the real Felicia Collins.”

It was well past eight o’clock when they finally released each other. She was far stronger than Daggat had believed possible. There was no plumbing the depths of her passion. He lay in bed for several minutes, listening to her humming in the shower. Then he wearily rose and pulled on a short kimono, sat down at a desk littered with important-looking documents, and began sorting through them.

Felicia padded from the bathroom and slipped on a belted wrap dress in a red and white zebra print. She approved of what she saw reflected in the full-length mirror. Her figure was slim and solid; the vitality that flowed through her lithe muscles overshadowed the soreness that was there from the vigorous exertions of early evening. Thirty-two years old and still damned provocative, she decided. There were still a few good years left before she could allow her agent to accept matronly roles for her, unless, of course, a producer offered a blockbuster script and a hefty percentage of the net.

“Do you think he can win?” Daggat asked, interrupting her reverie.

“I beg your pardon.”

“I asked you if Lusana can defeat the South African Defence Forces.”

“I’m hardly one to offer a valid prediction on the outcome of the

Operation Wild Rose 195

revolution,” Felicia said. “My part in the AAR was simply that of a fund raiser.”

He grinned. “Not to mention providing entertainment to the troops, particularly generals.”

“A fringe benefit,” she said, and laughed.

“You haven’t answered the question.”

She shook her head. “Even with an army of one million men, Hiram could never hope to defeat the whites in a knockdown, drag-out conflict. The French and the Americans lost in Vietnam for the same reason the majority government fell in Rhodesia: guerrillas fighting under the cover of heavy jungle have all the advantages. Unfortunately for the black cause, eighty percent of South Africa is arid, open country, better suited for armored and air warfare.”

“Then, what’s his angle?”

“Hiram is counting on worldwide popular support and economic sanctions to strangle the white ruling class into submission.”