The perky young redhead stood in front of the tiger cage in the Central Park Zoo watching the male and female cavorting energetically. Her escort, a tall, gangly boy with a nervous tic in his left eye, noticed her amused smile and nudged her gently out of her trance.
She turned large, greyish eyes up to him and moistened her full lips with her small, pink tongue.
"Yes, honey?" she murmured in a low, but huskily sweet voice.
The boy cleared his throat nervously and ran his stubby fingers through his blond crewcut.
"How come you're so fascinated by the antics of these tigers? Remind you of someone?" he teased.
The redhead laughed lightly, a small, tinkly sound that caused the short, rotund man who was standing beside her to glance in her direction.
"Well, the male does kind of remind me of you," she giggled, ducking his mock blow.
The boy frowned ruefully and admitted, "Well, he does seem like the epitome of the snorting, pawing male in heat, doesn't he?"
She cocked her head at him flirtatiously and flashed a humorous grin at the rotund man who had been visually undressing her and who now, upon meeting her eyes, gulped so hard that the girl was afraid he was going to choke on his Adam's apple. The man moistened his lips nervously, grabbed the arm of his thin-lipped, scrawny wife and hastened away.
The redhead grinned at her boyfriend and shrugged in mock helplessness.
He frowned angrily and turned upon her with flashing eyes.
"Now that was really necessary, wasn't it?" he chided her angrily.
The girl smoothed the skirt of her cocoa-colored suit and asked innocently, "Whatever are you talking about, Don?"
The boy grabbed her by both shoulders and barked furiously, "Why the hell must you flirt with every man you come in contact with? Geezus, sometimes I get the feeling you'd flirt with your own father, if there were no other male in sight!"
The redhead stiffened and stared straight ahead at the tigers.
"Really, Don-sometimes you're so crude, even I can't stand you," she muttered.
Don laughed humorlessly and grabbed her by the hand.
"Come on," he sighed, "these beasts are beginning to bore me."
The voluptuous young redhead trotted docilely beside him in silence for several moments. Then she leaned up to stroke his cheek tenderly.
"I'm sorry, sweetheart, really I am. But what harm did I really do? If you think about it, I did that poor fat man a tremendous favor. I'm sure that pathetic slob thinks I was actually interested in him. Must have done wonders for his ego."
Don looked at her sceptically, then sighed and asked, "How do you figure that, may I ask?"
The girl replied with a toss of her long hair, "Why, that should be fairly obvious, Don. Tonight when he goes to bed, instead of making love to that broomstick of a wife of his, he can close his eyes and pretend he's making love to me. Understand?" she finished brightly.
Don nodded dully, running his fingers through his crew-cut again. "Great, you've done your good deed for the day. You're a regular Girl Scout now."
The girl shrugged and pursed her lips in a gesture of bewildered helplessness.
"I don't know why you always take my flirting so seriously, Don. I can't help it if I need male admiration constantly, can I?" she purred.
He tightened his grip on her arm and tightened his lips without answering her, merely walking faster.
"Goodness," she laughed, "you look absolutely ferocious-like you'd like to eat me up or something."
He looked at her and said wryly, "You know I would, you little bitch."
The redhead nuzzled her head against the shoulder of his brown sports jacket and purred, "Then why do you always get so angry at me?"
Don turned and kissed her lightly on the mouth.
"Because," he sighed, "I hate it that I'm not enough for you, that you still require the attention of every other male you meet."
The girl nodded, smiling sadly. "I hate it, too, Don, if you can believe that. I hope someday I'll meet a man who can make me forget that any other man exists. I thought you could do it, but...." she shrugged helplessly.
They walked in silence for about ten minutes. Then, when they came to the outdoor cafeteria, Don stopped and suggested a bite and a cup of coffee. The girl agreed readily and sat at one of the tables while he went inside to buy hot dogs and coffee. Several single men stopped to flirt with the lovely redheaded girl but her cool stare froze them and they went on their way.
I've really got to stop this, she thought to herself, before it gets to the point where 1 can no longer control myself and flirting isn't enough any more. Don's a good catch, he's decent and considerate, and ... oh, what the hell, he just isn't enough for me. There must be a man someplace on earth who can satisfy me both emotionally and physically ... Her thoughts were interrupted by Don who carried a tray of food which he set down gingerly upon the aluminum table top.
"Mmm, that looks delicious," she smiled, feigning enthusiasm.
Don grinned, pleased with himself. "Nothing but the best for you, princess," he said, distributing the food.
The redhead stared at him for a moment, her eyes flooding with tears. She quickly blinked them away, dropping her eyes and taking a large gulp of her coffee.
Don continued to gaze at her before he began to eat. Finally he took a deep breath and placed his hand over her small one.
"It's all right, Nickie. I don't want you to feel bad on my account."
She looked up, startled. "Whatever are you talking about?"
"I know you aren't in love with me," he began bravely. "I thought in time you might grow to be if I were patient with you, but I see now that it's no use. I just want you to know I understand," he finished quietly, looking deeply into her eyes.
Nickie removed her hand from his and looked away uncomfortably. When she met his eyes again, hers were filled with tears.
"Forgive me, Don," she pleaded. "I know what you're worth, I know you'd do anything for me, but love is something that can't be forced."
Don nodded sadly. "I know that, Nickie, it isn't your fault."
She looked down, staring at the table top. "You must think I'm pretty horrible, huh? Sleeping with you for the past couple of months, I mean, and not being in love with you."
Don shook his head emphatically, nearly spilling the coffee he was holding in his hand. "No, I don't think you're horrible, you little idiot. It just proves that you need someone, that you don't like being alone. There's nothing wrong in that."
Nickie smiled at him gratefully. "You're quite a guy, Don," she whispered gratefully.
He flushed and gulped his coffee down to cover it. "I want to marry you, Nickie," he blurted suddenly.
The pretty redhead blinked in honest surprise and then blushed. "Thank you," she gulped finally.
Don laughed uneasily. "Thank you? That's a pretty strange reaction to a proposal."
Nickie smiled ruefully and leaned over to kiss Don's forehead. "Thank you for trying to make a honest woman of me, but no thanks, sweetie."
"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked gruffly, trying to hide his concern by taking an enormous bite of his hot dog.
"It means," she explained, taking a deep breath, "that I think too much of you to marry you for the sake of convenience. "Besides, you just think you're in love with me."
"I am," he insisted.
"No, you like to go to bed with me," Nickie said truthfully. "All it really boils down to is sex, you know."
Don shook his head emphatically. "No, no, you're wrong...."
"What boils down to sex?" a new voice inquired. "Sounds like a fascinating recipe to me."
The redhead looked up to see a dark, lean man of medium height standing before her.
"Oh, damn," Don grumbled, looking as though he had seen a snake.
Nickie looked from the stranger to Don and back again. When neither of them said anything, she smiled brilliantly id said, "Have we taken your seats or something?" The man laughed, causing his brown eyes to crinkle at the comers, and revealing straight white teeth which enlivened his tanned face. "No, but if you had, you'd be more than welcome to them. You fill a seat so much better than I do," he said, eying her derriere meaningfully.
Nickie flushed as his eyes met hers again, and she looked quickly down at her lap.
"That's enough, Shale," Don said, jumping up angrily, his fists clenched.
The other man raised his shaggy eyebrows in amusement. "Getting touchy, aren't you, little brother?" he said, smiling sardonically.
The girl was startled. Don had never mentioned a brother in the few months she had known him. She had never known this wickedly attractive man existed. But now that she did, she decided, she was going to make up for lost time. She extended her slender arm to Shale who took it and held it loosely yet, strangely, intimately.
"Aren't you going to introduce me to your charming brother, Don?" she asked innocently.
Don bowed formally from the waist and said mockingly, "Miss Lawrence, I would like to introduce you to Shale Marquand-accomplished gambler, accomplished musician, accomplished lover, and all around bum."
She frowned at him, then she cocked her head at Shale in acknowledgement of the introduction. She grinned at him, causing her solitary dimple on the right side of her mouth to deepen. "My, my, you sound like a man of many talents. Too bad it doesn't run in the family."
Shale regarded her gravely, only the comers of his mouth twitching slightly. She found herself unable to turn away from the magnetic pull of his dark eyes. Somehow, it reached something deep within her and stirred an emotion she did not remember having.
Don looked from one to the other, his face red with frustration and fury. "Care to join us?" he finally asked ungraciously.
"I thought you'd never ask," Shale grinned pulling over a chair from a nearby table and positioning it not two inches from the girl's.
Don cleared his throat nervously and inquired of his brother, "Aren't you going to get something to eat or get a cup of coffee?"
"No," Shale said, resting his hand casually on the redhead's well-shaped knee. "I'm satisfied with the scenery around here."
The girl felt her legs give under her, and silently thanked heaven that she was sitting. She felt suddenly self-conscious under the stranger's probing gaze; all at once the knit skirt hugged her hips too tightly and her beige cashmere sweater beneath the suit jacket seemed to stifle her. Her breasts, too, felt as though they wanted to burst out of the confining white lace bra. She moistened her lips nervously before meeting his eyes. She stared at him searchingly for a moment before speaking.
"There must be a reason your existence has been kept a secret from me. Are you a criminal or something?" she asked, smiling slightly and gently removing his large, hairy hand which had managed to find its way from her knee to her thigh.
"Or something," he affirmed good-naturedly, letting his hand rest on the side of her chair so that it nudged her hips. "I'm what they call the black sheep of a respectable family."
"How fascinating. I'm extremely impressed," Nickie said drily.
"So am I," he said, his dark eyes caressing her hips and breasts and resting on her rosebud lips. "So am I."
Don, who had been watching this byplay, now suddenly stiffened and set his paper coffee cup angrily down on the table. "You're trespassing, Shale," he gritted, glaring coldly at his experienced older brother.
Shale glanced briefly in acknowledgement at Don and placed both of his hands on the table. Then he turned to the redhead and said earnestly, "Don's right, of course. I always lose my sense of fair play when there's a beautiful woman nearby. Please forgive me...." he urged, taking her hand in his.
The girl flushed and withdrew her hand from his quickly, unable to meet his eyes. "Don't be silly," she murmured, "There's nothing to forgive."
"Suppose you let me decide that," Don suggested drily.
Shale gave Nickie a conspiratorial grin and rose to leave. "Well, have fun, kids. I've got to run along. I left a lady friend sitting over there and I can see that she's seething from here."
Don peered at a heavily made up extremely voluptuous blonde several tables away, then squinted at Sha\e. "Imogene again, huh? Will you tell me something, Shale? What do you see in that dame?"
Shale chuckled and waved to the voluptuous beauty who blew him a kiss. "She's got a great personality, little brother," he grinned. "Well, so long-just though I'd drop over to say hello."
"Hello, goodbye," Don snapped impatiently.
Nickie extended her hand to Shale. "It's been a pleasure. Perhaps we'll meet again sometime."
"I wouldn't be the least bit surprised," Shale smiled, a wicked glint lighting up his bedroom eyes. "In fact," he said as an afterthought to Don, "What are you two doing tomorrow evening?"
"Well...." Don h-edged.
"Great. Then why don't you and your pretty little friend come over? Tara and I are throwing a little cocktail party."
Nickie's heart fell. So there was a woman in his life. What a drag. What a rotten drag. "Who's Tara?" she inquired.
"Shale's wife," Don put in hastily. "His wife of ten years," he added smugly.
Nickie's heart fell still further. A wife ... well that was another matter. She had never broken up a marriage before and she had absolutely no desire to do so now. Besides, she thought, looking at Shale out of the comer of her eye, it wouldn't be such a good idea to get Involved with someone like this obvious lady-killer. She had never yet met her match, but this smooth character looked as if he could be it, and she didn't want to be in the running for a broken heart.
Shale turned to leave. "Well, see you two tomorrow," he said, looking at Nickie. "Be at my place about nine." Then he was gone.
The redhead watched him walk away, noticing his slight limp, a small smile on her lips.
Driving back to Nickie's house a couple of hours later, in Don's red sports coupe, there was an uncomfortable silence between them.
Finally, the girl put her hand lightly on his arm and purred, "I do wish you wouldn't be such an old grouch, honey."
Don shook her arm away and said angrily, "How many times do I have to tell you not to paw me while I'm driving?"
The redhead flung him a furious look and curled up in the comer near the window. "I beg your pardon," she muttered. "I had no idea that you had joined a monastery."
They drove in silence for the remainder of the short ride, Don biting his lip in agitation and Nickie staring out the window smiling at the drivers of passing cars. When they pulled up in front of Nickie's house, she flung open the door without a word.
Don grabbed hold of her arm and pulled her back into the car. He drew her to him and buried his lips in her throat.
"I'm sorry, darling," he murmured. "But I just couldn't stand the way you were looking at Shale-it made me see red."
"You mean green," she smiled, snuggling against him and running her tongue intimately over his lips.
Don's grip tightened on her and he crushed his mouth down upon hers, as one of his hands worked its way under her cashmere sweater and caressed the flesh that was ex posed by her demi-cup bra. He gasped as the redhead's hand sought to caress him and hastily drew away, gasping, "Not here, Nickie. Let's go inside."
The voluptuous little redhead pouted her lips appealingly and purred, "Okay, if you want to be a conformist."
They entered the building and he followed her up the staircase to her apartment, his hand stroking her rounded buttocks as he did so.
Nickie smiled contentedly and wondered how Don's big brother would make love to her.
CHAPTER TWO
The handsome couple in their early thirties stepped into the plush lobby of their apartment building and the man rang for the elevator. They stood in cool silence until the elevator door opened, then the woman, brushed past him abruptly and preceded him into the enclosure. They rode in silence until they were deposited to the floor of their penthouse apartment.
The man, about an inch shorter than his wife and possessor of very black, straight hair, rather long in the back and sides, took out his key and fumblingly tried to open the door, while his wife stood by, waiting impatiently. She lit a cigarette and tapped her foot. He finally got the door open and she brushed coolly past him into the apartment. He entered behind her and locked the door behind him.
"Whew! What a loser of a day" he muttered, mopping his moist forehead.
"What?" she asked coldly, turning on the lights and peeling her clothing off as she went from room to room.
He followed her into the bedroom. "Nothing. Forget it, Tara. It wasn't important."
"You said something, Shale. What was it?" she asked. 16
"Because you really care," he said dryly.
"Because I really care," she repeated sarcastically.
Shale looked at her as she sat in her full slip in front of her vanity table, brushing her thick auburn hair. He felt something stir in him, and was immediately annoyed at himself for this weakness. "What's the difference? Since when do you care what I say?" he said wearily, removing his necktie.
She turned to face him, a mocking look on her haughty but classic face. His eyes slid over her face and came to rest on the deep, soft cleavage of her breasts, where the black material of the slip framed them.
She laughed softly, huskily. "Why, darling, you know I'd hate to be deprived of any little gem of wisdom that drops from your lips."
Shale turned away in disgust, unbuttoning his shirt and flinging it carelessly over the back of a chair.
Tara observed his gesture in the mirror. "Do you mind hanging your own clothing up for a change? The maid isn't coming in tomorrow and-"
"All right, all right. Do you have to start lecturing again?" he grumbled, snatching his shirt up and hanging it in his closet.
She dropped the hairbrush on the dresser top with a dramatic bang and turned to face him. "Again? Shale, if I lectured you every time you did something stupid, I'd have lost my voice long ago."
He strode angrily over to where she was sitting. "I know you're upset because I lost heavily at the track this afternoon, so why don't you just come out and say so?"
She ignored him, standing up to unravel her stockings and remove her garter belt.
He watched her roll the nylons down her long, wellshaped legs, and he wet his lips nervously. "Can't you find something else to argue about besides my gambling?"
She spun around angrily, shining hair swinging around her face. "Well, now that you mention it, you could have asked me if I wanted you to invite your brother and his girl friend over tonight. I'm not your servant, you know."
"Oh, so that's what this is all about. Why the hell didn't you say so? I'll tell them not to come. There's really no problem."
She glared at him, her green eyes boring into him. "No, nothing is ever any problem, is it, Shale? Nothing on earth can force you to take anything seriously. If something bothers you, you can always take a drink or a pick-up, or both."
"I'm taking a nap," he announced in disgust, walking in the direction of the bed, and strewing his pants and underwear at random on the beige carpet.
She followed him to the king-sized bed, picking up after him as she did so. "And tonight-oh, tonight you're really going to have a ball. I saw the little redhead Don brought to the track. I suppose you're going to try to add her to your list?"
Shale smirked. "I'll give you a detailed description when I do, lover.
She bit a lip to stifle a reply, then said sweetly, "Why don't you go make yourself a drink, Shale? And get me one, too, if you don't mind. You're so much easier to take when I'm tipsy."
With a toss of her head, she went to the closet and pulled out a black gauzy nightgown. Then she removed her black lace bra and panties, bringing into sight large, creamy breasts and well-proportioned hips and legs. Halfway through slipping the nightgown over her hair, she caught Shale's eyes burning into her body, his face dark with lust. She caressed a breast tantalizingly and mocked, "You like the merchandise, lover? You always did like me well-fed, didn't you? Well, if you don't hurry up and get a job pretty soon, you're going to have a skeleton on your hands."
Shale glared at her, his passion turning into anger. "I haven't seen you standing on a breadline yet," he growled, starting to dress again.
"Are you waiting until I have to, before you'll start being realistic?"
"Look, Tara, you know we're still living off the money from my grandmother's estate. When that runs out, which shouldn't be for a couple of years, I promise to get a job."
Tara put her hands up and covered her face for a moment before looking up. "You know it isn't the money, Shale. But if you had some kind of a job maybe you wouldn't feel the need to gamble so much. It would give you a sense of responsibility."
"That's for jerks like my little brother," he snapped. "Maybe you'd like me to go to law school, too? And become a full-fl-edged, respectable member of the Marquand family, and eventually die of old age and boredom? No thanks, lover, that's not for me. Live fast, die young, and have a good-looking corpse-that's my bit."
"Where do you think you're going now?" Tara asked in alarm, as he slipped a topcoat on.
"Just for a long walk. I want to think," he mumbled, striding from the bedroom.
"You mean drink," Tara said bitterly, then paused. "I'm sorry. Should I come with you?"
Shale threw her a bleak look before leaving. "What for?"
He walked until he came to Harry's Resting Place, a neighborhood bar popular with unpopular husbands. He mounted a stool, nodded moodily at the bartender, and ordered a double scotch on the rocks. He glanced around at the other lost souls scattered around the place, lost in alcohol, smoke and blues music. He grinned wryly, rubbing the stubble that had suddenly cropped up on his chin, and was reminded of an obscure rhyme from somewhere in his childhood:
See the happy moron He doesn't give a damn.
I wish I were a moron! My God, perhaps I am!
He gulped down the remainder of his drink and motioned for another. Wouldn't you know it, he thought. Every time I feel the need to get methodically, deliberately beautifully smashed, I can't. Oh, what I wouldn't do to be oblivious now. But the next closest thing to being oblivious myself is to be with someone who is perpetually in that marvelous state.
He fished out a couple of bills and left them on the bartop. Then he ambled off the barstool and over to the pay phone. He searched his mind for a number, remembered it, and dialed.
The opposite receiver was lifted and a shrill, feminine giggle pierced his eardrum. He made his voice unnaturally gruff and bellowed, "'Alio, Miss Imogene Adams?"
"Yes?"
"This is the Gestapo...."
She giggled. "Oh, it's you, silly. Why, I haven't seen you in-"
"Open the door, baby. I'll be over in fifteen minutes."
"Well, uh, Mr. Marquand-I-uh-"
"Get rid of him. I'll be over soon." With that, Shale hung up. He rubbed a hand over the growth on his cheeks and chin and his mouth twisted in a sardonic smile. Then he returned to the bar and ordered another shot in order to kill a few minutes, so that Imogene would have time to get rid of her gentleman caller.
He shook his head in amusement as the buxom, blonde Imogene came into his mind. He had made her acquaintance when she had been a chorus girl auditioning for a Broadway show he had once written the music for. Unlike the other applicants, she had made no effort to conduct herself like a lady, but had let her natural inhibitions have free rein as she belted out her song. He had happened to catch the auditions that day, and her raw sex appeal plus her obvious natural assets had attracted his attention. He had suggested that she be given the job, and despite the protests of the director and choreographer, she was. And she had remained grateful ever since-whenever Shale had a yen for her lush Amazonish body.
Imogene was a far cry from Shale's innate taste in women. He preferred the refined, classical-looking beauty that Tara had had when he had first married her. She still had it, he admitted grudgingly, but somehow the classical feature had hardened and become too cold for his taste lately. He had begun to notice an almost imperceptible aloofness in her whenever he initiated his male prerogative. When he mentioned it to her, she claimed that since he no longer was working, but had turned into a gambler and a bum, she had lost all respect for him and therefore could not respond. He hadn't attempted to go near her since that night and soothed his pride by throwing himself wholeheartedly into a love affair with a bottle of scotch.
By the time Imogene showed up on the scene, the bed was already made in his mind and all she had to do was lie in it with him. And she was more than willing to oblige. On the frequent occasions when he visited her in her Village pad, he had played, laughed, paid, and left. There was no danger in his getting emotionally involved with her and she left him physically satisfied. That was all that really mattered, he told himself repeatedly, every time he left her, strangly sad and empty. Great loves simply do not exist in this day and age, he told himself. Take what you can, where you can, and run.
He glanced at his wristwatch, sighed deeply and started out for a few hours of superficial warmth and solace. And if he had to give a couple of bucks in return-well, it was worth it, wasn't it?
Shale woke up three hours later and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, sitting up groggily. The strains of jazz poured into the tiny bedroom from a clock-radio. He looked at his wristwatch, moaned slightly and leaned over to shut the radio off.
The curvaceous, nude, tousle-haired blonde stretched out a well-rounded arm and flicked it on again.
"Leave it off," Shale ordered, slapping her lightly across the buttocks.
Imogene tossed her long, blonde hair and turned in annoyance. "Hey, cut it out, you fink!"
"Who're you calling a fink?" Shale demanded.
"You," she giggled, as she was pulled down onto the pillow.
Shale bent his lips to her breast and flicked his tongue tantalizingly over the swelling nipples. Then he pinned her arms over her head and looked down at her menacingly. "Take it back!"
"Uh-huh," she said, gazing up at him flirtatiously, through heavily mascaraed lashes. "Never."
"If you don't, I'll-" he broke off, distracted by what her fingers were doing to him, and the look in her mischievous brown eyes.
"You'll what?" she purred, the fingers of her other hand trailing through his long dark hair.
"I'll do exactly what you want me to do," he murmured, nuzzling the softness of her throat.
"Death before dishoner," Imogene mumbled, arching her breasts to his mouth. "I take it back."
"You're too late...."
CHAPTER THREE
Nickie began to have qualms about seeing Don's brother and sister-in-law. Not that she wasn't interested in seeing Shale again-she was too interested and that was the trouble. She had a feeling that if she ever let things get started with him, she wouldn't be able to stop.
She and Don had just returned from the track and were relaxing in Dominique's room, across her bed. She was lying in Don's arms and he was stroking her hair. And she found herself wishing it were Shale's arms she were lying in. Suddenly she sat upright, and turned to face Don.
"I don't feel like going to your brother's house tonight," she pouted.
"Cigarette?" he asked, reaching into his shirt pocket. "Thanks, no."
"What's the big deal?" he said. "What's a few hours with them-not to mention a free dinner. Besides, I had the rather distinct impression that you kind of dug Shale."
Nickie became flustered. "Whatever makes you say something like that?"
Don lit his cigarette and smiled humorlessly. "Most women do-it's been that way all his life. All he has to do is snap his fingers and they'd come running. Must be that limp-women find it romantic, I suppose."
"Where did he get it?" Nickie asked curiously.
"Probably shot in the leg by an angry husband," Don said drily, puffing deeply on his cigarette.
Nickie frowned in annoyance. "Really, Don, that wasn't very funny."
"He got it in an auto accident when he and my beautiful sister-in-law were first married. Driving home from one of those drunken orgies they used to go to constantly. Tara was unharmed, but she seemed to change after that. No more the irresponsible little madcap. Guess the accident really threw a scare into her."
"And your brother?" she questioned.
"What about him?" Don asked gruffly.
"Did the accident change him at all?"
"Yeah, it made him worse. He's got about as much sense of responsibility as an alleycat. Can't figure out why Tara puts up with him," Don pondered. "Oh, well, can't worry about the whole world, can we?" he grinned, kissing her lips lightly. "I've got my own problems."
He put out the cigarette in a nearby ashtray and began kissing Nickie warmly.
She felt a stirring deep within her, and closed her eyes and pretended it was Shale who was caressing her this way. Suddenly, she pushed him away. "Don, listen to me. Why don't you go? Tell them I have a headache or something. Then, later, when you get home, you can come over here and I'll make you some black coffee for your hangover. How does that sound to you?"
"Lousy," he growled. "You know I don't want to go without you. Besides, I promised Shale we'd be there."
"Without consulting me...." she said, turning her grey eyes to him.
He returned her look and said seriously, "I didn't realize that was necessary. I naturally took it for granted-"
"Well, don't!" she snapped, her eyes flashing angrily.
"Don't what?" he asked, puzzled by her sudden vehemence.
"Don't take me for granted, Don. You don't own me, you know." She looked away quickly, unable to face the hurt in his eyes.
He looked searchingly at her for several long seconds and then, without a word, picked up his guitar which he had left in her house, and started to leave.
The girl watched him walk to the door, tears starting suddenly in her eyes. She shut her eyes tightly several times to blink them away. Then she jumped up from the bed and ran after him.
"Don, wait!" she cried, grabbing him by the arm just as he was about to turn the doorknob.
He stopped and turned to look down at her. Her eyes were swimming with remorse as she looked up at him, and her moist lips trembled slightly.
"What time do we have to be there?" she asked softly, as he drew her close to him.
A big grin broke out on Don's face and he squeezed her affectionately. "That's my girl. Shale said to be there about nine. There'll probably be some other people there also. Shale loves to entertain. Can't stand to be alone. Think you can work up any enthusiasm by nine?"
She smiled at him. "I'll see what I can do. Maybe I'll take a little nap for an hour or so now. I'm kind of exhausted from all that excitement at the track this afternoon."
"I can't understand why you get so excited over winning," Don wondered. "After all, it's only money."
"Well, I don't happen to have a rich father like some people I know," she said meaningfully. "Besides, it isn't the money that's exciting. It's the winning, the gamble." Don dropped his arm from her waist as if she had suddenly turned into a snake. "Sometimes you talk just like Shale," he muttered, "I'll pick you up about nine."
"I'll be ready," she said, already turning back into the bedroom.
"Don't strain yourself," he snapped, turning away and stalking down two stairs at a time. His guitar accidentally banged against the banister, and he stopped to examine it, stroking it gently as if it were a hurt child. Then he breathed a sigh of relief at finding it unscarred and continued down the stairs.
Nickie watched him until he was out of sight, a sad smile on her lips. "Don't say I didn't warn you," she murmured softly, to no one in particular.
They arrived at Shale's house at ten minutes after nine, exactly five minutes after the host himself arrived. They were greeted by Tara who explained that Shale was still dressing. Nickie thought she detected reddened eyes but couldn't be sure.
She regarded the sleek sophistication of her hostess, the black crepe off-the-shoulder cocktail dress that revealed snowy white shoulders that were marred by several freckles which for some reason, made her sexier. Nickie felt like a schoolgirl and was immediately sorry that she had worn the simple rust-colored princess style dress. Then she noticed Tara's upswept auburn hair and the long chandelier earrings and her own loose, shoulder-length hair seemed adolescent to her.
Don squeezed her hand tightly as he introduced her to his sister-in-law and Nickie returned the pressure gratefully.
Tara smiled graciously at Nickie and asked, "How did you make out this afternoon, my dear?"
Nickie blinked. "I beg your pardon?"
"At the track. Did you have much luck?" Tara pressed.
Nickie cocked her head quizzically and her grey eyes flashed dangerously.
Don took in the situation and answered quickly for her. "Nickie won a couple of times, but she would have done much better if she didn't have this crazy habit of only betting on longshots."
"Perhaps it is the challenge element that she finds so appealing. Am I right, dear?" Tara smiled.
Nickie met her eyes for a moment. "That's very possible, Mrs. Marquand. Very, possible, indeed."
Don ran his fingers through his hair nervously, his left eye blinking rapidly. He cleared his throat and said, "Anyone here I know tonight, Tara?"
Tara looked around briefly at her guests. "I don't think so dear. Why don't you come with me," she suggested, taking him by the hand, "and I'll introduce you."
"Fine," Don agreed. "Come on, Nickie."
Nickie bit her lower lip and looked down at her shoes. "Would you mind if I went to freshen up my makeup a bit, first?" she asked, looking up at Tara, then Don.
"Certainly, dear. The powder room is that way," she directed. "Oh, do you mind if I borrow Don for a while?"
Nickie shrugged indifferently. "Be my guest," she murmured, ignoring Don's furious eyes, and turning away.
When she reentered the living room five minutes later, Tara and Don were no where in sight. She looked around for them and finally spotted them talking to an arty-looking couple in their mid-thirties. She headed for the bar which was in the opposite direction and poured herself a scotch and soda, unaware that a man with a slight limp had just ambled over next to her and poured himself a stiff scotch on the rocks.
She was unaware of his eyes upon her as she let her eyes wander about the luxuriant room and the sophisticated looking guests. She was unaware of the fact that her face had a look of longing on it.
Suddenly, she felt him watching her and she spun around abruptly. Her eyes widened as she recognized him.
"Hello again, little girl. Did you wander in here by accident?" he teased.
"No, my parents couldn't get a baby-sitter for me, so they brought me along," she muttered sarcastically, taking a big sip of her drink for courage.
"I'd be glad to baby-sit for you anytime," he murmured appreciatively. He looked down at the girl as she swallowed the scotch with an uncontrollable grimace. He smiled.
She looked up just then and licked the scotch off her lips with the tip of her pink tongue, her eyes meeting his and holding in mute rapport.
He gulped down the remainder of his drink suddenly and turned from her to mix another. When-it was mixed, he remained facing away from her, staring sullenly at the counter of the bar.
Nickie watched him silently, sipping at her drink from time to time. The liquor must be getting to me, she thought nervously as a strange sensation coursed through her blood. Her fingers suddenly felt strengthless and she looked down, fighting an almost unbearable urge to touch his brown tweed jacket, his hair....
She could bear his nearness no longer and turned abruptly away, starting to leave.
A hand grasped her arm and pulled her back. She re turned to her former position and stood there waiting for him to speak. After what seemed to be an eternity, he did.
"All right, little girl," he said, turning to face her. "I give up."
Nickie blinked at him, not understanding yet understanding his cryptic comment. She wet her lips nervously. "What?" she said brilliantly.
He put his glass down on the counter. "Glad you could make it tonight, Dominique," he said, taking her hand in his.
She put her small hand in his nervously, and as they touched, her nervousness miraculously disappeared. Her hand felt, she thought, as if it were home. "I'm glad you called me Dominique," she murmured shyly. "Everyone else calls me Nickie."
"I don't plan to treat you the same as everyone else does," he said smoothly, caressing her palm with his.
She nodded, beginning to wonder if the man were quite sane. "Shale," she tried.
"Yes, little one?" he murmured.
"May I please have my hand back?"
"Is it absolutely necessary?"
Dominique nodded, wondering how much this strange man had had to drink. He was unquestionably attractive. More than that-magnetic. But would he be too much for her to handle? He was high now, true, but would he be any easier to understand sober? What I ought to do now, if I have any brains, she thought, is run. Say goodbye to Mr. Shale Marquand and say thank you for the drink and run and not stop running until I'm far away from him. Yes, that's exactly what she would do, as soon a she finished her drink.
"No, it won't work" he was saying to her.
"What?" she asked, slightly shaken.
"I said, if you're trying to hatch an escape plan, give it up-it won't work. I'll follow you to the ends of the earth," he assured her.
"Why-why, I wasn't...." she stammered.
"Sure you were," he said cheerfully. "You were thinking to yourself, how can I get away from this loon without hurting his feelings. Am I right, Dominique?"
"Partly," she said, looking him straight in the eye. "But I was thinking how can I get away from this loon without hurting my feelings. Or worse, how can I stay?"
Shale looked at the refreshing young creature before him. He searched her pretty face for a long, long time. How long had it been since anything worthwhile had come into his life?
He took her hand suddenly and pressed it lightly to his lips. "Go away, little girl. Now, while you still can."
Dominique looked at the spot on her palm that his lips had just touched. Then she looked at him. "Do you really want me to walk away now? Because I don't want to, but I will if you say the word."
Nickie turned as someone tapped her on the shoulder. "Oh, there you are, Don."
The boy looked from Dominique to Shale and back again. "You're busy. I'll talk to you later." He turned on his heel and walked quickly into the crowd again.
"Don!" Dominique started after him, remembered Shale, and hesitated.
"Go to him," Shale suggested, taking a large swallow from his glass.
Dominique stared at him for a moment, indignation rising in her. "That's a very good idea," she flared. "I think I will!"
The rest of the evening dragged for Dominique. Don wasn't much help; he drank quite a bit and remained aloof to Dominique, making sure he flirted with every woman in the room.
After a while, someone suggested that Shale play the piano for them, and the rest of the room soon took up the cry. Shale brought his glass over to the piano, bowed mockingly from the waist, and sat down to play.
Dominique watched him with stars glistening in her eyes as he played everything from the most difficult classical pieces to jazz and finally, the songs from his one and only Broadway show.
She was unaware of Don's sullen gaze upon her, and turned to him at one point. "Is there anything that brother of yours can't do?" she gushed.
"No," he said bitterly. "Unless it's keeping his hands off what doesn't belong to him."
But Dominique was oblivious to his sarcasm and sipped at her third drink, while her imagination built up romantic fantasies about Shale Marquand. She noticed, suddenly, that several women had draped themselves around the piano in various seductive poses, and were literally flaunting their bodies in Shale's face, while their husbands stood by, scowling.
Dominique automatically looked at Tara, who was poised sedately on an armchair in a far comer of the room, surveying the scene with what appeared to Dominique to be a mixure of disdain and tolerance and resignation.
It must be sheer hell being married to a man like Shale, Dominique thought to herself. Either sheer hell or sheer heaven.
CHAPTER FOUR
"Hell!" Don shouted. "Do you expect me to believe you weren't flirting with Shale last night?"
"I don't expect you to believe anything," Nickie said deliberately, curled up on her bed, atop a lavender comforter. "What's more, I don't care what you believe."
"Aha! So I was right!" he accused, his eyes burning feverishly.
Dominique pushed back some loose strands of hair. Then she adjusted the two toss cushions behind her back before she spoke. As she moved, the skin-tight capri pants strained against her long legs and buttocks, as did the fuzzy pink sweater across her breasts. "Don, dear," she said calmly. "Don, I will tell you for the last time, I was merely being polite to Shale because he's your brother. Now, if you are so insecure that you prefer to believe otherwise, be my guest."
"Then how come you were so reluctant to leave when I wanted to go? You couldn't tear yourself away from Shale's piano playing. And why did you try to stop me from coming in after I brought you home, like I always do?"
"Because it was three in the morning, because I was tired, and because you were very, very drunk."
He walked over to the daybed and stood looking down at her, his eyes hungrily caressing the body he had considered his possession for the past couple of months.
Dominique squirmed uncomfortably under his examination.
"Well," he said finally, "it's not three in the morning now, you're not tired, and I'm not drunk, so...."
Dominique sprang to a sitting position. "What on earth do you think you're doing, Don?" she cried as he sat down beside her and started to take off his shoes.
He looked at her obliquely and ran his fingers through her long, coppery hair. She cringed at his touch and he grabbed her roughly by the arm, forcing her back on the bed.
"Don, have you gone crazy?" she shrilled, her eyes widening in fright, as he hands worked busily on the buttons of her slacks.
For answer he kissed her deeply, brutally, on the mouth, forcing his tongue past her lips. Her struggling only maddened him further and he yanked her sweater up over her breasts and abused the tips of them with his mouth, his hand unzipping her slacks and forcing them down over her hips and off her shapely legs, letting them slide to the floor. Dominique struggled wildly, succeeding finally in freeing herself from his voracious mouth.
"You must be crazy," she shrieked. "You have no right to force me. What's gotten into you?" she said, pulling down her sweater.
He reached for her again, leering humorlessly. "Since when do you have to be forced, baby? This is me you're with now-not some poor fink who thinks you belong on a pedestal."
"Don, wait. Please, wait a minute-let's talk," she begged, cringing against the wall, out of his reach.
"What would you like to talk about," he growled, methodically unbuttoning his shirt and raking it off. "The Boston Tea Party, maybe? Or-oh, I know what would appeal to you. A discussion about one Shale Marquand. Well, nothing doing, baby. The subject bores me."
Dominique hugged the sweater tighter to her bosom, trying to pull it down to cover her pink panties and upper thighs. Her ear perked up at mention of Shale's name, dispeling her fear at Don's behavior. "Shale? What about him?"
Don turned to her angrily, his eyes blazing. "You tell me what about him!"
"Oh, for godssakes, are you going to start that again?" she said in exasperation.
Don ignored her, busily removing the last of his clothing. When he was completely nude, he slumped down next to her and lay staring at the ceiling.
Dominique looked at him uncertainly, debating whether to make a run for it. Her curiosity about Shale got the better of her, however. "Did you say Shale once wrote the music for a Broadway show?" she asked, unaware of the storm clouds gathering in Don's face.
Don turned to her. "Shale is a has-been at thirty-three, he gambles, he drinks...."
Dominique frowned. "Really, Don...."
Don reached for her and pulled her down on top of him, holding her arms behind her back. "To complete the autobiography, he's married-and will continue to be in the future. He'll probably tell you his wife doesn't understand him, and she probably doesn't, but he'll never leave her. She's got some kind of a hold on him. So don't waste your time, baby. He's not for you. You're just another female to him, believe me."
"Let go of me, Don. You're hurting me," she pouted, strangely dizzied by the thought that she might possibly be found desirable by a man like Shale Marquand. "And I know he's married," she added.
"So you do have a thing for him," Don snarled, losing control of himself. "Well, here's something to remember me by."
With that, he threw her down on the bed and crushed his mouth bruisingly on her tender lips. She writhed and kicked and tried to bite, further infuriating him.
He pinned her hands over her head with one hand and with the other forced her legs. Then he vented his anger and passion and hurt on her suddenly passive, unresisting body. He used her without tenderness, without a thought for her-used her as he would have used a whore.
And when he left her, she lay still, on her back, and gazed unseeing at the ceiling, her body bruised and limp, her mind numb.
Don dressed quickly, looking in the direction of the bed every once in a while to see if the girl had stirred yet. When he was fully dressed, he walked over to her and stood looking down. She was totally oblivious to his presence.
"For godssake, Nickie, don't lie there like I killed you. Say something ... do you want a glass of water? ... Well, you asked for it, you know...."
Dominique stirred slightly. "Get out, Don," she said softly. "Get out of here before I kill you."
Don knelt down and touched her gently on the shoulder. "Aw, come on, baby. Don't be such a-"
"I said get out," she said, still staring at the ceiling, and not raising her voice.
"All right, I'll go. But don't come crying to me when my big brother destroys you and throws you in the gutter."
Dominique remained in that position for half an hour after Don left. She didn't break down and let the tears come until she was enveloped in the warm embrace of a hot, soothing bath.
Shale quickly and silently replaced the receiver on the telephone when he heard Tara's footsteps approaching the bedroom. He was engrossed in the following morning's newspaper when she entered the room. She had just gotten out of the shower and had a towel wrapped turbanstyle around her wet hair and another wrapped loosely around her curves.
"Oh, you're still up. Do you realize what time it is?" she asked, going briskly over to the bed and picking up a lime green nightgown.
Shale's eyes roved over her leisurely, taking in the long, finely tapered legs, the curves of her buttocks and breasts and down again over her legs. "Yep, still pretty good," he murmured half to himself.
"What?" she asked, dropping the towels from her head and body simultaneously, and slipping the nightgown over herself.
"I said I found that I wasn't too sleepy after all," Shale improvised, pushing the newspapers from him so that they landed on the carpet.
Tara glanced at the mess on the floor and a look of annoyance and exasperation crossed her elegant face. "Really, Shale, you must learn to be more organized, less sloppy. "I can't understand why you insist on behaving like a spoiled little boy."
"Frustration," he muttered, half seriously.
Tara gazed at him for a long time, shaking her head ruefully. "Can't you ever think of anything but sex, Shale?"
He looked at her finely chiseled features and the damp auburn hair that hung incongruously and limply down the sides of her aristocratic face. He felt a sudden rush of affection for her and couldn't help smiling. Her face softened suddenly, too, and she allowed a smile to reshape her perfect lips. Suddenly she was the old Tara, the beautiful wanton girl with the red hair and wild green eyes he had married. He felt his heart contract with a long-forgotten ache.
"Tara...." he said simply, putting out an outstretched hand to her, and his heart in the word. "Tara...."
She came to him immediately, and grasped his hand. He motioned for her to sit beside him on the bed and she did so. They looked into each other's eyes for a long while shyly, as though they were strangers. Then Tara looked away uncomfortably and Shale tightened the pressure on her hand slightly, not wanting to lose her again.
"Tara darling," he said finally. "Sex is an expression of love between husband and wife. Why do you insist on putting it in a class of its own and thinking of it as something unclean? You never used to."
She pushed back some damp strands of hair behind her ear and smiled sadly. "Love? Does the word still have meaning for you, Shale? And if so, do you still associate the word with our marriage? No, don't look like that, darling, as if I just slapped you. I'm not trying to hurt you-I lost interest in that long ago-I just want you to try to be as realistic as I've learnt to be. It's the only chance we've got to save what's left of our marriage. Can you understand anything of what I'm trying to tell you, Shale?"
Shale dropped her hand and rubbed his fingers wearily over his eyes, as if he were trying to wipe away some deep pain. "You think it's over for us, Tara?" he said finally, hoarsely.
"Us?" she repeated incredulously. "There is no us, Shale-there's you and there's me now. And that's all...." she finished sadly.
Shale slouched down into the pillows, wondering why he was feeling a fresh ache after all this time. He had believed that he had accepted the situation, had adjusted to it, and now it was as if she had just reopened an old wound, just by her seeming indifference. Or maybe it was the way she looked-very young and vulnerable in her sheer green nightgown and the unsophisticated way her wet hair hung there. Or maybe it was the tears that were forming in her greenish eyes, as if they, too, housed some secret heartache.
Then suddenly, miraculously, she was in his arms, sobbing. He stroked her hair, her shoulders, her back and she clung to him. He swallowed a lump in his throat and closed his eyes tightly, not daring to break the spell. Her sobs slowly began to subside. He pressed his lips to her hair, and breathed in the clean sweetness of her.
Suddenly the past ten years dissolved and she was his young, adorable bride again. He lifted her easily as if she were a doll and placed her more securely on the bed. He looked down at her tear-streaked face, the slight wrinkles about the mouth, and felt as though he were melting. She looked up at him and her eyes were green, limpid pools of passion. She touched his cheek and hair with long, finely tapered fingertips and he felt his legs tremble.
He buried his lips in the soft flesh of her throat and she caressed the back of his head tenderly. And then he was kissing her hair, her eyes, her mouth, her breasts.
And when her nightgown became an impediment to his progress, he ripped it off and tossed it away.
He journeyed down her soft body with his lips and hands, gently at first but with increasing urgency and passion.
Tara arched her body, offering herself to his wishes and trying to reciprocate his lovemaking with her own body and lips. She moaned as his kisses became more and more intimate, more searing, more agonizing. Finally, unable to bear any more of the exquisite torture, she whispered, "That's enough, Shale-I want you now. Please, darling...."
Shale came to her ... he wanted to take his time, to be expert in his control, his rhythm, but somehow the abstinence of the past many months were too much for him and he didn't give his best performance.
Tara lay still when it was over, pale and shaken. She bit her lips and forced herself to swallow the bitter words that were rising in her throat. She glanced at his crestfallen face and felt pity for him.
He took her in his arms and lay there, staring mutely at nothing. "I'm sorry," he said finally. "I'm sorry, Tara."
Her heart went out to him and she stroked his hair as if he were a little boy. "That's all right, darling. It was my fault. I guess we'll just have to get used to each other again."
He nodded numbly. They lay in a blaring silence for a few more moments, and then he leaned over and switched the bed lamp off, and they each lay in their own separate darkness.
CHAPTER FIVE
Several weeks later, Dominique was walking home from a futile shopping spree which she had initiated as an attempt to stifle her self-pity and bitterness. Her feet aching, she spotted an empty cab across the street on Fiftyseventh and Fifth and began to walk briskly across the street just as the Don't Walk sign flashed on. Horns began honking on either side of her and she hesitated, confused.
Suddenly, a long arm reached out and grasped her by the shoulder steering her quickly across the street despite the protesting horns. Dominique let herself be led, grateful as always, for male guidance.
"Well, you're safe now. What are you trying to do, get yourself killed?" he was saying.
Dominique looked up at her protector and couldn't stifle a gasp. "You!" she breathed stupidly.
"Me," he nodded, grinning like a devil. "Me Tarzan, you Jane."
Dominique tossed her long hair flirtatiously. "You Tarzan, me Dominique," she corrected.
"No, I didn't forget your name," he said wisely, taking her arm again and steering her through the evening rushhour mob.
"Where are you taking me?" Dominique asked, although she couldn't have cared less.
"Oh, back to my lair. We'll have a quick dinner and then I'm going to seduce you," he said casually, watching her with amusement out of the comer of his eye.
"Oh, all right," she murmured. At his chuckle she came out of her trance and blushed. "I-I mean I'm all right now. You can let go of me," she stammered, wanting to crawl into a hole.
"You have to have dinner with me," he informed her.
"But-but...."
"In a nice, crowded restaurant," he assured her. "And then I will deposit you home in the same condition in which I found you."
"I don't know what to say...." Dominique hesitated, afraid that she would embarrass herself by jumping for joy in the middle of the crowded sidewalk.
"Well, you think of a good reason to say no, but meanwhile we might as well take a cab there," he said, hailing one down.
"What about your wife? Isn't she expecting you home for dinner?" Dominique asked hesitantly, as soon as they were settled in the cab.
"Let me worry about my wife," he advised her. "And that goes for any future relationship we may have after tonight."
Dominique gulped, opened her mouth to speak, but couldn't think of a logical answer to the unorthodox statement and shut up. She turned confusedly and stared unseeing out of the cab window.
Shale patted her hand approvingly and, when she didn't move, let his hand remain where it was.
Fifteen minutes later, when they entered one of the most popular sea food restaurants in the city, Dominique was glad that she had worn one of her most flattering dresses-a black and white print with a semi-flare skirt. Over it she wore a matching black cape. Shale was casually but neatly dressed in a charcoal tweed sports jacket and fitted slacks, his dark hair and looks contrasting nicely with her fair-skinned femininity. As they passed a mirror entering the restaurant, Dominique decided that they went very well together.
Shale looked from the mirror to her and read her thoughts. "We're rather an attractive couple, wouldn't you say?"
Dominique flushed and was spared the necessity of an answer when the maitre d' approached them and led them to a table for two near the back of the room.
"Would you like me to order for you or do you have any preferences," he asked her once they were settled.
Dominique wet her lips and smiled at him. "You order, Shale, I'm putting myself entirely in your hands tonight."
"Right," he nodded approvingly. "You're my kind of woman, little one." The waiter approached just then and Shale proceeded to order.
Dominique's eyes grew wide as she listened to him and she paled a bit. When the waiter walked away, she managed to sputter, "Lobster! Oh, my gosh, Shale-I've never eaten lobster before."
He smiled and his eyes crinkled. "There's always a first time for everything, as Confucious say."
"But-but lobster!" she squealed. "I don't know-"
"Would you like to change the order? Or would you like to take a chance on it?" he challenged, and somehow Dominique felt that he was daring her to decide on something bigger than a mere lobster dinner.
She looked back into the depth of his eyes and saw her own reflection there. "I'll take a chance," she murmured. "Are you sure?" he pressed.
Dominique took a deep breath before answering. "I'm sure."
The waiter soon returned and placed their dinner on the table. He placed a plate in front of Dominique with something that looked like a big red bug upon it. She shuddered involuntarily and tried unsuccessfully to suppress a grimace. She looked helplessly at Shale who was already starting to dig into the ugly red thing.
He happened to look up and caught her eye. She was staring balefully from the lobster to Shale and back again. There was a look of mute despair in her grey eyes which amused him.
"What, may I ask, is so funny?" Dominique demanded, feeling like a backwards schoolgirl, yet unwilling to confess her ignorance about not knowing how to start in on the thing.
Shale sensed her predicament and touched her hand gently.
"Now, look, Dominique, you simply pick the shell up in one hand and-"
"No," Dominique shuddered. "I absolutely refuse to touch that thing with a ten foot pole. Go ahead, you can laugh at me if you like, but I just can't," she wailed near tears.
Shale didn't say another word but took her plate and removed all of the meat from the shell so that she would have no difficulty. He returned the plate to her. "Here, now taste it."
She looked at him doubtfully.
"For me?" he asked.
Dominique had no defense for the magnetic brown eyes. She gulped bravely and picking up a morsel on her fork, muttered, "Tis a far far better thing I do than I have ever done before."
"That's my brave girl," Shale laughed, watching her put the morcel of meat into her mouth.
After a while, Dominique forgot what she was eating, so engrossed was she in Shale's witty conversation. She lost track of time, of place, of herself. For the first time in weeks she found herself truly relaxing. Only when he excused himself to make a phone call did she become aware of the fact that there was a world out there-one other than the little world she and Shale had been sharing for the past hour. Shale had a wife to go home to and she had-what?-she had an empty apartment.
She stirred her coffee moodily and didn't notice Shale's reappearance until he was seated opposite her again.
"Did you call your wife?" she asked, staring absently into her coffee cup.
Shale looked at her oddly before answering. "Yes, I was worried about her and wanted to see if she was home yet."
"Was she?" she questioned, not able to stop the jealous gnawing that was growing within her. "Yes," he said shortly.
"Well," she said casually, reaching for the sugar bowl, "that's good."
Shale put his hand over hers and said gently, "Little one, that's the fifth cube of sugar you put in your coffee."
"Was it?" Dominique replied, withdrawing her hand from his. "I didn't notice."
Shale frowned and took a sip of black coffee before speaking. "There's really no point in talking about her, you know."
Dominique gulped and placed her cup on its saucer shakily. "About who?"
"About Tara," he said deliberately. "That's my wife's name."
Dominique looked at him with a look of hurt and said bitterly, "It's a lovely name. Does she also have a middle name? Do you have any children, any pets? If so, what are their names?"
Shale looked away, then back at her. "Forgive me. That was an idiotic thing to say."
"Then what made you say it?" Dominique pressed.
He looked at her thoughtfully for a moment, wondering whether to say what he was thinking. "The same thing that's going to make me say a lot of things in the future that are going to hurt you. And the same thing that's going to make me hurt for hurting you."
"And what thing is that?" Dominique asked, tightening her fingers around her coffee cup.
"You get to me, Dominique. You reach something in me that hasn't been touched in a long, long time," he said gently, shaking his head.
"And that's bad?" she asked, puzzled yet delighted.
"Yes, damn it!" he raised his voice, causing people at a nearby table to glance in his direction. He glared back at them so fiercely that they quickly looked away. "Yes, damn it," he repeated more softly this time. "You're the worst thing that could happen to me."
"Well, thanks a lot," she murmured not sure whether to be flattered or insulted.
"And don't get cute," he muttered, unable to take his eyes off her.
"Who me?" she asked, looking at him with big, innocent grey eyes.
"Who me?" he mimicked. "Yes, you. And let me tell you something right now, little girl. I am never going to divorce my wife to marry you. Never. And nothing you say or do is going to make me change my mind. Is that clear?"
Dominique blinked. "You must be out of your mind, talking about marriage at this point. I don't even like you particularly."
Shale rewarded her with a twisted grin. "And cut the coyness. It doesn't appeal to me. If you and I are going to have any kind of a meaningful relationship, we're going to have to be completely honest with one another. "Deal?" he said, putting out his hand to her.
Dominique's eyes blazed angrily and she ignored his hand. "It seems to me, Mister Marquand, that you are taking an awful lot for granted."
Shale withdrew his hand and lit a cigarette. "Such as?"
"Such as-who said I was interested in having any kind of a relationship with you," she began.
"Your eyes say it," he interrupted.
"That's ridiculous!"
"Is it? Then why can't you look at me now?"
Dominique looked him squarely in the eye. "What exactly is it that you want from me?"
Shale looked into her face and saw beauty and youth and innocence. "I want you," he said finally. "I want everything you are to be mine. I want you to belong to me," he finished simply.
Dominique's eyes filled and her lips trembled slightly as she asked, "But you don't want to belong to me, is that it?"
Shale sighed deeply. "Look, this is no place to discuss this. Let's get the check and leave, okay?"
Ten minutes later they were in a cab en route to her apartment. A light drizzle was beginning and they watched the rain glisten like teardrops down the front windshield. When they were about four blocks from their destination, Shale spoke. "Would you like to get out and walk the rest of the way?"
Dominique lifted her head from his shoulder and looked up at him. "You know I would."
He smiled tenderly at her. "Yes," he admitted. "I know."
He paid the cab driver and helped her out of the cab. The rain was coming down in great drops now and he put an arm around her and drew her closer to him. "Why are you smiling?"
"Because I'm crazily, for no reason at all, happy," she said simply.
He stopped abruptly on the sidewalk and turned to face her, his hands on her shoulders. "For no reason?"
Dominique looked up into his warm brown eyes and said softly, "Because I'm with you, Shale."
He looked down at her rain-moistened, upturned face and took it in both of his big hands. "Dominique," he murmured huskily as he bent to kiss her lips. Dominique's arms went about him instantly and they clung to each other, kissing sweetly as the raindrops danced about them.
Dominique finally pulled away and said shakily, "We could get arrested for disturbing the peace."
"Yeah, my peace," he smiled, taking her hand as they resumed walking.
Dominique felt as though she were floating, rather than walking. She looked at Shale to make sure he felt the same way. He was slowly shaking his head, a small smile on his lips.
When they reached Dominique's apartment, Shale hesitated about going in.
"Aren't you going to walk me to my door?" Dominique asked. "My folks are in Miami, so it's perfectly safe."
"Try and stop me," he grinned.
"Then why the hesitation?" she questioned.
"Oh, I just had a pang of conscience, which is a rarity for me, I assure you."
"Oh? Anything serious? I wouldn't want you to strain yourself," she derided.
"Brother Don," he explained sheepishly.
"What about your brother?" she said coldly.
"Aren't you two going together or something?"
"Past tense," she corrected coolly. "I haven't seen your brother in three weeks, nor do I have any wish to," she said firmly, closing the subject.
"Wow, you're pretty rough on the kid, aren't you? No wonder he's been walking around depressed lately. Women," he grinned.
"Don't worry about Don," she said shortly. "He'll get over me."
"Yes, I suppose so," Shale agreed. "It's too bad you two kids broke up though. You would have made such a charming sister-in-law."
Dominique's eyes stung with disappointment. "Well, thank you for dinner. Goodbye."
Shale took the key from her hand as she fumbled blindly for the lock. "Listen," he said, opening the door and handing the key back to her. "Don't go throwing a temper tantrum." He strode into the room and made himself at home, nicking on lamps and stretching out on the sofa.
Dominique stood in the open doorway, arms akimbo, watching him with a frown that was threatening to become a smile. Finally, she shrugged and entered the room, closing the door behind her. She removed the cape and tossed it over a chair.
"I'm glad you did that," he informed her with a smile, motioning for her to sit beside him.
"You're glad I did what?" she asked, sitting down.
"Tossed your cape down like that instead of hanging it up."
Dominique laughed. "Well, it certainly doesn't take much to make you happy, does it?"
His face sobered and he drew her to him. She rested her head against his chest contentedly. She didn't notice it when he turned down the lamp beside him. When she opened her eyes, Shale's lips were inches from hers. She moved into his arms and gave herself to the warmth of his embrace. Her lips opened to permit his darting tongue to enter and entwine with her own. She moaned softly as his hand moved over the material covering her breasts, stroking lightly. Her hand moved back to caress the back of his head and neck, pressing him closer to her and arching her body tightly against his.
His breathing quickened and his lips burned like hot coal into hers as he fumbled to open the zipper on the back of her dress.
Only when she felt his lips mouthing a tautening bare breast did she realize what was happening-or going to happen, if she didn't stop him quickly.
"No, Shale-we mustn't," she murmured weakly, pushing him from her and rearranging her dress.
Shale stared at her with contained anger until she flushed and looked away.
"Well?" he said sarcastically.
"Well, what?" she said, looking up at him through lowered lashes.
"Aren't you going to yell for the police? There's a telephone right over there. Why don't-"
"Stop it!" she shouted.
Shale searched her face quietly, then stood up and walked to the bathroom. When he returned his clothing was straightened and his hair was freshly combed.
Dominique sat huddled miserably in a comer of the sofa. She looked up as he entered the room. "Where are you going?" she asked, not bothering to conceal the alarm in her voice.
"Home," he said shortly and brutally.
Dominique flinched, a look of pain crossing her beautiful face. She watched him walk to the door, unable to speak for the conflicting emotions that were choking her. She made a small strangled sound as his hand reached for the doorknob and he turned.
She ran to him, straight into his waiting arms. After a few moments of silence she murmured into his chest, "You must think I'm an awfully big baby. And maybe you're right."
He stroked the wisps of red-gold hair back from her forehead. "I can understand you being frightened now. But I can wait, Dominique."
She lifted a tear-stained face to his and cried, "But you don't understand, Shale. If you'll let me explain-"
Shale shut her up with a long, hot kiss. When he finally released her, he said, "I said I can wait. But you had better not make me wait too long."
Dominique looked at him, shaking her head and smiling wryly. "You're awfully sure of yourself. But don't be too surprised if I never give in."
He kissed her again, deeply. She was rigid at first, but quickly her body betrayed her and she responded with equal ardor. When they broke apart, Shale had a smug expression on his face.
Dominique looked dazed, and was amazed at her reaction to this near stranger. "Shale, Shale," she muttered. "This is crazy. This can't be happening...."
Shale kissed her lightly on the forehead before he left. "We've simply fallen in love, my sweet. Don't worry your little head about it," he said matter-of-factly.
CHAPTER SIX
The next afternoon Shale went to the track by himself. If anything could get him out of a deep blue depression, the fiats could do it. He couldn't understand people who didn't get a charge out of gambling their money on the horses. Not that he was a compulsive gambler, of course, but he had started going rather regularly since his Broadway show had closed three years before. He found that he didn't have to compete with anyone on a personal level here. He simply made his choices, placed his money, and if he lost-well, no one had to know about it.
Unlike his Broadway flop, he thought bitterly. Then his very dear friends had come to comfort him, barely able to stifle their smiles of satisfaction.
He had bummed around for a couple of years until he met Tara, then a fashion model, at a party. They had had a real swinging affair which led into a real swinging marriage, to which his parents weren't invited. They went partying nearly every night for the next couple of years, determined to become the contemporary Zelda and F. Scott Fitzgerald. They nearly made it, too-the beautiful red-haired, green-eyed Tara and the dark, ruggedly handsome Shale, up and coming young composer. They had a real wild ball, and to hell with anyone who tried to stand in their way.
Yes, life was a ball. Until the night of the accident, that is. They were at a lawn party and Shale had gotten very drunk and accused Tara of flirting with an aging Hollywood actor. Tara, equally as drunk, had coolly agreed with him, and what was he going to do about it?
He grabbed her by the arm and half-dragged her to their automobile. Their home was about fifty miles away and Shale went over eighty miles per hour for thirty-five of those miles. On the thirty-sixth mile, the car swerved into a ditch and Shale was thrown out of the car.
Tara had been asleep and since her body had been relaxed she had escaped serious injury, except for a few cuts and bruises. Shale suffered a broken leg with fractures in several places. It refused to heal for nearly a year and when it did, he was left with a limp as a souvenir.
Tara had changed after that, Shale reflected. She became more inhibited in their lovemaking, she harped upon him to find a steady job, and she began taking courses in interior decorating. In other words, he summed up, she became a solid citizen.
The thing that hurt the most, though, was the difference when they made love. Tara had been as sensuous and as uninhibited a partner as any man could ask for. Their lovemaking had been varied, and exciting, and wild. They had made love when, where, and however they chose. But, since the accident, Tara had taken on a much more passive role, and every time he took her, Shale had the odd sensation that he was raping her.
There had been several women for him after that, but no one who meant anything to him. So far, Imogene had lasted the longest-three years-but only because she was talented in bed and smart enough to know that Shale could never take her seriously.
But now there was this kid, Dominique. She was luscious, yes. She was vulnerable, yes. She was the sweetest thing that had entered his life in a long time, yes. But she was also dangerous. No. He couldn't take a chance on falling for her. What could he offer a kid like that? He was a dried-up hasbeen who had never been. She was a beautiful young girl who deserved a future that he could never give her.
And even if he wanted to try, there was still Tara. He knew that he still felt for her. Whether it was love or whether it was sentimental memory of the girl he had married ten years earlier made no difference. She had gone through a lot with him, and he couldn't desert her for a younger woman. Not even if it meant the start of a new life for himself. Besides, he remembered drily, Tara was the one who paid his gambling debts.
"Women," he sighed. "What a damned lot of trouble they were. He'd stick to horses. They took a lot less out of a man.
Shale studied his program and went to place a bet. He had brought two hundred dollars with him to the track today and had already bet fifty dollars on the first race. Maybe if he won a pile of money today he wouldn't have to go back to Tara. Not that she wasn't a great girl, of course, but he hated feeling dependent upon a woman, even if she were his wife. Maybe he and Dominique could go away some place and start anew. She could probably inspire him to great things, he thought.
Suddenly, a tap on the shoulder brought him back to reality. He turned and caught his breath. Standing behind him, fat and greasy as ever, was Duke Callahan, one of Mr. Schenley's boys. Mr. Schenley was the loan shark Shale borrowed money from. Duke came around every so often to remind gamblers that it was nearly monthly collection time.
Just then the first race ended, and Shale saw fifty bucks go down the drain. Something in his brain seemed to explode and he suddenly felt a mixture of desperation and anger towards this fat, ugly hood, who was hounding him. True, he only owed a thousand bucks, and Tara would pay if off as she had been doing, scornfully, for the past couple of years. But that wasn't the point. No, that wasn't the point at all. What right did this illiterate idiot have to keep hounding him?
He turned to Duke, and growled, "Yeah?"
"Nice day, isn't it?" Duke smiled pleasantly, revealing a crooked set of teeth, one gold filling showing proudly.
"Drop dead," Shale spat, turning his back, and looking blindly at his scratch sheet.
Duke blinked for a split second in astonishment. Then a cruel gleam came into his eyes, and he jabbed Shale viciously on the shoulder again. "Don't forget, pal," he gloated, "you have exactly one week to pay up."
Shale turned angrily, his dark eyes flashing. "And if I don't, fat and ugly?"
Duke smiled slowly and sardonically, his eyes cruel narrow slits. "Then it would give me great pleasure, pretty boy, to beat your brains out."
"Well, then, that's exactly what you're going to have to do," Shale informed him, turning on his heel and walking away to buy his ticket for the second race.
Duke looked after him, his fat, inhuman face taking on a sadistic expression of glee.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Dominique hung around the house for one week waiting to hear from Shale. On the eighth day, she couldn't stand herself any longer and decided that it was time to do something with herself. Her parents were still in Miami and the big house seemed empty and deathly quiet. She was tempted several times to call Shale but decided against it.
She stretched sensuously and crept to the foot of her bed to look out the window. The sun was hazily bright, the way it usually is in late fall. Dominique sighed deeply and wondered what Shale was doing on such a lovely day and wishing she could spend it with him; perhaps take a drive into the country and view the scenery.
Oh, well, she shrugged. Shale had apparently taken a powder and she'd probably never see him again. Most probably he was something she had dreamt up anyway; a figment of her imagination. What she needed was some down-to-earth guy made of flesh and blood-a real live man who wouldn't accept the verdict when she said no.
Dominique slipped her feet into tiny black velvet slippers and didn't bother tossing a robe over her powder pink Empire style nightgown. She passed the full-length mirror on the way to the bathroom and stopped to ad mire her reflection. She saw a slender yet rounded young female with long, tousled, red-gold hair and seductively sleepy grey eyes and a slightly pouted naturally red mouth. Her eyes traveled downward to the sharply upthrust young breasts down to the narrow waist which tapered into shapely hips and strong, well-shaped legs. She brushed back a lock of hair from her forehead and smiled at herself slightly, causing her single dimple to crease winningly. She put her hand behind her head and pushed up her hair in an upsweep in the coy manner of a bathing beauty contestant, and adopted a pretentious stance. With her other hand, she picked up the front hem of her sheer nightgown and brought it inch by inch over her ankles, her knees, then slowly, and tantalizingly, as if she had an audience, up to the tops of her thighs. She stood there in a semi-trance, imagining Shale's strong, masculine hands following that same path, but not stopping there....
Suddenly, she realized what she was thinking and she dropped her nightgown hurriedly. She had not let herself give into erotic fantasies since she was twelve years old. She shook her head at her image in silent reprimand. Then she went into the bathroom where she washed up, then returned to her bedroom and strode over to the closet to select an appropriate outfit for job hunting. For she had decided-between washing her face and brushing her teeth-that she was going out today and try to earn her keep. She had been out of college for six months now and there was no legitimate reason for her parents to have to support her.
Her other purpose in going to work was simple enough. She intended to save money as rapidly as possible, take a ship to Europe and get Shale Marquand out of her system once and for all. She couldn't bear the fact that she was so close to him and yet couldn't see him. Perhaps that 'out of sight out of mind jazz' worked after all. She was going to find out.
It was impossible for her to get interested in other men, even though she tried. She went on any and every blind date her friends or relatives dreamed up for her and she dated men she had been friendly with for years. She encountered some attractive young men, but could not bring herself to warm up to them, and showed it. There was something so forbidding about her that most of the men didn't even try to kiss her.
She shook her head ruefully as she slipped into a simple brown tweed dress and brushed her hair up into a loose chignon. It wasn't that she was being faithful to Shaleafter all, she scarcely knew the man. No, she couldn't explain her strange and deep attachment to the man, but as long as it existed, she knew she was better off getting away from him. Far away. She'd always wanted to go to Paris anyhow.
Dominique had no luck job hunting that day, as she lacked secretarial skills. Nor did she have any better luck for the remainder of the week. One evening, however, buying a ticket for a French movie at a downtown theatre, she recognized the cashier as an acquaintance from college. The girl was a struggling actress and was doing this part-time. Movie cashier jobs were easy to get, she told Dominique, if a girl was good-looking.
With her girl friends help, Dominique actually did get a job the next day. She hadn't really wanted a night job, but she figured it was better than nothing. And besides, this way she could continue to sleep late in the mornings.
It wasn't hard work, but it wasn't healthful. The heating unit in her cashier's booth was faulty; usually she was either freezing or on the verge of being cooked alive.
Within two weeks she came down with a severe cold. She dragged herself from bed a week later, still coughing and weak, but panicky at the thought of all the time that was passing without any money accumulating.
That night, she shivered and coughed through three wretched hours in the stifling booth, fearing that she was coming down with pneumonia. When the marquee went dark at last, she couldn't bear to face a subway ride home, so she squandered most of what she had earned that night on taxi fare. She came home chilled through, went straight to the liquor cabinet and poured herself a stiff shot from a brandy bottle. Then she went upstairs to her bedroom, where she threw herself on her bed with her clothes on, drawing a quilt over her trembling body.
She was awakened by the phone about an hour later. She answered sleepily and hoarsely, and couldn't place the voice immediately.
"Nickie, it's me-Don," he finally informed her. "I'm sorry to call so late but I've been lying here thinking about you and I thought I'd see how you are."
"Couldn't you wait until the morning to find out how I am," she said grumpily.
"Well," he said slowly, "I also wanted to apologize. For the way I acted the last time I saw you. Remember...?"
Dominique frowned. "How could I forget?" she said, drily, unconsciously drawing the quilt over her breasts.
Don cleared his throat nervously and she could just picture the way his eye must be blinking a mile a minute. She stifled a chuckle and was about to suggest that he hang up and let her go back to sleep when suddenly a racking cough overtook her and she was unable to speak.
"Nickie, are you okay?" he asked anxiously. "What's wrong?"
"Oh, nothing," she said between coughs. "Just choking over your apology." Then she went into another spasm and it was moments before she could catch her breath again.
"Are your parents still in Miami?" he inquired.
"Yes, Don," she said impatiently. "Look, can't all these questions wait until tomorrow? I'm very tired and I'm not feeling well-"
"I'll be right over," he blurted impulsively.
"Are you out of your crazy mind-" she began. But he had already hung up.
Twenty minutes later, Dominique-now dressed in a nightgown and a warm bathrobe-traipsed downstairs to answer the impatiently ringing doorbell. She let a harried looking Don in and he followed her upstairs to her room in silence.
Once inside the bedroom, she curled up on her bed again and motioned for him to sit on the armchair. He did so, staring at her in worried silence for a few moments.
"You look like hell," he said finally, twisting his college ring nervously around in circles.
"Thank you, you're looking pretty well yourself," she smiled dryly.
"No, no foolin', what happened to you? How come you're so run down?" he queried.
She looked away and he interpreted her silence as placing the blame on him. Dominique glanced at him and guessed what was on his mind. "No, darling," she said quickly, "it hasn't got a thing to do with you."
Don let his breath out slowly. "You're sure?"
"Don't flatter yourself," she murmured, reaching for the pack of cigarettes on her night table.
"Do you think that's wise," he asked, his eyes resting unconsciously on the rise and fall of her breasts beneath the robe.
"What?" she asked, sarcastically.
"Smoking when you have such a bad cough."
"Wise or not, I want a cigarette," she decided.
She smoked in silence for a while, while Don sat back in the armchair, studying her intently with his dark, brooding eyes that were so much like Shale's. The observation made her nervous.
"You keep staring at me, Don. Are you planning to rape me again?" she asked deliberately thrusting her breasts forward, so that they strained against the thin material of her robe.
Don squirmed uncomfortably and flushed. "Must you be such a bitch, Dominique? I didn't come here to get into an argument with you."
"Why exactly did you come here, Don? To play tiddly winks with me?" she suggested.
Don's fingers clenched and unclenched on the arms of the chair as he fought to control the ticking in his eye. He struggled to regain his composure and finally said, gently, "That's a nasty cold you have, Nickie. How did you catch it?"
Dominique stubbed out her cigarette angrily, reminded about her ill-fated job. "Oh," she waved her hand impatiently, "I have this job working nights as a cashier in a movie theatre. The cubicle is poorly insulated and I'm afraid I might have caught pneumonia. Nothing serious."
Don scowled at her attitude. "You ought to be spanked. And what on earth did you have to get a job for?"
"Because," she said patiently, "I need money."
"You still have parents," he reminded her, struggling to keep from staring at her breasts as she yawned and stretched sensuously.
"One; my parents are in Miami, and two; it's time I started earning my own money," she retorted, stifling a cough.
"I know it's none of my business, but why this sudden desperate desire for money, Nickie? Have to skip town in a hurry for some sinister reason?" he joked weakly.
"As a matter-of-fact, yes," she smiled mysteriously. "I want to go to Paris."
"Paris?" he repeated dumbly. "What's in Paris?"
"Oh, the Eiffel Tower, the Louvre, the Seine ... she began enumerating.
"No, seriously, what on earth do you want to go there for?" he said, a perplexed look on his face.
"I want to learn to dance the can-can," Dominique said brightly. "Can you think of a better place to learn it than in Paris?"
"Pardon me for saying this, Nickie, but I think you're slightly out of your mind," he apologized.
Dominique lifted herself and kneeled on the bed, swooping the hems of her nightgown and bathrobe slowly up until the flesh of her thighs peeked alluringly out. "Don't you think I have a nice enough figure to be a cancan dancer, Don?" she teased.
The boy's mouth dropped open and he ran over to her just in time to prevent her from raising the bedclothes any higher. He grabbed both her wrists and held her tightly against him until she stopped struggling. A coughing fit overcame her and he ran to the bathroom to bring her a small glass of water. When she had swallowed all of it, he placed the empty glass on the night table. When he turned to her again, she was sobbing quietly, her face in the pillow.
Don put his hands on her slender shoulders and could feel her trembling beneath the flannel robe. "Nickie, what is it, baby. What's wrong?"
Dominique just shook her head in silent desperation, unable to answer him. Then she turned around on her back and he was stunned at the mute anguish he read there.
Panicky, he asked, "Do you want a doctor?"
Again, she shook her head violently. Then she began to laugh hysterically. "A doctor? No, I don't need a doctor."
Frightened, Don put a hand against her forehead and wasn't surprised to discover that she was burning up with fever. He ran into the bathroom and returned with a wet washcloth which he laid gingerly on her forehead.
"Ah, that feels good, Shale," she murmured deliriously.
Don flinched. "This is Don, Nickie," he said softly.
"Shale, Shale," she muttered. "Where's Shale?"
Don was unable to answer her and contented himself with stroking her forehead and hair. The washcloth had become rather dry, so he tossed it on the night table.
Dominique dozed off for several moments, but her own coughing awakened her shortly. "Hello, Don, she smiled. "You're being very sweet to me. I don't deserve it."
Don shrugged and smiled ruefully. "I've got to keep you healthy for big brother Shale, don't I, Nickie?"
Dominique frowned and bit her bottom Up nervously. "Have I been saying stupid things, Don? I'm terribly sorry."
He smiled sadly and gently smoothed her hair back from her forehead. "Never be sorry for the truth, Nickie. It's just as well."
Dominique was silent for a moment. Then: "There's really been nothing between me and Shale, you know. In fact, I haven't seen him in weeks."
"And is that the reason you're going to run away to Paris?" he asked shrewdly. "Because you're afraid that if you stay here, something will happen?"
At her prolonged silence, Don took a deep breath and got up and walked around the room. He paced it up and down for several moments, then came back to the bed and sat down beside her again.
He took her chin in his hand and said quietly, "Would you like me to tell you a bit about Shale, Nickie? I think I know him better than anyone else in the world. Better than he knows himself, in fact. I used to idolize him when I was a kid, before I knew any better. I thought it was smart not to give a hang about money or family obligations. I thought it was manly to gamble all the time, great not to have a steady job, fantastic to have a different mistress every other month. But now I've grown up and I see that his behavior, everything he does, the way he lives, is just a sign of irresponsibility...."
Don went on and on, telling Dominique about Shale's strange relationship with Tara, about his large gambling debts, even about Imogene, his mistress on and off for the past two years.
When he finished, half an hour later, he looked at Dominique's pale face and glanced quickly at his wristwatch. "I'd better go and let you get some sleep. It's been a rough night for you, hasn't it?"
She smiled weakly. "Yes, doctor. And thank you for the diagnosis. I'll try not to do anything to aggravate the condition."
Don bent down and kissed her lightly on the cheek. "Good-night, kid. Take care of yourself. I'll call you in the morning."
The bedroom door slammed shut and Don and Dominique turned around, startled. "Shale!" they both gasped in astonishment.
"Well, how cozy," he smirked, anger burning in his dark eyes. "I found the door open downstairs so I thought I'd surprise you and not bother to knock," he informed Dominique. "I guess this will teach me to mind my manners."
He spun around and yanked the door open and disappeared as quickly as he had come.
Dominique jumped up from the bed and was about to go after him, but Don caught her and prevented her from doing so.
"Let him go, Nickie. He'll be back. Heaven help you, but he'll be back."
CHAPTER EIGHT
The telephone woke her. She blinked at the clock; it was ten o'clock. "Hello?" she said hoarsely.
"Are you dressed? We're going for an airplane ride."
"What, are you crazy, Shale? I'm fast asleep and I'm dying of pneumonia."
There was a deep pause. Then he said, "Oh. Well, then how about going deep sea-diving?"
"No, thank you. Try again," she giggled, beginning to wake up.
"I don't suppose you'd consider having lunch with me," he asked.
"Well, now that you mention it, I really don't see any reason why I should," she said coyly, moistening her dry lips.
"Yeah," he admitted drily, "My exit last night wasn't exactly gracious, was it?"
"That's putting it mildly," she laughed. "Why the sudden about-face this morning? Or are you just planning to poison my lunch?"
Shale let out an exaggerated sigh of relief. "Whew! Then you will have lunch with me?"
"Wait, I didn't say that...." she began.
"Great. I'll pick you up at twelve," he informed her before hanging up.
Dominique stared at the receiver with a dazed expression on her face before replacing it in its cradle.
Two and a half hours later, they were walking contentedly, hand in hand, searching idly for a place to lunch. Shale paused in front of a little French restaurant in the cellar of a brownstone house. "They make great omelets here and the coffee is on the house. This okay with you?"
Dominique nodded. "Perfect. I haven't had breakfast, so a light lunch is a good idea."
He led her to a small table in the back that was covered with a red and white checked tablecloth and had a basket of bread and rolls resting on it. A fat old woman approached them, greeted Shale enthusiastically in French and gave Dominique the once-over.
"You've been here quite often?" she asked him, when the woman had taken their order and waddled away.
He nodded. "Occasionally. It's not expensive and the food's good. I only take my special girls here," he winked.
"You mean like Imogene?" she blurted, before she could stop herself.
Shale remained expressionless. "You really ought to do something about that cold. You've got a mean cough."
"Yes," she acknowledged. "But you still didn't answer me.
"About what?" he said absently, lighting a cigarette.
"About Imogene," Dominique repeated impatiently.
"What about Imogene?" he asked.
Dominique rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Oh, for heaven's sakes, Shale! Sometimes you absolutely infuriate me," she cried.
Shale laughed as he took a sip from his water glass. "That's because you're in love with me, my pet."
Dominique looked at his badly shaven, tired face and the anger left her completely. She looked down at the tablecloth, at a loss for words. Finally, she looked up. "And I suppose that gives you the right to treat me like this."
Shale gestured dramatically, mimicking her. "Like this? Like what, Dominique?"
"Can you deny that you spent most of your time with Imogene these past couple of weeks?" she demanded.
He stared back at her for a moment, then said angrily, "Why should I deny it?"
Dominique gasped and before she could stop herself had deposited a resounding slap on his face. His hand went up immediately to cover the wounded area and he looked at her with equally wounded eyes. Dominique clasped her hand to her mouth for a moment, not quite sure whether to apologize or to run. They glared at each other for several moments and before either could speak the fat woman had returned to take their order.
"I'll have a scotch on the rocks," Shale ordered, not taking his eyes off Dominique's face. "On second thought make that a double," he corrected.
"And the young lady?" the fat woman inquired.
"The young lady will have the same," Dominique answered, looking Shale straight in the eye.
"Aren't you going to order lunch?" Shale asked, after the proprietor had gone.
"Are you?" she demanded.
He shook his head. "No."
"Neither am I," she decided.
"Don't be an idiot," he shouted.
"Don't raise your voice in here," she reprimanded him.
"Don't be an idiot," he whispered.
Dominique bit her lip and fought for control. "Maybe it would be better if I left. I'm sure you can handle the two drinks by yourself."
He grabbed her by the arm as she started to rise. "You're not going any place until you hear me out once and for all."
"Suppose I'm not interested," she flared up at him. "What do I care if you have six million mistresses," she sobbed.
"Let me explain-" he tried.
"Explain it to your wife," she said brokenly, fumbling in her purse for a handkerchief.
"The reason I was with Imogene is your fault, not my wife's" he said patiently. "Where the devil are those drinks?"
"Right here, monsieur," the fat woman said patronizingly, placing them on the table.
Shale thanked her sheepishly and took a great gulp of his drink. Dominique tried to follow suit and nearly choked. Without asking her, Shale emptied a glass of water into her glass, ignoring her protests.
"There. That's more your speed," he told her.
"How do you, you know what my speed is ... My fault.'" she shouted suddenly.
"Shh. Don't raise your voice in here," he chided her.
"My fault!" she shrieked in a stage whisper. "Why, you must be crazier than I think you are."
"Listen, Dominique. Contrary to popular belief, I am a man, not a god. A man with good healthy appetites. I can go without a woman for a certain amount of time and then ... well, anyway, the point is this-you refused to have an affair with me so I went to Imogene." He said gallantly, "I respect your wishes. But don't tell me to stop living."
Dominique could not quite believe her ears. She took a sip of her drink. People like this simply did not exist. How could he be so-so cold-blooded? "How can you be so cold-blooded about this," she gasped.
"Oh, I wouldn't put it exactly that way," he smirked.
Dominique felt a tremendous urge to slap him again. Only with difficulty did she restrain herself. There was a brief silence and then Shale said:
"Dominique, will you please stop gritting your teeth and say something?"
"Drop dead," she said.
Shale laughed loudly and nearly spilled the drink he was holding. "That's my girl."
"Damn you! she continued furiously.
"Now, now. Let's be civilized," he soothed. "After all, we're in a public place."
"Will there be anything else, monsieur?" the proprietor asked, drawn to the table by what appeared to be a spicy conversation.
"Two mushroom omelets," Shale ordered. "Is that all right with you, Dominique?"
"Does it matter?" she asked, staring at the ceiling.
"So let me finish my story," he continued. "You can imagine what I thought when I saw you and Don on your bed last night."
"Yes, I can imagine," she said drily.
"Well, you have to admit, it looked rather bad," he smirked.
"What makes you think it wasn't," she asked, coolly.
"Don called me up after he left you last night and he explained that he just came over to look after you because he found out you were sick," Shale explained.
"And you believed him," she asked, wanting for some reason to taunt him.
Shale smiled tolerantly. "My little brother happens to be the gentleman in the family. His word is good enough for me."
Dominique thought for a minute. "Shale, if you thought that there had been something between me and Don last night-would you have called me up today?"
"No," he said flatly. "That's one thing I won't tolerate-sharing my women."
Dominique felt anger growing in her again. How could she ever have considered having an affair with this egotistical maniac? She had decided to meet him today to see if any of Don's lecture had had any effect on her feelings for Shale. They hadn't really, but she realized that if she had had any serious thoughts about having a relationship with him, she had better forget all about them. Masochism just wasn't one of her kicks.
"What are you thinking about?" Shale questioned.
"Nothing," Dominique muttered, looking away.
"Clue me in," he persisted. "I might find it amusing."
"Here are the omelets, Shale. Why don't we talk later-they look delicious," she suggested.
"Stop being so evasive and answer me," he said, putting his hand over hers to prevent her from eating.
"Shale, if I tell you now, you're liable to get gastric ulcers," she informed him pleasantly.
"Dominique, dear, if you don't tell me now, you're going to get a black eye," he informed her, equally as pleasant.
She lowered her eyelashes coyly and said, "How was Imogene?"
Shale's face clouded angrily. "Very good-as usual," he snapped.
Dominique's face fell and she flushed. "Well, maybe you should go back to her."
"I'd do that with or without your permission, my sweet," he said politely.
Dominique dropped her fork into her plate and pushed the plate away. As she picked up her purse and started to rise, Shale caught her by the arm. "Where the hell do you think you're going?"
"That's none of your business," she said angrily, pushing his hand away.
Shale slumped down in his chair with a forlorn expression on his face and a little-boy pout on his lips. Dominique fought back the urge to smile. "Enjoy our lunch, Shale."
"I'll never enjoy anything again if you walk out on me now," he sighed melodramatically.
"Force yourself," she answered sweetly.
Shale drained his glass and then hers. "What will I do without you, my darling Imogene-I mean, Dominique?"
"Go to hell, my love," she murmured sweetly and left him staring after her.
CHAPTER NINE
She knew he would follow her home after a respectable amount of time had passed. And sometime between getting into a taxi cab outside of the restaurant and entering her apartment, she had come to the conclusion that she wanted him to. He made her feel the way no other man ever had or could again, she imagined, and she wasn't going to waste any more precious time waiting for him to sprout wings and a halo. In the realistic glare of daylight, she realized that she loved this man not for what he was, but in spite of what he was.
She went into the bathroom with a robe over her arm. She looked at herself in the full-length mirror on the back of the door, in the white glare of the bathroom, and wondered whether this familiar-looking girl she saw before her would look any different after Shale touched her body. She felt strangely detached and even amused at the cold-blooded way she was preparing herself for him. Almost like a sacrifice, she thought, her teeth baring in a stiff smile.
She took off her shoes and then pulled dress over her head, messing her hair slightly. She methodically removed her mascara and lipstick so that it wouldn't be ugly and messy the first time she and Shale made love. She took off her stockings and some of her underclothing. She kept on her slip and wrapped the blue silk robe tightly around her slim torso.
She put her hand on the doorknob and saw herself in the mirror, barefoot, her reddish-gold hair combed loosely to her shoulders. She stood and stared for a few seconds at her image, then she snapped off the light and opened the door.
At first she could see nothing but a glowing cigarette in the darkness of her bedroom. And then Shale's voice came from the direction of the armchair. "Hi, kitten, I was beginning to think you'd jumped out of the window."
"There's plenty of time for that," Dominique said, smiling wryly, and sitting down on the edge of her bed.
He stood up and sat down beside her, taking her in his arms. She was startled when she felt him remove the robe from her and toss it to the end of the bed. After they had kissed warmly for several moments, she pushed him away and asked, "You love me?"
"Yes."
"Do you suppose this makes any sort of sense at all?"
"I don't know, Dominique. I just don't know. Does it really matter?"
Suddenly she wanted to kiss him again. For a while it was tender and sweet. There was something very pleasant in the comfort and nearness of his hands upon her almost naked body. It was not so much exciting, as cozy and intimate.
Then, suddenly, his breath was coming in rapid gasps and he was ripping the slip off her in his excitement. His mouth went to one breast and he quickly aroused it with his lips and small nips of his teeth. Then he went to the other and attacked it so hungrily that Dominique gasped and pushed her ringers into his hair to force him to stop.
He raised his head and looked up at her and she nearly didn't recognize him. Could this panting, red-faced, tousle-haired male be the suave, sophisticated Shale Marquand?
"What's so funny, my love?" he wanted to know. "You, my love," she answered.
"The panting, pawing male, huh?" He grinned sheepishly and stood up to remove his own clothing.
Dominique's smile faded as she noticed something she had forgotten. She noticed that he had a slight limp. And the sight of it reminded her of how he had gotten it, and that in turn reminded her of his wife. She sighed deeply as she walked into the embrace he held open to her.
He pressed her to him for a few moments and she could feel the heat from his body warming her and his strength giving her courage.
"Why can't you relax, Dominique?" he asked sadly. "I'm not the first man who's ever made love to you, am I?"
She looked up at him and smiled warmly, touching his cheek. "You could say that, in a way."
Suddenly his hands seemed to be caressing her everywhere at once and his lips pressed insistently down on hers until she felt the pressure weaken her knees. She clutched his shoulders for support. His fingers tangled themselves in her loose reddish hair and the pressure of his mouth forced her head backward. When he finally removed his lips from hers, she felt a chill and reached for him again to cover her body with his warmth.
He chuckled slightly as he picked her up easily in his arms and carried her over to the bed. "Never met a redhead yet who wasn't a ball of fire!"
Dominique pouted. "I resent being categorized, Shale. You make me feel like a number on an IBM card."
Shale laughed, genuinely amused at her observation. He rested his head on her waist, flicking his tongue over her warm flesh. "Little darling," he murmured. "You've got to learn not to be so defensive with me."
Dominique squirmed contentedly under his caresses, and stroked him tenderly in return. "I'm not usually this way, Shale. Please believe me. But some devil in you brings out the devil in me and...." She shrugged helplessly.
Shale leaned over her and looked deep down into her grey eyes. "Dominique, will you try a little experiment with me?"
Dominique's eyes narrowed in bewilderment and suspicion. "What kind of an experiment, Shale?"
"Let your devil and my devil have free rein for a while. Let them play to their heart's content. And let's see what happens, okay?"
Dominique nodded doubtfully. "I guess so."
Shale cupped her chin in his large hand. "And if things start getting out of hand, we'll reel them back in again."
"Are you sure it won't be too late?" she asked.
Shale lowered his head and ran his tongue lightly over her soft lips. "Darling, the worst that can happen will still be worth this night."
Dominique shook her head, smiling ruefully. "I must be crazy," she murmured.
Shale smiled indulgently. "Probably."
Dominique looked at him and pouted. "You're supposed to ask me why," she prodded.
"Why?" he asked, dutifully.
"Because I listen to your insanity and it actually makes sense to me."
"Does that disturb you very much?" he wanted to know.
Dominique hesitated. "It-it makes me feel very vulnerable to know that you have this kind of power over me. You hypnotize me into believing that what's right is wrong and what's wrong is right."
Shale raised his eyebrows thoughtfully. "I must be doing something right."
Dominique rolled her eyes in exasperation. "You know what, Shale Marquand? You talk too much."
"That can be remedied," he informed her, slipping his tongue rapidly past the barrier of her lips and exploring her mouth.
And then there was no more time to talk....
Soon, she felt herself drifting off into another world, a world of electric and wonderful sensations, of roughness and tenderness, of pleasure and pain. She allowed herself to be lost in this miraculous new world and listened to the muted howling of wind against the window pane, to Shale's murmur and to her own moans which seemed to be intermingled with tearful sighs. Never had she felt so much in so short a time, or with such intensity. It was exactly the way she knew it would be with Shale and herself-wonderful. And that had been the reason she had been fearful of having an affair with him. She knew that no other man would ever again be able to stir these same emotions and sensations in her. Forever after, she would be comparing every man she met with him. Shale Marquand would be the yardstick by which she measured them and they would be found lacking. Because, despite his weaknesses, and egotism, Shale was to her, a god, a superman.
Shale turned to her, a satisfied smile playing about his lips, and he kissed her throat lightly. "Happy, baby?" he asked, before turning over and falling into a deep sleep.
Dominique sighed, aware of the hot tears sliding down her cheeks. She whispered softly, "Happier than I've ever been in my entire life."
And happier than I'll ever be again, she added to herself.
Three months later, Dominique was wakened by her mother entering her room.
She lifted her head slowly from the pillow and said sleepily, "Good morning, Mother. Is something wrong?"
The short, round-faced woman in the pink kimono nightgown came over to Dominique's bed and handed her a small, square envelope. "Here, this just came in the mail. It's from Don Marquand and I thought you'd be interested in opening it up immediately. It might be an important invitation."
Dominique propped herself up on one elbow and looked at her mother ironically. "Mother, really," she drawled. "If you're so curious as to what's in there, you could have opened it without waking me up so early."
Mrs. Lawrence looked highly insulted and said huffily, "Really, Nickie, I've never opened your personal mail and I don't intend to begin now."
"Fine, Mother. Well, since it isn't too important, why don't you just drop it on the night table and I'll open it later when I get up," Dominique suggested innocently.
Mrs. Lawrence glanced at her lovely redheaded daughter and her frown turned to a tolerant smile. "You'll open it now, miss. Do you want me to die of curiosity all day?"
Dominique grinned and yawned lazily. "Certainly not, mother dear. Okay, give it to me and I'll open it now if it will make you feel any better," she condescended.
Her mother bustled around the bedroom, opening the blinds and straightening things in order to conceal her impatience. "Really, Nickie," she said, you shouldn't take Don for granted the way you've been doing for so long. It's not every girl who gets to meet a boy like that, you know."
"Mother, you know I haven't dated Don for months now. Aren't you ever going to give up?" Dominique yawned, ripping open the small envelope.
"When are you going to get some sense into that pretty head of your, my darling daughter? You're not going to have your looks forever, you know. It's time you stopped wasting your time fooling around with a bum like Shale-"
"Mother!" Dominique gasped.
"Now don't get dramatic every time I mention Shale's name," Mrs. Lawrence said, straightening perfume bottles on Dominique's dresser. "After all, he's a married man-"
"Mother!" Dominique gasped again, waving the letter dramatically in the air.
Mrs. Lawrence dropped a perfume bottle on its head and rushed to her daughter's side. "Nickie, what is it!"
Suddenly Dominique began to laugh hysterically, handing the envelope to her mother weakly.
Bewildered, Mrs. Lawrence took the paper from her daughter's hand and her face turned white as she read it. When she handed it back to Dominique, her mouth was a thin, tight line.
"I fail to see what you find so amusing," she said severely.
"Oh, Mother, isn't this the funniest thing ever?" Dominique squealed. "Imagine Don getting married? And to Margaret Gibbons, of all people!"
Her mother looked at her for a long moment, shaking her head in bewilderment. "Sometimes I just don't understand you. You lost a wonderful catch and you actually seem relieved."
Dominique sobered suddenly, and wiped a tear of mirth from her eye. "Mother, I didn't lose Don-I gave him up."
Mrs. Lawrence nodded sadly. "Yes, well that's even worse, if you ask me. To think of the kind of life you could have had with him...." She sighed deeply, looking at her daughter through tired eyes.
Dominique bit her lip and looked away. "I'm sorry if I disappointed you, but I have to lead my own life. I wasn't in love with Don and I don't consider his engagement a great loss. Maybe now, at least, you'll stop hounding me to go out with him."
Mrs. Lawrence wrapped her kimono more tightly around her plump figure and smoothed a strand of hair back from Dominique's forehead. "Nickie, dear, think rationally for once in your life. What do you have now?"
"I have Shale now," Dominique said, looking her mother directly in the eye.
"Now," her mother mocked. "And what about tomorrow? You might as well have the man in the moon for all the good Shale Marquand is going to do you. "Any man who cheats on his wife is just no good in my book...."
"I'm writing my own book, Mother," Dominique said firmly. "And I've told you before-I don't want to discuss Shale. I don't expect you to understand him, and I don't expect you to understand my relationship with him. This is something just between the two of us and I'm not going to cheapen it by discussing it."
Mrs. Lawrence patted her fading reddish bun that was now streaked with grey and said quietly, "You're going to be hurt, Nickie. If I thought this man could make you happy, I'd give you my blessing, even if he had three heads. But this Marquand boy, I have the feeling he's going to hurt you." Tears started in her eyes and she turned away.
Dominique put her arms around her mother and said softly, "Mama please. I'm a big girl now. You're probably right-I will be hurt eventually, but I've prepared myself for it, and even if it comes tomorrow, well, I'm ready...."
"You see," Mrs. Lawrence looked up quickly, wiping her eyes, "You know this man is no good for you. Then why do you have to continue to see him?"
Dominique sighed and smiled ruefully at her mother. "Because I love him, Mama. Because he gives me a reason to wake up every morning. Because he's able to make me happy."
Mrs. Lawrence looked at Dominique for several long moments and then she smiled through her tears. "All right."
Dominique blinked in astonishment. "All right? You mean...."
Mrs. Lawrence smiled sadly. "No, you don't have my approval to continue this relationship. But I do want you to know that I understand. I, too, once knew someone who gave me a reason to wake up each day."
Dominique ran her fingers nervously through her hair, then breathed, "Not Daddy?"
Her mother's eyes met hers in new conspiracy and suddenly they were both the same age. "No, darling, not Daddy."
Dominique stared at the closed door thoughtfully after her mother had walked out. A small smile appeared on her lips. She'd have to find out more about her mother's secret romance one day. Strange, her mother had never seemed to be the romantic type at all.
Dominique shrugged and started to crawl under the warm covers again when the discarded wedding invitation caught her eye. A wave of something she could not identify passed through her and she shuddered.
CHAPTER TEN
"I can remember when I was alive," she murmured, snuggling against him beneath the bedcovers.
"You still seem like a rather healthy specimen to me," he laughed, running a large hand over her warm, nude body. "Don't you feel well, Dominique?"
"I feel wonderful," she sighed. "I feel-out of this world-heavenly. Like I've died and entered heaven."
"Heaven was never like this," he smiled, burying his lips in the warmth of her throat.
"Mmm...."
"You like?" he asked, lifting his head to look down at her.
"What's there not to like?" she teased. "You're not exactly torturing me, you."
"Funny baby. Funny, funny baby," he murmured, stroking her face gently.
"Why funny?"
"I was remembering how frightened you were the first time we made love...."
"I was pretty bad, huh?"
"I'll say-you nearly fainted when I touched your breasts."
"Oh, come on," she laughed, "I wasn't quite that bad, was I?"
Shale thought for a moment. "Yes."
"And now?" she asked, tracing a path of kisses across his broad chest with her tongue and lips. "How am I now, my love?"
Shale caught his breath sharply as Dominique caressed an extremely vulnerable area. "Not bad, my love. Getting better all the time."
Dominique's lips followed the path her hands had traced and she lifted her head only long enough to whisper, "Better than Imogene, Shale? Tell me...."
"Yes, yes," he gasped. "Better than Imogene, better than Cleopatra, better than...."
"That's good enough," she assured him, resuming her previous occupation.
Shale gritted his teeth in a futile attempt to stem the tide of sensations she was churning up in him. Then, making a great effort, he leaned over and tweaked her ear.
After a maddeningly long moment, Dominique lifted her head and grinned at him questioningly.
"Hand me a cigarette, would you, darling?" he said.
Dominique's eyes opened wide in astonishment. "Well, of all the...." Her voice trailed off as she realized she was being teased. Quick anger blazed in her cat-grey eyes and, with set chin, she slowly and deliberately moved away from him and got off the bed. She silently handed him his pack of cigarettes and a book of matches, then picked up a novel from her night table and plopped herself down in her comfortable old armchair.
Shale watched her for several moments, his expression appreciative of her audacity, but she refused to lift her eyes from the book. He tried clearing his throat to attract her attention, but to no avail. All at once, he was sorry he had interrupted her, so great was his discomfort.
"Okay, baby, touch6...." he offered.
She raised her head slowly, until her eyes met his. She curled her feet under her and placed the novel on her lap. "Aren't you going to light your cigarette, Shale? You certainly wanted it badly enough just a moment ago."
Shale smiled wickedly. "Well, now it's you I want badly. You look pretty sexy, sitting there naked and reading a book."
Dominique tried not to look pleased, and tossing her coppery hair back coquettishly, she murmured, "You had your chance, lover." Then she picked up the book and resumed reading.
"Put that damned book down and come over here," he ordered.
Dominique only smiled devilishly, allowing her dimple to show, and continued to concentrate on the book. "How fascinating this book is, Shale. Did you know that Mussolini was hung by his toes?"
"Oh, really?" he said drily. "Well, he must have felt the way I feel now."
Dominique burst into laughter and finally looked at Shale through tear-filled eyes. She started to speak but broke up again before she could get a word out.
"I'm glad to know I amuse you," he growled. "Now get over here before I get violent."
Dominique stood up and let the book fall to the floor. She stood there in all her naked, peaches and cream loveliness, and met his eyes. "Get violent, Shale. Be violent with me," she urged softly, moistening her lips with her tongue.
With a small moan, Shale scrambled off the bed and clasped her warm body in his arms. He kissed her lips hotly, and caught his breath as she returned his passion. Burrowing his lips in her throat, he murmured, urgently, "I want you, oh god, how I want you."
He moved to lift her and carry her over to the bed, but she stopped him by putting a hand on his arm. He looked at her questioningly.
"Here, right here," she whispered passionately. "Right on the floor."
His eyes lighted with excitement and clasping her to him, he dropped to the floor. They rolled over and over, kissing passionately and when they stopped, they stared into each other's face.
"Fancy meeting you here," Dominique murmured, breaking the silence.
"Oh, I just happened to be in the neighborhood and I thought I'd-"
"Shut up, Darling," she said, covering his mouth with her own to silence him.
Twenty minutes later, resting casually in each other's arms on Dominique's bed, Shale off-handedly mentioned Don's forthcoming marriage.
"... My brother's the kind of a guy who was made for marriage."
"Unlike you...?"
"Unlike me."
"Yes, well I guess Margaret is a lucky girl."
"You could have been that 'lucky girl.' "
"You sound like my mother."
"Well, it wouldn't have been such a bad idea, you know-would have kept you in the family at least."
"You're not serious!"
"I certainly am."
"Then you understand me less than I thought you did. You disappoint me, Shale."
"Now you sound like my mother. What did I say that was so terrible, Dominique?"
"Do you actually think I could be a good wife to your brother knowing I was in love with you? Don's too decent to be hurt that way. He deserves more than just half a wife."
"He wouldn't have to find out. I know this conversation I is ridiculous but just for the sake of argument, what makes you think it would have been such a bad arrangement?"
"It would be unfair to Don. Don't think he wouldn't find out either. Your ego would see to it that he found out about his wife and his brother playing around. And if, by some miracle, he didn't find out about us-well, Supergirl I'm not. I couldn't share myself with the two of you."
"Why are you American women so goddamned practical? I'll bet a European women could handle the situation with her hands tied behind her back."
"Now, there's a new kick for you, Shale. Why don't you go to Europe and try it?"
"Hey, baby, now you're getting bitter. You know I was only teasing you. Why the hell do you have to be so sensitive."
"Sometimes your teasing hits home a little too much to be amusing, Shale. I keep forgetting what thin ice our relationship is resting upon and you keep reminding me. I don't know whether you do it intentionally or not-"
Shale leaned toward her and cupping her chin kissed her roughly on the mouth. "Did anyone ever tell you that you talk tob much?"
_ Dominique unconsciously rubbed her lips where Shale had kissed her. "People usually tell me that when I'm telling them the truth."
Shale yanked a lock of her hair and laughed, "You've been giving me a rough time all night, young lady. Stop looking for a fight-it won't work. You're never going to get rid of me."
She laughed humorlessly. "Your idea of permanency is one year. Well, you won't have to worry about me hanging around and making scenes. When you tell me to go, I'll go."
Shale drew her to him roughly. "What on earth are you talking about, you little idiot?"
Dominique shook her head impatiently to loosen her hair from his fingers. "I just want you to know that I know where I stand in your life."
Shale shook his head slowly and looked at her with new admiration in his eyes. "You love me so much that you're willing to accept this just as another affair?"
Dominique flinched at his choice of words but nodded bravely. "I love you so much that I'm willing to be yours under any terms you choose, in any way you choose, and for as long as you choose. I have nothing else to give you but that."
Shale looked away from her for several moments and when he spoke, his voice was hoarse. "You're quite a woman."
Dominique shrugged and said ruefully, "You're quite a man...."
Shale got up and walked about the room, deep in thought. He looked up, startled, at Dominique's giggle. "What's so funny?"
"Why," she suggested, "don't you put something on? You look like the original statue of The Thinker!
It's really very hard to take you seriously with you strutting around like that."
He scowled at her in embarrassment and picked up his shorts and slacks which he hastily threw on. Then he stood before her and made a mock bow. "Would it embarrass Her Highness if I didn't bother putting my shirt on just yet?"
"Let me think about it, will you?" she teased, ducking aside as he lunged for her.
"Saved by the bell," she laughed as the phone shrilled.
Still laughing, she picked up the receiver. A woman's voice coldly asked to speak to Shale. Dominique paled slightly and handed the phone over to him in silence.
After a brief conversation during which he did hardly any of the talking, Shale, totally subdued now, replaced the receiver and turned to face Dominique.
She sat huddled miserably against the wall at the foot of her bed, watching him. They looked at each other for a few moments before she worked up the courage to speak.
"She found out about us?" she asked timidly.
He shook his head slowly, a dazed look in his eyes.
Dominique cried impatiently, "Well, for god's sakes, stop being so dramatic and say something."
"They threatened to go to her if I didn't pay up on time, but I was fool enough to think they were bluffing," he muttered.
Dominique blinked in bewilderment. "What?"
He threw her a cursory glance, patted her quickly on the head and reached for his shirt. "Gotta run-big trouble."
"What kind of trouble? Do you want me to go with you? I can explain to Tara that-" She broke off as Shale laughed mirthlessly. "What's so funny?"
"You don't understand. This has nothing to do with you. I almost wish it did-it would be easier," he muttered.
"Somehow that doesn't sound terribly nattering," she mumbled.
"Can't explain it to you now-no time," he said, buttoning his shirt and tucking it into his slacks. "Has to do with this gambling debt of mine. This hood had the gall to go to my home and ask Tara for the money."
"Omigod, is she in any kind of danger?" Dominique asked, alarm in her voice.
He slipped into his coat and shook his head. "Nah, he left after she gave him the money. But Tara's on a rampage-I can't say I blame her-and wants me to come straight home."
Dominique looked at him with her mouth open in astonishment and then put her head in her hands. "I'm afraid I don't understand very much of what's going on," she muttered. "In fact, I'm afraid I don't understand much of anything anymore."
He chucked her under the chin before he left and said, "Get some sleep, kitten. I'll talk to you tomorrow and clear up everything."
Get some sleep, she murmured to herself after he was gone. How can I get some sleep when his wife calls here, when he tells me a hoodlum was just in his house, and....
She shook her head dazedly. This is all much too much for me, she decided, crawling under the covers and turning off the bed lamp. Well, tomorrow everything will be all cleared up.
Maybe, she thought before she fell asleep, this is all a bad dream. Maybe Shale is something I dreamt up....
CHAPTER ELEVEN
"You think it's something I dreamed up!" Tara yelled. "Of course I'm sure that one of your gangster friends was here."
She was pacing rapidly around the living room, slamming things to the floor as they caught her eye. Her hair was half down and it was the first time in years that Shale had seen her without every hair neatly in place. Her green eyes were ablaze as she ranted and raved at him and her face was flushed becomingly. In her fury, she had ripped the top button off her severely tailored white blouse and the next two had come open of their own accord, revealing the soft sweU of her upper breasts.
When Shale had entered the house half an hour before and had found her so upset, he had been furious enough to want to go after Duke Callahan. Tara had begged him not to go, and when he saw that she was unharmed, he had begun to calm down. Now, after two drinks he was almost beginning to enjoy the situation, Tara's tirade included.
She stopped in front of the couch where he was sitting, his long legs stretched out atop the marble coffee table. "What the devil are you grinning about like a loon?" she demanded.
"I was just thinking how beautiful you look when you blow your top," he answered truthfully.
She was speechless for the first time in half an hour. When she spoke, it was with a mixture of anger and awe in her voice.
"No matter how serious the situation is, you always manage to turn it into a joke, don't you, Shale?" she demanded.
Shale shrugged helplessly. "I wasn't joking, I was giving you a compliment. If you can't accept it graciously...."
She tried to speak, sputtered, and finally settled for taking a cigarette from the open package next to Shale.
He tried to hide his amusement as he lit it for her and she sat beside him. Her eyes met his as they smoked in silence and he lowered his gaze. It fell and rested upon the exposure of her throat and bosom where her blouse was open. He stirred uncomfortably, knowing that this was the wrong time to become aroused.
"Do stop staring at me like that, will you?" Tara suggested. "Not that I blame you, of course, I should never have let myself go to pieces this way, no matter how frightened or angry I was." She pushed her auburn hair back self-consciously.
Shale, who had been watching her, stubbed his cigarette out suddenly and grabbed her by the shoulders. She stiffened in surprise as he clamped his mouth down on hers, and after a moment, she relaxed and responded to him. Without removing his lips from hers, he took the cigarette out of her fingers and dropped it in the nearest ashtray. When that was done, he ripped the white blouse from her slender shoulders and dropped it on the carpet. He unclasped her bra and let it fall to the couch, as his mouth groped for a breast.
Tara's head fell back and her mouth opened slightly in rapturous abandon as her eyes closed slowly.
"Oh, Shale, Shale," she moaned repeatedly, clinging to him as he lowered her full-length on the couch. "This is crazy, simply crazy...."
"Absolutely," he agreed, quickly unzipping her skirt and stripping it off her together with her lacy black halfslip. As she made a half-hearted attempt to swing her legs off the edge of the sofa, Shale grabbed her ankles in one of his large hands and caressed her breasts with the other. Then he knelt and removed her high-heeled pumps and nylon stockings. After he had removed the last vestige of her undergarments he stood for a moment looking down at her nude beauty, at the way her tousled auburn hair was spread out about her beautiful face, at the way her breasts stood proudly out-thrust, at the mature loveliness of her hips and thighs. His eyes returned to her face, and moistening her full lips seductively, she met his gaze unflinchingly. To Shale, she had never looked more proud or more beautifully desirable.
Before she knew what he meant to do, he knelt quickly beside the sofa, at her feet and began paying homage to her body with his lips and tongue and hands. She moaned and her body twisted in anguished pleasure as he continued tirelessly, her wild abandon heightening his own desire.
When, at last, a shrill scream of ecstasy escaped her, he allowed himself to rest.
Tara held out her arms to him and he lay beside her. He held her in his arms, stroking her hair tenderly, as she sobbed with gratitude and emotion.
"Why did you do that?" she asked finally, touching his lips with her finger.
"Because I suddenly remembered how much I love you," he answered. "Oh," she said simply.
Later that night, after they were in bed and the lights were turned out, they discussed the day's events.
"... when I think of you being in any kind of danger, I could shoot myself."
"Oh, he seemed harmless enough and he certainly looked comical enough to be a fugitive from a gangster movie. But, believe me, Shale, I was pretty terrified when he came barging in here like that demanding money he said you owed his boss."
"I'm sorry you had to get involved in this, Tara. I know I've done some pretty selfish things, but...."
"Look, this is nothing new. I've been shelling out for your gambling debts for quite a while now, you know. But what I want to know is, why didn't you come to me this time and tell me you needed the money? I wouldn't have refused you."
Shale rubbed his fingers tiredly over his eyes. "I know," he acknowledged wearily, "but just this once I didn't want to have to come running to you to keep me out of trouble. I thought I could handle it by myself-maybe stall them for a while and manage to get my hands on some money. All I got for myself was a black eye and a split lip," he added ruefully, remembering the beating he had taken in his car at the track parking lot.
A smile softened Tara's chiselled features as she bent over Shale to kiss him lightly on the lips. "Well, the next time you decide to become independent again, my dear husband, let me know so I can be around with the firstaid kit."
Shale reached for her, pulling her head down to rest on his chest. "Tell, me something, Tara. Why do you put up with me? You deserve a man, not a spoiled, irresponsible little boy."
"Yes," she agreed without hesitation, "I do. But the man I want is you, so I guess I'll just have to stick around until you decide to grow up. I waited this long, so what's a little longer?"
Shale was silent for a few minutes, deep in thought. Then he spoke: "I may never change-you realize that, don't you?"
"Yes," she said softly. "I realized that a long time ago. But you're in my blood and I'm stuck with you. There'll be more horses, more women-you can't help that. Anymore than I can help needing only you. But you'll always come back to me-I know that too, so it makes things a bit easier for me."
He kissed her hair lightly. "Poor Tara-you must have done something terrible to deserve me. I wish I could say I'll change for your sake, but I can't make any promises until I'm sure I can keep them. You do understand, don't you?"
"I understood that before you did, darling," she laughed. "Unfortunately, I found it pretty difficult to live with before tonight."
Shale reached for her beneath the covers and caressed a soft, smooth leg. "Tell me something-how did you know where to reach me tonight?"
Tara smiled sheepishly. "Well, I figured you'd be with Dominique, so I thought I'd take a chance and call you there."
"But where'd you get her number...?" he asked, puzzled.
"From the little black book in the right hand comer of your middle drawer," she informed him blandly.
"Poor Dominique-you really gave her a scare when you called. She thought you found out about us," Shale said.
"You mean she doesn't know that I know?" Tara asked, returning his caresses. "But then, she wouldn't understand if she knew, would she? Just as I wouldn't understand if I were her age and still romantic."
"She's a sweet kid, Tara," he said seriously. "Reminds me a lot of you when we were first married. Guess I was trying to recapture that by seeing her-that and my lost youth," he added wryly.
Tara took a deep breath. "Of course, you're going to stop seeing her soon, aren't you, Shale?"
Her remark jarred him out of his sentimental mood and he propped himself up on one elbow. "Why-well, I hadn't really thought about it. I mean, not so soon, anyhow. I hate to hurt the kid-she thinks the sun rises and sets around me."
Tara laughed drily. "It probably does, lover. It probably does. But for the girl's sake as well as yours and mine, why don't you leave her alone?"
Shale nodded thoughtfully, drawn in ten directions at once. He was jolted when Tara touched his cheek with her fingertips. He looked long into her beautiful, familiar face and made a decision. "All right, Tara, but let me do it in my own way and in my own time."
Tara gave a satisfied little sigh and curled up in her husband's arms.
The next morning, Shale phoned Dominique and asked her to meet him for lunch. They met in a small coffee shop on Sixty-first Street and Madison Avenue.
Dominique was waiting in front for him, when he arrived fifteen minutes late. She was dressed in a black fur lined coat and wore a white angora beret at a coquettish angle on her flaming hair. She looked impatient and trembled slightly from the cold, but her eyes lit up with excitement when she spotted him.
He paid the cab driver, pulled his overcoat more closely around him and walked towards her. He smiled back warmly as he took her arm and steered her into the restaurant, but he could not meet her eyes.
After a brief wait, they were given a booth for two in the rear.
"I think I'll wear my coat for a while if you don't mind," she decided, when he offered to hang it up for her. "I'm still feeling rather chilly."
"I know," Shale said wearily, "I was fifteen minutes late. I'm a bastard"
The waitress came over to take their orders. When she was gone, Dominique put her hand over his and kept it there until he met her eyes.
"Do you want to tell me now or later, Shale?"
He flicked his tongue nervously over his lower Hp.
"Later."
Dominique nodded imperceptibly and lowered her eyes. She passed the time until the food came by tracing the pattern of the tablecloth with her fingernail. Shale stared unseeing at a wall behind her.
Dominique pushed her plate away after she had taken only a couple of bites from her sandwich.
"I think I've had enough. I suddenly don't feel hun gly-".
A flicker of amusement crossed Shale's anxious face.
"Why you've hardly even dented that. You're going to hurt the cook's feelings. Come on, finish it. Do it for me," he coaxed.
Dominique's nervousness suddenly got the best of her and she flared, "No. But you can do something for me, Shale. Stop playing games and let's get this-whatever it is-out into the open. Does that meet with your approval?"
Shale dropped his fork into his plate and took a gulp of his coffee before answering. "I knew I should have had a couple of drinks before I met you," he muttered.
"Oh, stop feeling so sorry for yourself and act like a man, will you? You haven't looked me straight in the eye since you met me today," she chided. "Am I suddenly so difficult to look at?"
Shale looked at her and saw a fresh, vibrant girl barely out of her teens. Her large grey eyes were expressive and clear and as yet untouched by great pain. Her nose was too turned up at the end to be called classic. He paused at her lips-those warm, pliant lips he had known and which had known him the night before-and he felt a lump come into his throat.
He ran a hand over his eyes and when he looked at her again, there were tears in them. "Difficult to look at?" he choked. "You little idiot-don't you have any idea why I can't look at you?"
"Tell me," she said softly.
He took her hand and tightened his hold as he felt her try to draw away. "You know why, I think."
She looked at him without flinching. "Maybe, but I want to hear it from you, Shale."
He released her hand and took a deep breath before speaking. "Because it's only making things harder."
"What things?" she pressed relentlessly.
"You know-things," he explained, waving his arm expressively.
Dominique tilted her chin and made her voice cool and deliberate. "You mean things like saying goodbye? Are you trying to tell me this is it, Shale? Because if you are, it would be much easier on both of us if you would just say so. And don't worry about me, if by some miracle you are-we've only known each other three or four months. I'll probably survive."
"All right, all right," he exploded, stunned by her attack. "That's about what it boils down to, but I was hoping you'd give me a chance to explain it to you first. Now, you've gone and practically destroyed everything we had by being so damned cold-blooded about it."
He finished his little speech by slamming his fist on the table top and by that time Dominique could not control the hysterical laughter that was rising in her. Shale watched her with an expression of stunned disbelief on his face until she got herself under control again.
"Dominique, you're not cracking, are you?" he asked seriously.
That set her off again and Shale looked around in embarrassment to see whether other customers in the restaurant were watching them. He tugged at her sleeve nervously. "Look, why don't you take your coat off? It's very hot in here."
"Sure," she agreed readily, slipping the coat off her shoulders. "Anything else you'd like me to take off for you, Mr. Marquand?"
"Shh, Dominique, please. Don't behave like a child. Would you rather go someplace else to discuss this?"
"No," she said abruptly. "I'm all right now. Tell me what you have to and let's get this farce over with."
"My wife knows about us," he said into his coffee cup.
"Yes, I gathered that," she informed him.
"She thinks I ought to stop seeing you," he continued.
Dominique stared at him in speechless amazement.
"Well, aren't you going to say anything?" he demanded. "No," she said. "No? Why not?" he asked.
"Because I don't know what to say and if you keep pressing me to comment upon your every remark, Shale Marquand, I'm going to scream bloody blue murder right in this restaurant and in front of all these people," she warned.
"You wouldn't," he said doubtfully. "Try me," she said sweetly.
"All right, Dominique. Tara convinced me that I'd be doing you a favor if I stopped seeing you. I had to agree with her-"
"Because you love her," Dominique interrupted.
"Because she takes care of my gambling debts, because I'm dependent upon her for the time being, and because she has been my wife for the past ten years. Now, I've told you the truth and I only hope you don't hate me for it."
"I despise you," she spat. "I would have had a lot of respect for you if you had only been man enough to say you still love her. But you had to take the easy way out. Well, if it will make you feel any better, you've accomplished what you set out to do-I don't want you any more." She pulled on her coat and got up to leave, but he grabbed her sleeve.
"Wait a minute-you didn't let me finish," he objected.
Dominique turned on him. "Oh, you're finished as far as I'm concerned, buster."
"I'm trying to tell you," he said frantically, "that I can still see you but we'll have to be very secretive about it and it will have to be less often."
"Secretive and less often," she repeated slowly, looking at him strangely.
"Yes," he said, his face relaxing slowly in a pleased smile. "Now aren't you going to apologize for jumping to nasty conclusions?"
Dominique gave him one long, last look before she suggested, "Why don't you go jump in the lake, Shale? Maybe it will wash your yellow streak out!"
CHAPTER TWELVE
Dominique attended Don Marquand's wedding escorted by Peter Rowland, an up and coming young public relations man. She had met him on a blind date about three months before, about two weeks after she had walked out on Shale. She had been persistently indifferent but had continued to date him both to please her parents and to keep her mind off Shale. And, as she admitted to herself in off guard moments, he was quite a charmer on his own. She found his looks pleasing-he was six foot one and a half feet tall, and his dark brown hair was going prematurely grey at the temples, and his square chin had a deep cleft which intrigued Dominique no end.
And yet, she admitted privately to herself, he wasn't Shale. That was his only flaw. And one that couldn't be remedied. And shouldn't be, she knew. Peter had more character than Shale could ever hope to have; he was conscientious without being stuffy, and although he had his serious side he also had a good sense of humor. When Dominique teased him about being a full-fl-edged member of the "rat race," he only smiled and told her that he, too, had been a rebel and idealist when he first graduated from college, but that now he was a man and planned to have the responsibility of a wife and family some day.
If it were up to him, he laughed, he'd drop all of his responsibilities and take off for some South Pacific island where he could eat, and sleep, and make love all day.
Dominique felt closer to him after that discussion, and one day she even found herself confiding to him about Shale. He was understanding but disapproving. "Guys like that should be shot," he told her. "They go from one pretty flower to the next but never bother to hang around long enough to see what their visit has produced. In that way, they're like bees, to put it nicely."
"Maybe so," she had argued, "but the important thing is, they make each-each flower they're with at the time happy. Isn't that something in their favor?"
Peter looked at her for a long while before answering. "Maybe so, Dominique. Maybe so." He paused and then asked her, "Do you think you'll be getting over this Shale character in the near future? I'm only asking because I want to know whether I ought to waste anymore time with you. I hate to feel I'm second best, but with you I feel I might make an exception. But he's got to be completely out of your system before I start to play seriously. Do you understand what I'm trying to say to you?"
She had nodded doubtfully, feeling as she had when given an ultimatum by a teacher in grammar school. "I understand, Peter. And I wish I could promise you that I'll never think about him again-you're worth ten of him, don't you think I know it? But somehow he's gotten into my blood and the only way I can get rid of him is by seeing him again."
She got her chance two months later, at Don's wedding. Dominique was dancing with Peter, looking over her shoulder every few minutes for the groom's brother to appear. She looked radiant in a sea-green gown that was cut high in the front and down to her waist in the back. Her copper-colored hair was swept into a dazzling upswept arrangement of French curls and her grey eyes were ablaze with excitement-the excitement of seeing Shale again after so long.
And her escort, Peter Rowland, sensed it. "Pretty nervous tonight, aren't you? Someone would think you were the one who was getting married," he teased drily.
Dominique cringed prettily. "Gracious, Peter. Don't make such horrible jokes. I'm not giving up my freedom until I'm old and grey," she laughed.
Peter Rowland pulled her closer to him and laughed bitterly.
"What is it?" Dominique asked, startled.
He pushed her away from him briefly. "I was just thinking of you saying that to Shale and how un-likely it was."
Dominique dropped her gaze. "I-I'm kind of tired of dancing, Peter. Why don't you get us some more champagne?"
He bowed mockingly. "Certainly, my lady. Will it be imported or domestic tonight...."
His voice trailed off as he realized she was looking beyond him and not hearing a word he was saying.
And indeed she was. Dominique drew in her breath sharply and stood immobile in the middle of the dance floor. Because, there, standing amongst a circle of admirers in the doorway of the grand ballroom, stood Shale Marquand, resplendent in black tie and tails. He was answering the throng of well-wishers with his lips, but his eyes were wandering around the room with amusement. His mouth had a characteristic cynical quirk about it as he went forward to congratulate the bride and groom.
"Your eyes are going to pop out of your head pretty soon," Peter said tightly, after watching her crane her neck for several moments.
Dominique blushed and looked away. "Dance with me, Peter, please. Away from here-towards the other end of the room."
"Nothing doing," he muttered, starting to walk away.
Dominique grabbed his arm. "Where are you going?"
"I suddenly decided that your suggestion of more champagne sounded pretty good. Can I get you a glass?" he asked sarcastically. "You look as though you could use it."
Dominique looked around and wet her lips nervously. "Stay with me, please," she whispered.
"Why?" he demanded bitterly. "To watch you make a fool out of yourself over someone who doesn't even know you're alive? Nothing doing, baby." He strode away, leaving Dominique staring after him, bewildered.
She jumped when a strong arm went around her waist.
"Dance?" Shale asked, smiling confidently, showing gleaming white teeth and amused but admiring eyes.
They danced in silence for several minutes. Dominique was too overcome with the sudden shock of seeing him there and he was too busy making an inspection of her to speak.
"You're looking magnificent," he complimented her finally. "I can see being away from me agrees with you."
Dominique nodded wryly, then smiled. "Go to hell, you clown."
"Well, well, still Miss Sweetness and Light," he laughed.
Dominique lowered her eyes so that he would not see the sparkle that had appeared in them. "How have you been, Shale?" she inquired politely.
"Fine, darling, just fine. Except for the fact that I've missed you tremendously," he said.
"You look a bit thinner," she remarked.
"Naturally. I lost five pounds because of you," he assured her. "Couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, couldn't function...."
"You're a liar," she said sweetly.
"Flattery will get you nowhere," he chided her, pressing her body tightly against him.
Dominique felt herself responding to him, despite the small voice within her that kept warning her to keep her distance. She made a weak attempt to pull apart from him but he immediately drew her closer against his breast and she leaned wearily against him. She closed her eyes and sighed deeply.
Shale caressed her cheek lightly. "Dominique, I mean it. I've missed you," he said simply.
"I'd like very much to believe that," she whispered.
"It's simple," he told her. "All you have to do is suspend disbelief for the time you're with me and anything is possible."
Dominique laughed in spite of herself. "You sound like Peter Pan, you know."
"I am Peter Pan. Yes," he nodded, warming to the idea, "maybe I really am Peter Pan."
She shook her head sadly. "The little boy from Never-Never Land who refused to grow up ... Not a very admirable profession for a middle-aged man...."
"Hey," he protested, half-seriously. "Who are you calling middle-aged? You'd better smile when you say that!"
They danced in companionable silence for a while and Dominique was content with the simple sweetness of being held in Shale's strong arms.
"That guy over there who's looking daggers at me," he whispered into her hair-"Is that your date?"
Dominique turned slightly and saw Peter standing sev eral feet away from them with a full champagne glass in either hand. Even as she watched, he emptied both glasses in rapid succession and without another look at her, he turned back to the bar. Dominique felt suddenly thrilled and giddy at the prospect of the always-in-control Peter Rowland being driven to drink because of her.
"Yes," she said, giggling. "That's my date."
"How serious is it?" Shale asked, pretending indifference. "Looks like he's got it pretty bad for you."
Dominique shrugged and looked up at him with false gaiety. "Oh, he'll get over me. You should be the first one to know how easy it is to forget me, eh, Shale?"
A flicker of pain came into his dark eyes and he tightened his arms around her in silence. She rested her head wearily against his chest and he realized again how small and vulnerable she was and he was overcome with the urge to protect her. Not from her jealous date, not even from herself-but, suddenly, as she looked up at him with adoration in her large grey eyes he realized that his mission was to protect her from himself, from Shale Marquand. It would have been the easiest thing in the world to continue an affair with her-god knew she was the sweetest, loveliest thing he had ever had the pleasure of going to bed with-but unlike his other playmates, he really dug this girl and he didn't want to see her hurt because of him. And the reason he felt as he did about her, he admitted frankly to himself, was probably because she worshipped him. No, he was going to be kind to this pretty little butterfly and let her out of the net-whether she wanted to fly away from him or not. She'd be better off with someone like that Rowland guy she came with tonight-looks like a decent sort of a chap. At least he'll be able to give her the kind of a future she deserves. Yes, he smiled to himself, he would do it this very evening. If he had toyed with the idea of winning Dominique back tonight, he had just canged his mind. He could have her eating out of his hand in a minute, he knew anyway-it would have been too easy. The hard thing, the challenge, was giving her up for her own good. He nodded smugly at the thought of playing the martyr. This was a game Shale Marquand had never played before-and he rather liked the idea....
Dominique tugged at his arm. "What on earth have you been thinking about for the past few minutes, Shale? You've really been out of it-you stepped on my toe at least three times!" she laughed.
He kissed her lightly on the forehead. "Forgive me, my sweet, my mind was wandering. Maybe I am getting old!"
"You must have been thinking delicious, evil thoughts, you dirty old man," she flirted, pressing her body against his. "If that wicked smile of yours was any indication."
Shale smiled secretively and slowly began caressing the nape of her neck.
"Mmm," Dominique purred. "That feels delightful. Keep that up, Shale, and I might get amorous right in the middle of the dance floor."
Shale was about to answer with a joking retort when he chanced to look up and met the glaring eyes of Peter Rowland who stood not two feet from him.
"Mind if I cut in?" Rowland growled ungraciously.
"Be my guest," Shale said indifferently, handing Dominique over to her date, and ignoring the black look she darted at him as he sauntered away.
Rowland led Dominique around the ballroom once and then, before she knew what was happening, he had danced her out the French doors and onto the terrace. He closed the doors angrily behind them and spun her around to face him, seething with anger.
"Why, Peter-dancing on the terrace. I had no idea that you were so romantic!" she taunted.
And then Peter Rowland did a very surprising thing. He took a step backwards, gave Dominique a searing once-over look, then crushed her in his arms in a very thorough, very passionate embrace. Just as her knees began to grow weak, he released her abruptly and turned on his heel and left.
Dominique stared after him until she could no longer see him. Her eyes were oddly glazed, her cheeks were flushed, and her lips curved slightly in pleased astonishment. She walked, in a trance, over to the edge of the terrace and grasped the railing. She stared out into the dark night, for several moments, lost in thought. Suddenly, she realized that Peter had left the party-had, in fact, probably walked out of her life forever-and she felt an overwhelming sense of loss and regret.
Before she realized what she was doing, she ran through the open French doors and into Don Marquand's arms.
"Oh, I'm terribly sorry-" she began before she saw who it was. "Oh, it's you, Don. Goodness, I hope I didn't damage you for your new bride," she laughed nervously.
"Nope-safe and sound," he grinned, looking at her flushed face curiously. "Where are you off to in such a mad hurry? Is someone after you or is it vice versa?"
"I'm afraid it's vice versa," she said in a rueful voice, craning her neck anxiously for a glimpse of Peter Rowland.
"Still Shale, huh?" Don asked softly, looking at the pretty, distraught girl pityingly. "You can probably find him wherever there's a cluster of good-looking women-" he started to inform her.
Dominique looked at him sharply through narrowed grey eyes. "Shale? Who's looking for Shale?"
"Why, I thought you were," he said, startled.
"Well, I guess you were mistaken," she declared sweetly, enjoying his discomfort.
"Well, I'm glad to hear it, in this case," he said, smiling good-naturedly.
"Glad to hear what, darling?" Don's bride asked, taking her new husband's arm possessively.
Both Don and Dominique turned to Margaret who was followed by Shale. Margaret was a rather plain girl who gave the illusion of being attractive by using her makeup well and dressing stylishly. Her family was even more well-to-do than Don's and it was considered a good match by everyone concerned.
Shale looked from Dominique to Don, taking a sip from the glass that had been perpetually in his hand all evening.
"My new sister-in-law and I have been getting acquainted," he informed no one in particular, unless it was Dominique. "I rather get the feeling she thinks I'm some sort of a monster. Have you been making up terrible stories about me, brother of mine?" he joked, placing a brotherly arm about Don's shoulders.
Don's eye began blinking furiously but he kept his composure. "Not a thing, Shale. Maybe Margaret just has natural good taste," he said flatly, taking his bride by the hand and steering her away, leaving Shale and Dominique alone together.
"Where have you been all this time?" Shale asked, putting his arm high around her slender waist. "I've missed you."
"In ten minutes?" Dominique murmured, looking absently about the room. "You certainly don't have a very high level of frustration, do you?"
"I wouldn't know," he said meaningfully. "I've never had to wait long enough to find out."
Dominique flinched. "You know, Shale," she said disgustedly, "someone should teach you to differentiate between speaking to a man and a woman, instead of simply saying the first crude thing that pops into your head. You know, it really gets to the point where its no longer amusing or even charming...."
"Whoa, baby, whoa!" he halted her. "What brought on this tirade. Your uppity boyfriend walk out on you or something, lover girl?"
"As a matter-of-fact, that's exactly what happened, thanks to you," she flared, her eyes blazing angrily.
"Me?" he gasped innocently. "All I did was have a couple of rather innocent dances with you. If that was enough to make him turn yellow and run, well, he's just not worth it, Dominique. Take my word for it," he said, smugly.
"I wouldn't even take your word for the weather," she snapped at him.
Shale chuckled. "What exactly is it about me that always seems to infuriate you?"
Dominique smiled sheepishly and bowed her head. "You're right-I'm probably acting like a spoiled child. But if you must know, the thing about you that infuriates me is knowing I can't have you." She paused, waiting for him to answer.
He bit his Hp and merely glanced around the room. "Not too bad, is she?"
Dominique tried to follow his line of vision. "Who?"
"My little sister-in-law. Her face may not be that of Helen of Troy, but, man, that body is sure competition for Venus de Milo!" he smirked.
Dominique looked up at him and studied his face for a long time. Finally, she sighed and said, "If that was meant for me, Shale, it really wasn't necessary."
"What do you mean?" he asked, coloring slightly.
"I think you know what I mean. But you needn't worry-I have no intentions of hounding you. I realized something tonight-I found that I can be attracted to a man in spite of the fact that he's got a sense of responsibility. Oh, don't misunderstand, Shale," she added quickly as his face took on that look of little-boy disappointment that she had found so charming-"I still think you're a lovable rascal and if I thought there were a chance that we could live happily ever after, I'd hound you to the ends of the earth. But you're Peter Pan and I'm only mortal, so...." She shrugged helplessly, raised on tiptoe to kiss him on the cheek, smiled sadly, and walked out of his life.
Dominique held out for two days before working up sufficient courage to contact Peter Rowland. When she finally did call, his answering service informed her that he was out of town for two weeks on a business commitment. She hesitantly left her name and hung up with a sigh of relief. She had no illusions that he would even bother to call her back and she admitted to herself that she couldn't blame him if he didn't. He had been patient and considerate with her and she had thanked him by making a fool out of herself and one of him.
She was, therefore, quite pleasantly surprised when her phone rang at three a.m. one winter morning and a crisp, cheerful voice demanded, "How can you waste such a beautiful morning sleeping?"
"You must have the wrong number," she mumbled groggily, and started to replace the receiver.
"Wait! Don't hang up on me," the voice at the other end of the line shouted. "You may never get another offer like this one."
Dominique sat bolt upright, so that her blanket slid down to her waist revealing the bodice of her beige nightgown. She tossed back the mane of reddish-gold hair that hung loosely to her shoulders, and caught her breath as she recognized his voice.
"Peter?" she whispered breathlessly, unbelieving.
"Uh-huh," he yawned.
"Why on earth are you calling me at this hour? Is something wrong?" she asked anxiously.
"No, nothing's wrong," he answered quickly. "But my answering service gave me a message to call you back, so I'm returning your call!"
"But-but now!" she gasped. "Why, you're insane, Peter Rowland!"
"Yes," he agreed. "But the second reason I had for calling you now is that I thought you might want to see the first snowfall of the season with me."
"Oh, is it really snowing?" she yelped. "Hang on for a minute, will you? I want to run to the window and look...."
She picked up the receiver a minute later to inform him, "You're absolutely right, Peter. Thank you for telling me. Good-night...."
"Before you hang up, I'm going to give you fair warning," he said. "Bundle up good and warm-I'll pick you up in twenty minutes." Click.
Twenty minutes later, Dominique was wearing a heavy fur-lined topcoat with a woolen scarf tucked warmly beneath the collar. She wore gloves and also high black boots. Only her long, shining tresses retained their freedom.
When Peter entered her room, she was standing with her back toward him, the reflected light from the street lamp illuminating her coppery hair. He came up behind her and put his arms tightly around her, drawing her against him.
"Guess who," he mocked, putting a hand over her eyes.
"Who cares," she murmured happily, turning around and snuggling against his chest.
"Well, you'd better care," he informed her in a tone of mock severity. "I don't want you letting strange men holding you in their arms."
"You're a pretty strange man," she purred prettily, gazing up into his eyes.
"Then I guess we make a pretty good couple," he murmured, pulling her to him and kissing her warmly on the mouth.
After a long while, they drew apart and tilting her chin up, he smiled, "You know, I'm rather sorry I told you to get all bundled up."
Dominique laughed delightedly, and opened her coat, removing the scarf and gloves with the other hand. He gasped as he realized she had nothing but a nightgown beneath the heavy coat. She put her arms around his neck and said, close to his lips, "I rather thought you'd be."
