She didn’t answer. I held the door for her, then went round the other side and got behind the wheel. I put the car into gear and headed back to town.
A few minutes passed and she still hadn’t spoken. I glanced at her. “Hungry?”
She shook her head.
“You have to eat something,” I said. “Steak, seafood?”
“I had something on the plane,” she said. I could see her looking at me. “Is that why you called me?” she asked. “Are you worried about my diet?”
I laughed for real for the first time that day. This kid had a straight approach. It was great to listen to honesty for a change. I pulled the car off the highway onto a shady road and parked. The trees were over our head and there were no houses around. I cut the engine and turned to her.
“No, to both questions,” I said. “You tell me. What did you come for?”
She stared at me for a moment, then leaned toward me. Her arms went around my neck, pulling me toward her. Her hot, flashing tongue left tiny electric shocks in all the hidden corners of my mouth. I could feel her shaking with excitement in my grip. I closed my eyes and felt the male in me rise to meet her passion.
At last she drew back, her breasts rising and falling rapidly with her breathing. Her arms still held my head bent over her face and she looked up into my eyes. There was a cloudy film of passion glazed on her features. “I didn’t come for dinner. The food is just as good in Pittsburgh,” she said softly. “I came to get laid.”
“I gotta go back by the office first and get some phone numbers. I just heard I might be having some problems.”
“Brady,” she said in almost a whisper.
“Does he have you followed?” I asked.
“Even if he does, I make sure no one follows me,” she said and smiled.
She was used to the old man’s antics. She probably knew every trick he had up his sleeve.
We walked into the office. I turned on the lights and poured both of us a stiff drink. I handed one to her. “Welcome to New York, baby.”
She watched me toss off my drink and belt another before she had a chance to taste hers. “Boy,” she said, “you’ve been hit bad.”
I stared at her. “Does it bother you?”
“Not me,” she said taking a sip of her drink. “I have no pride. I’m willing to take you on the rebound. That’s really what it’s all about, isn’t it?”
I finished my second drink. The room had a crazy tilt to it, the liquor was catching up to me. “You’re smart,” I said.
“That’s for arguing,” she said, “and this can’t wait.” She fiddled with a snap, shrugged her shoulders and the top of her dress slid from her arms. Another snap and she stepped from her skirt. She wore a strapless bra and half-slip beneath her dress. She bent forward to take off her stockings and the swell of her breasts came toward me.
I could feel my heart pounding harder with every piece of clothing she took off. The roof of my mouth suddenly went dry. She moved toward me. Her eyes were clear, without fear. She wrapped her arms around me and then she looked at me and smiled. “I’ve wanted this from the first day I met you. And I know beyond a doubt that the minute she whistles, you’ll be back in her arms.”
Suddenly I was angry. “I won’t!” I shouted. “She’s just a dame. They’re all alike.”
She moved closer to me. The warmth of her body came through my clothing. “Sure, Brad,” she said quietly, a knowing look in her eyes. “When the lights are out, you can’t tell us apart.”
The anger drained out of me as suddenly as it had come. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I guess I blew my top.”
“You’re hurt,” she said. “I know how you feel.”
I let go of her arms and poured me another drink. I was just raising it to my lips, when her hand caught mine. “Better put it down,” she said gently. “All that ice will give you a stomachache.”
I let her push my hand down to the table. I stared at her. There were tears standing like shining diamonds in the corners of her eyes. Her lips were parted tremulously and her long blond hair was cascading down around her white shoulders. Her breasts were jutting proudly against the bra and there was the tiny trace of moisture in the valley between as they vanished into their confining sheath; her stomach was flat beneath her ribs and lightly rounded as it molded the silk of her slip and joined the slight swell of her hips and thighs.
“You’re beautiful, Sandy,” I whispered.
She stood there motionless. “Am I, Brad?” she asked huskily.
I reached out a hand and touched a snap. The brassiere came off in my fingers. Her nipples were like rosebuds bursting open in the summer sun.
“When you look at me like that, Brad, I could die,” she whispered. “If you could love me as you do her, there is nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”
I pulled her toward me. My mouth sought her lips and my hands caught her shoulders and crushed them. She moaned in pain as her arms went around my neck, holding my face to her. Her body was straining against me and the fire in her hips ran into my loins.
As we kissed she pulled me to the floor. She pulled and massaged her nipples, then opened her legs wide and began reaching and massaging her own clitoris. Then she grabbed for me, her hands scratching and tearing at my body like an animal. There was a taste of blood in my mouth from where her teeth had cut my lips.
Her lips were at my mouth, her breath pouring into me. She turned quickly and was on all fours, her beautiful ass raised in the air toward me. I dropped to my knees behind her and pressed my throbbing cock into her vagina from behind. She gasped, grabbed my cock and pressed it against her anus. Jesus Christ, this girl was one wild tomato. As I entered that forbidden spot, I felt my own pleasure like never before. I never understood before about ass fucking; in fact, I always thought it might not be for me. I was dead wrong. She froze for a slight moment, in sudden pain, but when I hesitated she shoved her ass quickly into my cock. Then she began to move frenziedly, in the grip of her own fever. She grabbed my hand and put my fingers over her engorged clitoris. I began to massage her. But she wanted more: she wanted my fingers inside of her. She pressed me into her vagina. I moved my fingers in and out of her. She brought her own fingers down to her pussy and put them in alongside mine. She then brought them around to my ass, moving her finger until she found my anus and probed the opening, moving in and out of me as I was slamming into her.
Suddenly, she pulled away from me. “Don’t come yet,” she demanded. She grabbed a bottle out of her purse and poured oil into her hand. She began to stroke my cock. Then she took her hand and rubbed her pussy with our juices, and the oil.
We moved from the floor, to the sofa, to the doorway, to the bathroom, to the desk. We fucked like rabbits on top of the only contract left in the office. I laughed to myself at how fitting it was for Matt Brady’s secretary to fuck me out of my last contract.
She had total control of my cock. She could move in any direction, and still hold my cock in her pussy. If there were such a thing as Sexual Olympics, she was a true Olympian, a bona fide gold medal sexual athlete. I was exhausted but she kept me going. How, I will never know. Some things just have a mind of their own.
Slowly the pendulum came to a stop and time came back to me. At first, I was aware only of our strained, exhausted breathing; then the jungle vanished into its distant past.
Almost achingly, I opened my eyes and looked at her. She smiled at me slowly, her fingers touching my cheek.
I closed my eyes and rolled over on my side; the threads of the rug on which we were lying scratched at my shoulders. I felt a movement behind me and turned my head.
She was sitting up, adjusting her hair. Her breasts were full and strong over me. She became aware of my gaze and smiled down at me. “Poor Brad,” she said, a satisfaction deep in her voice.
“What do you mean, ‘Poor Brad’?” I asked.
“What did you say her name was?” she asked. “Elaine?”
18
I drove uptown to a hotel where I had an account. A fin to the manager got me a suite. The bellman showed us to our room. We both fell on the bed, exhausted and spent. At 3:30 in the morning she woke up and we did a repeat performance of the Sexual Olympics. It was almost five a.m. when we fell back to sleep.
Somewhere a telephone was ringing. The jangling bell was beating at my ears like a trip-hammer. I sat up in bed suddenly, an involuntary groan coming to my lips. My head was splitting. I opened my eyes just in time to see Sandy put down the phone.
“What was that?” I asked woozily.
“The time,” she answered. “I told the operator to wake me at five. I have to make the six o’clock plane back.”
I stared at her stupidly. “What for?”
Her white strong teeth flashed in the darkness. “I have a job. Remember?”
I watched her walk toward the bathroom. She moved like a tigress, sinuously picking her way through the dark. “I’ll drive you to the airport,” I said.
She paused at the doorway and looked back at me. “You don’t have to,” she answered. “I can get a cab.”
“I insist,” I said, swinging my feet off the bed. The motion set the trip-hammers off again. I put my hands to my face and peered through my fingers at her. “Check the top of my head,” I grinned ruefully, “I can’t believe it’s still there.”
She smiled down at me. “It’s real,” she said with a slight touch of sarcasm as the door closed behind her.
I drove from the airport to my club for a change of clothing. As I checked past the desk, I casually asked the clerk if there had been any calls for me.
He checked the call sheet. “No, Mr. Rowan.”
I went on up to my room. I had told Marge last night that I would be in town late on business and would stay over at the club. Good thing she hadn’t called. I felt dog-tired and beat. I decided to head for the steam room, then get me a rubdown and shower.
I lay flat on the rubbing table while Sam worked out the kinks in me. I rested my head on my arms. Sam was a good workman. He had strong, soothing hands and soon I could feel the tension in me easing.
Strange girl, Sandy. At the airport she had been almost formal. She had held out her hand to say goodbye, and called me Mr. Rowan.
I had felt peculiar. “Brad’s the name. Remember?”
She smiled that strange smile. “That was yesterday,” she had said. “Today’s another story.”
I had held on to her hand. “But I’ll see you again, won’t I?”
She had shrugged her shoulders. “Who knows? It doesn’t matter.”
“But last night!” I protested, my male vanity slightly hurt.
Her eyes met mine squarely. “You were looking for something,” she said. “So was I. We both got what we wanted. Leave it like that and nobody’ll be mad.”
There was no fighting her logic. A curious relief came over me. I think it showed in my eyes, for she smiled. “You’re wonderful, Sandy,” I said.
She shook her head. “Uh-uh,” she answered quietly. “I just know when I’m overmatched.” She let go of my hand quickly and walked out on the field to the plane.
A sharp stinging slap on my rump brought me out of my reverie. “Your shower’s ready now, Mr. Rowan,” Sam said.
Lazily I rolled off the rubbing table. “Thanks, Sam,” I said, stepping into the shower stall. The cold water hit me and I really woke up.
Mickey had a peculiar look on her face when I came in. “Call Pete Gordy,” she said.
“Get him for me,” I said, going on into my office. I looked around. Yesterday’s mess had been cleaned up.
Mickey came in behind me and put some papers on my desk. She turned to walk out without saying a word.
I stopped her. “Thanks for fixing up, Mickey,” I said.
She stared at me, a puzzled bewilderment on her face. “What got into you, Brad?” she asked. “I never saw you like that.”
I shrugged my shoulders. “I guess I been working too hard,” I answered. “And it caught up to me.”
I could see she didn’t buy my story, but I was the boss so she let it go at that. A few seconds later she had Pete Gordy on the phone.
Pete was one of my best accounts. He owned the largest independent chartered airline in the East. He accounted for about twenty-five percent of my business.
After the usual greeting I got down to business and asked what I could do for him.
An embarrassed tone crept into his voice. “Well, Brad,” he said in his best New England twang, “I don’t quite know how to tell you this.”
For a moment I held my breath, then I let it out slowly. I guess he didn’t really have to tell me. I had known somehow from the moment I came into the office and got his message. “What, Pete?” I asked, making my voice flat and blank.
“I’m going to have to pull my account,” he said.
“Why?” I asked. I knew why, but I wanted him to tell me. “I thought we were doing a hell of a job for you.”
“You are, Brad,” he said quickly. “I got no beefs there, but—”
“But what?” I insisted.
“Certain things came up,” he said. “My bankers insisted.”
“What the hell do they care who does your work?” I exploded. “I always thought you were the kind of a guy who ran his own business.”
“Brad, don’t make it any tougher for me than it already is,” he pleaded. “You know how I feel about you. I can’t help this thing. I gotta do it or they’ll close down my financing.”
My anger left me. In a way he was right. There was nothing he could do about it. Matt Brady had put out the word. Who would dare say no to him?
“Okay, Pete,” I said. “I understand.”
I put down the phone gently and hit the buzzer. I told Mickey to send Chris in. I spun in my chair and looked out the window. It was hard to believe that one little old man could have so much power.
The intercom squawked. I flipped the switch and Mickey’s voice came from it. “Chris’s secretary tells me he left the office before you came in this morning.”
“When will he be back?”
“She didn’t know,” came the answer. I turned off the switch. This was great. The house starts tumbling down and the fire chief takes off.
The buzzer rang and I picked up the phone. It was another client. Same story. Sorry, old man. Goodbye. It kept up all day. One after the other called me. I didn’t even have time to go to lunch, I was so busy taking cancellations.
By five o’clock the phone had stopped ringing. I looked at my watch gratefully. I was glad the business day was over. Another two hours of this and I would be back in the telephone booth I started from.
I crossed the room to the liquor cabinet and opened it. All the Scotch was gone. I smiled grimly. Mickey had taken no chances when she cleaned the office this morning. I opened the door and looked out on her.
“Where’d you hide the Scotch, baby?” I asked. “I need a drink.”
She looked up skeptically. “Brad, you’re not going to do that again?”
I shook my head. “No, baby. I just need a drink.”
She took a bottle from the file cabinet next to her desk and followed me into my office. “I can use one too,” she said.
I watched her make two, then took the drink she handed me. I sipped it gratefully. “Hear from Chris yet?” I asked her.
She shook her head. “I wonder where he is.”
I had an idea. “Did he see Matt Brady yesterday?” She looked puzzled. “When I told you to send him in to Chris,” I added.
“Oh—yes,” she remembered.
“For long?” I asked.
“Only a few minutes,” she said. “Then Mr. Brady left.”
“Chris say anything?”
She shook her head. “Not a word. He left before you. He seemed very nervous.”
I took another pull at my drink. I didn’t like the looks of it. Even if Matt Brady did put the word out, how could he get the list of
my clients so quickly? He had to have some inside help.
Mickey was watching me. “What’s wrong, Brad? What got into everybody? McCarthy label you Communist?”
I grinned. “Just as bad,” I said. “Brady marked me lousy.”
19
I got home for dinner real tired and beat. Marge took one look at my face and steered me to the living room. “You better have a cocktail before you eat,” she said quickly. “You’re all wound up.”
I sank into the club chair and looked at her. It was as if I had been away for a long time. There was concern in her eyes as she shook the sour but she didn’t say a word until after I had sipped the drink.
“What’s wrong, Brad?” she asked.
I leaned my head wearily back against the chair. I closed my eyes. “I got troubles,” I said. “Brady didn’t like the way I talked so he’s out to get me.”
“Is that bad?” she asked.
I looked at her. “Bad enough,” I said. “I lost about eight of my best accounts today.”
A kind of relief came into her eyes. She sat down on the arm of the chair. “Is that all?” she asked.
I stared up at her, bewildered. We were going broke and it wasn’t important to her. “Isn’t that enough?” I demanded. “There’s nothing worse that could happen.”
She smiled down at me. “Yes there is,” she said softly. “Lots worse. And I thought it was happening, too.”
I didn’t understand her. “Like what?”
She took my hand. “I could lose you,” she said seriously. “And I thought I was going to, you were acting so strangely. But now I know it was only business. Ever since this steel thing started you haven’t been the same.”
I didn’t answer.
“That’s why you were so upset all the time, why you didn’t come home last night. Wasn’t it?”
I nodded, not daring to speak. My voice might have betrayed me.
“Poor, tired baby,” she said softly, pressing her lips to my cheek….
Jeanie had a date so we had dinner alone. While we ate I told her what had happened during the day. Her eyes were solemn as I spoke.
Harold Robbins Thriller Collection Page 11
