Mel Wayne forced himself away from the warm flesh of his naked wife. She made a small sound deep in her throat and followed him across the bed, pressing her firm, youthful body against his back. "Don't go," she said in a husky whisper.
Without looking at her, he reached back and patted the smooth curve of her hip. The touch was like fire even after the full hour of pleasure and satisfaction he had just found in her body. "I have to, Jean. If I'm late for work again I'm going to get fired." He tried to pull his hand away, but she had already grabbed it and tucked it between her pressing thighs. He felt the pressure of her hard breasts against his tensing back muscles. She rotated her body in a slow, sensual motion that made the rigid nipples bore into him like hot coals.
"Please, just once more. Then I'll let you go, I promise."
It was like trying to tell himself he didn't want to breathe. The four months they had been married hadn't dimmed his desire or need for the wonderful body. Her lovemaking was skilled and never left him unsatiated. He constantly marveled at the tricks she had discovered to arouse and delight him. She had just passed her eighteenth birthday when he met her, and it was still seven months until she saw nineteen. Yet she made love with a confidence of an experienced woman.
The playful wanderings of her fingers brought him back to the reality of the moment and the realization that she had led him too far for him to carry out his plan to get up. His passion was growing, his penis already stiff in an erection. With a growl, he rolled back, falling half on top of the naked body. It was his turn to arouse and excite.
His lips found her mouth and ground against it, forcing her lips apart so his tongue could enter the warm, sensual cavity. He felt her hot breath on his face as' her tongue made fiery darts between his teeth. Her palms worked up and down his back, pressing him closer to her and urging his passion. Her body writhed and arched to seek his.
He resisted the urgent demand of his body to penetrate her and find the warmth and gratification he knew was waiting for him. This time, he was going to make her beg for final release. This one had to hold her for the rest of the day. He yanked his mouth from her clinging lips and began to nibble at her ear, then traced a pattern down the creamy whiteness of her neck and shoulder. When he reached the full mounds of her breasts, he cupped both hands around one and massaged, gently at first then with increased pressure. Jean moaned and raised her hips in invitation. Mel closed his mouth around the coral tip of the huge globe. His tongue outlined the nipple until it grew turgid under the touch. He felt new excitement build inside him as he sucked at the tender bud.
Jean's body was frantic now, pumping out its search for him. He removed one hand from her breast and stroked her belly and thighs. Then his fingers rippled through the pubic hair and found the warm crevice that waited there. He teased, fondling lightly, then poking three fingers between the hot folds and then retreating again to play with her clitoris. Jean clawed at him, trying to bring his body onto her own. "Don't make me wait," she whispered hoarsely.
For an answer, he pulled his mouth from her nipple and dove between her legs. His mouth followed the course his fingers had explored, and he drove his tongue in the entry with wild thrusts. He laid his body across hers so she couldn't fall away from him in her wild gyrations. She was groaning begging words. "I need you now. I can't wait. Oh, I'm hot, Mel. Take me now. Come with me.' As she talked, her hands searched his naked flesh to find his sex organs. She caressed them lightly for a moment then clutched his upright penis and worked it in a steady rhythm. He was dangerously close to a climax, and he forced himself away from her hand and raised his head from her crotch. He twisted on the bed to face her. Her black hair was sprayed across the rumpled pillow in a wide arc. Her gray eyes were half-closed, the pupils rolled back in ecstasy, leaving only a narrow band of white showing. Her lips were parted, and her tongue darted out to lick across them hungrily.
He nudged her leg and she spread her thigh eagerly. She focused her eyes on his face for an instant as he penetrated her in a smooth, effortless motion. She sighed deeply and was lost in the moment of rapture again. Then her femaleness responded in a great surge. She brought her body up to meet his as he lunged deeper into her vagina. Her legs rose and wrapped around his buttocks, sealing his maleness to her. She rose and descended in full cooperation with his lovemaking.
Mel felt the increasing pressure that threatened to burst into explosion. He knew he couldn't hold it much longer, and when she cried out, "Come. Let it come! NOW!" He met her demand with an imediate and full ejaculation. The hot flood poured from him and blended with her molten inner flesh. Together, they met in glorious orgasm that fused them for several minutes. Finally, he fell back from her and lay exhausted at her side. For several minutes neither of them moved.
Then Jean said, "My god, Mel, that was good. What you do to me! That was better than any of the others, I swear."
He grunted his agreement. With supreme effort, he pushed himself up of sit on the edge of the bed and glanced at the clock. It was after eight, he'd really have to hurry. He rose and went to the bathroom and turned on the shower. He stepped under the needle spray and let the hot water cascade over his body in a relaxing blanket. He ducked his head under it and held his face up so the water beat against his closed eyes. Then he groped for the soap in the dish over the faucets. His fingers found the small tray, but it was empty. He leaned out of the water, wiping his hands across his face.
"Jean, there's no soap," he yelled.
"I have it," she said, and he opened his eyes in surprise at the closeness of her voice. She was standing at the edge of the shower stall, the curtain pulled back to reveal the long legs and slender body he knew so well. The peaked tips of her swaying breasts looked dark against the whiteness of her flesh. In her hand she held the bar of soap she had taken from the tray. She stepped into the shower with him. "Let me help." She spoke softly, but the words were compelling.
Without thinking, he stepped back to make room for her even as he protested. "Jean, I've got to get to the office. I'm already late."
She faced him, the spray above her head sending rivulets of water down her face and soaking her long hair to plastered strands. "I know, darling, I'm going to behave myself. I promised, didn't I?" She lathered her palms, then dropped the soap in the dish and reached for his penis. She used both hands to soap in and around every curve and fold of his flesh, gently, without demand, but stirring him nevertheless. He tried to pull away but banged against the back of the shower stall.
"Jean, for crissake. I've got to get to work, can't you understand that?"
She nodded but kept working at him. He knew that short of physical force, there would be no escape unless he took her again. The same pattern had repeated itself so many other mornings in the past four months that the ending was predictable even though the variations she came up with were not. His mind hovered an instant on the unpleasant thought that had crossed it several times lately. Was his wife a nymphomaniac? He forced the idea away again. He loved her, and she loved him. They found mutual satisfaction in their lovemaking. He enjoyed each encounter as much as she did. It was perfectly normal for two people to want each other all the time. It was just that she was so young, she didn't stop to think of the other things that had to be part of their lives. She was still riding the crest of sexual gratification that she swore she had never experienced so fully until she met him.
His rigid penis warned him that she was succeeding once again. With a quick motion, he lifted the bar of soap and began to lather her torso, working her breasts with his fingers, finding the folds of her vagina and covering her with a thin foam. She came forward to meet him, raising herself on tiptoes, and slid his pulsating sex organ into the narrow silt that led to the warm cavity within her. She let herself down quickly, and his penis thrust sharply into her. He held her body tight against his own, and they rose and sank in rhythmic copulation under the cascading water. The beating thrusts of his motions found new depths under the downward pull of her weight and the slippery teasing of her wet breasts on his chest and her buttocks under his hands. They didn't need conversation this time as they concentrated on building their passion by bodily contact until they both went off in wordless orgasm.
When he finally disentangled himself from her, he shook his head and slapped her rear end playfully. "Get out of here," he said, picking up the soap to finish his shower. He stepped out onto the bathmat a few minutes later and toweled himself vigorously, glad that Jean had left the bathroom. She would insist on helping him dry, and the games would start all over again. My God, would she ever have enough?
He wrapped the towel around his waist and walked out into the bedroom to dress. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, still naked, her melon-like breasts surging forward as she dangled her brassiere in one hand. Her eyes were deep pools in her pale face.
"Darling, I'm sorry. I've made you late again. I didn't mean to.' She lowered her head and glanced at him through the thick fringe of black lashes. "Forgive me?"
He stepped into his shorts and reached for a white shirt. "Jean, it's not a case of my forgiving you. Cartelle doesn't give a damn for any explanations when I roll in an hour or two late every morning. He's running a car agency not a coffee house. I can't blame him for getting mad. I'm low card in the deck there, and I should be the hardest working son-of-a-bitch he's got instead of the prize goof-off."
"But you work hard when you get there," she rationalized.
He laughed. "Cartelle doesn't see it that way. Everyone works hard when he gets there, and the others get there on time. Anyhow, I've been there over two months and I haven't sold a damn car yet. If I don't soon, he's going to do some hard thinking about those lousy advances against commission he's giving me." He shoved his shirt into his pants and zipped the fly. As he buckled his belt in place he added, "And he said yesterday he was tired of telling me about being late."
Subdued, she struggled into the bra, the ivory spheres resisting being forced into the tiny scraps of lace. When she reached behind her back to fasten the hooks, the breasts surged and threatened to spill out of the enclosures before she succeeded.
He felt like a heel taking out his problems on her this way, but they had to come to an agreement on this morning ritual of marathon lovemaking. He was more than willing to bed her every night, even in repeated acts until the early morning hours. Even one good trip in the morning was great, but they had to stop the two-hour conferences of coitus that made him late every day.
She stepped into a pair of wispy blue panties that barely hid the dark shadow of hair between her legs. As she reached for the transparent negligee tossed across the back of a chair, she said, "I'll fix you some breakfast."
"No. I haven't got time. I'll get a cup of coffee later." He picked up his brown plaid sport coat and left hurriedly.
He caught a bus at the corner, sat in back, and stared at the streets and houses that passed his vision. It was a dumpy section of town, but the apartment was all they could find to rent at a price they could afford. He remembered the trip out here from New York. They'd driven in the old beat-up car he had owned for three years. The promise of a chance to go in business with a former schoolmate in Chicago had lured them to cross half the country and try a new start. Neither of them had left much behind in New York, except the familiar places where they had met and found each other.
Mel had grown restless in his senior year at New York University. He had begun to wonder what the devil he was doing in college anyway. He had no ambitions for a profession, no particular bent for any academic discipline, Marking time in a classroom suddenly seemed futile. Then he met Jean. They were both cutting classes when they met in one of the student loungets. What started out as an idle conversation soon became alive with meaningful looks and words. Mel found himself wanting her with a possessiveness that had never found its way into his escapades with other girls.
He asked her for a movie date, and she agreed quickly. They never went to the movie. Instead, he picked her up at her boarding house and just began driving. When he crossed the George Washington Bridge and turned onto a small highway in Jersey, she didn't ask why or where. And when he found the secluded, dark spot on a rutted side road, there was no need for words at all. She came to him willingly and eagerly in the back seat of his car. The awareness they found in each other's passion sent them skyrocketing into bliss over and over again. He lost count of the number of times he took her and received her in matched ecstasy that night. When he finally drove her home at four in the morning, he knew he wanted her as often as he could get her.
Cutting classes became a regular thing for both of them after that. The restlessness and dissatisfaction Mel had known was replaced by this constant sexual desire. He would take her to his room where they ignored their studies in favor of sex. They fucked constantly. They had already made up their minds to drop out of school completely when Mel's landlady knocked at his door one afternoon. He scurried into a pair of pants and went to answer it, only to have the woman tell him he had to get out.
"I'm not running a whorehouse," she said emphatically. "That girl is here all the time. If the University found out, they'd take my name off the housing list and make this place off-limits." Jean, huddling under the sheet, smothered a giggle. The woman went on mumbling about her not caring if people had a good time, but he had gone too far. She gave him until the end of the week to move out.
When he closed the door behind her, he caught sight of Jean's solemn gray eyes peering at him over the edge of the sheet. For a moment he stood looking at the tousled hair and snapping eyes. Then she dropped the sheet and grinned at him. "I'm sorry," she said, smothering another giggle. "I didn't mean to get you thrown out."
He was taken aback by her quick gyration on the bed that sent her voluptuous bosom swaying and circling like a belly dancer. "Hey," he said, "do that again."
She did, laughing as she slid off the bed and stood naked before him, wiggling her torso to make her breasts and belly undulate in a circular pattern. Her lips quivered and snaked provocatively as she raised her hands to emphasize the dance. She was good, and he was hypnotized by the rhythm until she sidled over to him and undid the trousers he had put on to answer the door. In an instant, she was coaxing his naked form to attempt to dance. Laughing, they fell on the bed and into each other in animal abandon. His prick slid right into her young cunt as if it were born there. Without either moving a muscle, they both came. He said let's get married and she said all right, and then they really began to fuck.
By the end of the week they were married and had set out for Illinois. The trip took almost three weeks, with hours of each day spent in motel beds locked in each other's arms and bodies. Twice, they had to stay in small towns for several days while the ancient Ford was patched and tied together to make it run again. They were in no hurry, only in love.
The first jolt came when they got to Chicago and looked up the old roommate who had always said there'd be a chance for Mel to join him in the insurance office he'd opened. When Mel found him, he discovered he had called a bluff. The insurance office was a hole-in-the-wall operation that barely brought the guy enough to keep himself. The prospects of it growing were dim, and a partner was out of the question. Mel and Jean found themselves in a strange city with less than a hundred dollars to their names.
They found a dingy, cheap apartment, and Mel went job-hunting. They had cut off any retreat, but they were both satisfied that Chicago was as good a place as any to live. The car broke down one final time, and Mel considered himself lucky to get fifteen dollars for it from a junk dealer. With the city transportation as good as it was, he didn't need the car anyway.
He got the job as a salesman with the Cartelle Ford Agency the third week of his search. The advance was low, but the job offered good commissions if he could produce. There would be sales meetings to help train him, floor duty to put him in contact with walk-in customers or those who phoned. The rest was up to him. It sounded easy.
But it wasn't. He'd missed almost all the meetings because he had stayed late in bed to diddle with Jean. Mr. Cartelle had grown increasingly upset and insistent in his demands. Mel threw himself into his work but without immediate results. He discovered the hard way that success in sales came from building contacts and getting to know people. Until he did this, he had to get by on the paltry advance Cartelle doled out each month. Soon he would get his break. Just yesterday Mr. Cardoza had come back for the second look at some Thunderbirds he and his wife were thinking about ordering. If he closed a double sale, the commission would ease things and put him right with the boss at the same time.
He looked out the bus window and saw with surprise that the next stop was his. He pulled the bell cord and dashed for the door.
CHAPTER TWO
Mel shoved open the glass doors of the agency and strode across the showroom. In one corner, Todd Ramsey looked away from his customer and raised his eyebrows in a silent question. At the reception desk, Carlotta Mendez raised her finger to signal him. Mel crossed the tiled floor and leaned across the large glass-topped desk.
Carlotta's mouth curved in a half-smile as she let her eyes graze his face and slide along his body suggestively. Mel took advantage of the view she offered in her low-cut green cotton dress that seemed to defy the iaw of gravity as it clung to the peaks of her lush curving breasts at a point that left almost nothing to the imagination. He saw the dark shadow of the cleft between the mountainous spheres and wondered what it would be like to see those beautiful domes of ripe flesh unleashed from their restraints. She knew he was looking at her, and he knew she liked it. Carlotta was definitely an added attraction to the agency. Cartelle had chosen her with care and placed her in a conspicuous spot. Everyone in the agency knew that she slept with Cartelle whenever he snapped his fingers, but the pressures of a wife who was determined to move up the social ladder and be seen in the right places kept Cartelle too busy to have Carlotta full-time. She shared her favors with others, and more than one salesman had arrived at work bleary-eyed after a night with Carlotta. So far, Mel had only looked. And appreciated.
Now the girl smiled at him. "Mr. Cartelle wants to see you as soon as you arrive." She lowered the fringe of jet black eyelashes, then blinked up at him. "He was angry because you didn't show for the sales meeting this morning." Her voice was barely more than a whisper, and it held sympathy for his plight.
"Madder than usual?" Mel asked.
She nodded. "Madder than hell. I think you've screwed yourself right out of a job, Mel."
"What do you mean?"
She laughed softly. "Don't think I don't know why you're late every morning. I've seen too many men with lovers' hangovers not to recognize it." She leaned forward, and the honey-colored flesh surged against the green cloth and threatened to spill forth on the deck. Mel held his breath as the valley between the peaks lengthened to a beckoning tunnel. "Look, you'd better get in there before he comes out. No matter what happens, stop by the desk when you come out, okay?"
He nodded and forced his eyes away from her invitation. He straightened his tie and walked slowly to the manager's office. It was several seconds before his knock was answered.
Cartelle was behind the S-curved desk that allowed customers he talked with to be almost next to him. He had explained to the new salesmen that it helped to close deals if a customer felt you were on the same level with him, his equal, rather than trying to push something on him. The desk was one of his ideas for achieving the camaraderie.
Joe Cartelle looked up and motioned Mel to a chair. Then he returned his attention to his papers as though Mel wasn't important. Mel recognized the trick that was designed to put him on the defensive and make him ill at ease. He tried to fight his growing anger, but it was difficult. Finally, the other man dropped his gold pen on the blotter and leaned back in the swivel chair. "I called a sales meeting for this morning at 8:30."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Cartelle. I was detained-unavoidably. It won't happen again."
"This is a business, Wayne. I'm not interested in your excuses or promises. You're fired." He picked up the gold pen and returned his attention to the paper on the desk.
Mel stared at him for several minutes before he dared to speak. The man's rudeness was calculating and cold, and it was hard for Mel not to shout. "I realize this isn't the first time, Mr. Cartelle. But if you'll give me another chance, I'll make sure you don't regret it."
Cartelle glanced up. "I took you on without experience and without references, Wayne. In the two months you've worked here, you've been late almost every day. You've had your chance." He resumed his work.
Mel's throat was tight as he forced himself to say calmly. "Please. I need the job."
Cartelle's cold blue eyes met his. Some hidden light in them made Mel realize that this man had been waiting for him to beg, knowing he would, enjoying his discomfort. "That's too damn bad, Wayne. Maybe you can get a job as a night watchman some place so you don't have to get up early. Pick up your check at the desk. You're through." He waved a hand in dismissal and picked up a folder with finality.
Mel wanted to respond and give release to his own anger, but he knew it wouldn't do any good. Cartelle had fired him before he walked in the door. Punching him in the nose would give Mel some satisfaction but it would get him in more trouble, too. Joe Cartelle would enjoy calling the police and having him slapped in jail. He turned on his heel and walked out, resisting the impulse to slam the door.
At the desk, Carlotta held the check out to him. "I'm sorry, Mel."
He shrugged. "Thanks."
"Look," she said. "I get off at 11:30 for lunch. Why not find yourself a cool bar and have a couple of relaxers until then? It'll do you good to talk to someone I'm a very good listener." Her eyes darted across his face and lingered on his mouth. "Unless you have something better to do?"
"No, I have nothing else. Sure, I'd love to meet you. Where?" Why not? he asked himself. He couldn't face the idea of going home to Jean right now. He needed time to think, time to get things straight in his own mind before he met her barrage of sex.
"Know where the Red Squirrel is?"
He nodded.
"I'll meet you there as soon as I can get away. I'll try to make it earlier than 11:30.' She winked at him. "Promise you'll wait?"
"I'll be there," he said, feeling suddenly better than he had since his encounter with Cartelle.
He tucked the check in his wallet and left the agency without a backwards glance. He could feel Todd's eyes on him, but he didn't want to talk to him. He had never formed close friendships with the other salesmen in the company, and he felt no obligation now to explain his departure. As if he had to! The whole damn place probably knew he had been canned before he did.
He walked with long, angry strides under the climbing morning sun. It was going to be another scorcher, the kind that left him limp and bedraggled by evening, the kind that seemed to kindle Jean's energies for love-making. She delighted in the heat and especially in the lovemaking that made her body slick with perspiration and passion. She was like a tropical animal deliberately and purposely stalking her mate and taking new life from him. Just like she took his job from him.
He swore under his breath as his anger rose again. Why the hell couldn't she be satisfied with his nightly love sessions? He was more than adequate, he knew. There had never been any complaints from the girls he'd had before Jean. Most of them admitted that he was quite a bit of man who more than knew the game. Even Jean told him he was the best lover she'd ever had, with more to offer in size and experience. Why then did she have to pull him back to the bed over and over every morning? Until it cost him his job. Damn, he said again he as entered the cool dimness of the Red Squirrel.
He passed the long bar where only a few patrons sat at this early hour and found a booth at the back. He slid across the plastic cushion and leaned into the corner. When the bartender came, he ordered a double scotch and water.
The air conditioner hummed softly and Mel felt the coolness seep through his overheated body. The cold drink eased his tension, and he relaxed against the wall. He had to think things out, decide what to do. Where would he find another job? He wouldn't dare use Cartelle as a reference. That meant starting all over again with no backers. He gulped the rest of the scotch and signaled the bartender for another.
He was on his fourth double when Carlotta appeared at the end of the table. He had been deep in his thoughts and not realized the time had gone so quickly. He tried to get up to greet her.
She lifted a hand to stop him and quickly slid onto the seat beside him. He turned his legs under the table and grinned at her. "Hi."
"Hello," she answered as she settled close to him on the seat. He fetl the heat of her body penetrate the length of his where she touched his arm, hip and thigh. It felt good after the solitary hours in the coolness.
"What are you drinking?" he asked.
"The bartender knows. He's my brother-in-law. I come here often."
Mel glanced around the lounge. "Nice place." He noticed that the bar had filled and most of the booths were occupied. Carlotta's brother-in-law did a good business.
The man brought a tall frosted drink and placed it in front of her with another scotch for Mel. Carlotta sipped gratefully. "Mmm, that tastes good. It's really hot outside today, and it's barely noon. It's going to be another one of those days."
He grinned and realized suddenly that he was slightly drunk. The doubles on an empty stomach had caught up with him. He focused his gaze on the honeyed shoulder next to him. In the sleeveless green dress, Carlotta looked cool and unruffled. His glance moved across her arm and found the swell of her breasts, with their half-moons of flesh tight against the cloth. He peered closely, trying to decide if it was his imagination or if he could really see the hint of dark red circles at the tips of the cones. She slid her arm from the table and improved his view. Her hand fell carelessly on his leg and she left it there.
"Mel, I'm sorry you lost your job." Her voice was husky.
He shrugged. "I guess I knew it was coming, but that didn't make it any easier to take. That bastard enjoyed canning me."
She laughed. "Poor Joe. He takes life too seriously."
Mel suddenly remembered that Carlotta was more than an employee to the man who had fired him. But that didn't change his opinion of him. He looked at her carefully. "What the hell do you see in him anyhow?" he blurted.
She didn't seem offended by the outburst. "Joe's okay in ways. I have expensive tastes, Mel. The nights I spend in the sack with Joe help make up for the inadequate salary I get. Fringe benefits, I guess you'd call them. That's where the extras come from." She showed no embarrassment about admitting her position, and Mel found himself admiring her for it. At least she wasn't trying to con him. Her fingers trailed along his thigh and squeezed his leg gently. "Want to tell me your troubles?"
"Hell."
"Might make you feel better."
He shrugged. "You know it all. Your guess this morning was right. I've been late because I can't climb out of the sack on time. My wife and I have been married only four months, and I can't say no when she turns on. She's-" He broke off lamely, not knowing what he wanted to say about Jean, whether he wanted to blame her or himself. He was angry, but he still felt a deep loyalty to her.
Surprisingly Carlotta accepted his explanation seriously. "It's a problem. It will take time to work out."
"But in the meantime, I'm out of a job."
"Is that so terrible?"
"Only if you like to eat." He grnined and swallowed a mouthful of scotch.
"How old are you, Mel?"
Her question surprised him, and he answered without thinking. "Twenty-two."
"You've got your whole life ahead of you. Don't get up-tight about one lousy job with a car agency. There are plenty of jobs around, better than the one Cartelle gave you."
"Sure. The only problem is finding one. Without experience and references, it's not easy." He swirled the amber liquid in the glass.
"Let's have another drink," she suggested as she signaled the bartender. When the drinks came, she brought the conversation back to his marriage. "What are you going to do about your wife?"
"What can I do? I guess it's my fault as much as hers. I'm not strong enough to say no to her, so how can I blame her alone?" He recalled Jean climbing into the shower with him this morning, and a mixture of pleasure and anger filled him. "I thought it was cute when I first met her. You know, her wanting to fool around all the time. Made me feel good, like a super stud."
Carlotta looked at him sympathetically. Somehow he was encouraged to continue. "Don't get me wrong. She's good, damn good. But just a kid who doesn't think about tomorrow."
Carotta turned slightly to face him. One warm, full breast brushed his arm and sent a dart of fire through him. Her fingers pressed lightly again at his thigh. "Maybe you need to take control of the situation."
"Easy." He slurred the word. He tried to snap his fingers. "Just like that."
Her laugh was warm and throaty. "You probably are so good she can't resist you. Ever think of that?"
He looked at her and was surprised to see that she was serious. He didn't quite know how to answer.
The pressure of her breast increased slightly on his arm. He looked down, and he could definitely see the circle of the dark tip around the nipple. He wished for a moment that he hadn't drunk so much liquor. His brain was fuzzy around the edges and it was hard to think straight. Then she was talking again. "You should find an otuside interest, have fun with someone else. Then when she makes her demands, you can take them or leave them as you like. Doesn't that make sense?"
"Yeah, maybe it does." The idea sounded so logical he found himself agreeing. He nudged his thigh against hers and transferred his drink to his left hand so he could use the one close to her to touch the breast that snuggled against him. He closed his fingers around it and felt the flesh warm them where the iced drink had numbed them. The green cloth was smooth, the velvet giving promise of the tantalizing fullness inside it. When he looked up, she was watching him with narrowed eyes as though appraising him. She didn't smile.
"I'm not trying to talk you into anything, Mel, but if I'll do for starters, I promise you won't be disappointed." The flesh under his fingers throbbed with promise.
He worked his fingers above the cloth and dipped them into the dark crevice. "You don't have to talk me into anything," he said softly as a thrill raced through him.
She reached for his hand and extracted it gently. "Come on," she said.
He got up and followed her away from the bar. She made a small gesture to the bartender who nodded as they went through a back door and emerged in a hall. She led him up a flight of stairs, then used a key to open a door. They stood for a second in the dark, his body close to hers as she turned to close the panel behind them. Her perfume flooded his nostrils and he felt her breath across his face. He groped for her in the dim shadows and got his arm around her, pulling her to him. The door clicked shut as they fell against it and his hungry mouth sought her lips. The sweet lipstick tasted like honey, enticing and provocative. He parted her teeth with his tongue and found the tiny darting spear that came to meet him. While her mouth met his in mounting desire, she laced her fingers through his hair and around his ears and neck. The touch was flaming in its gentleness.
When he finally pulled his mouth from hers and nuzzled her neck, she spoke softly in his ear. "Let me get the lights. We don't have to be in that much of a rush."
He let go of her reluctantly. She moved and the lights sprang to life, soft and subdued. They were in a large room that was dominated by a circular bed in the center. The green velvet spread was dotted with fluffy pillows of various sizes and shapes but all in shades of green. The floor was ankle-deep in lush carpeting that resembled grass, while the walls were hung with dark green velvet drapes. In one corner, a vanity with a huge mirror above it sent back a complete reflection of the room. One door next to it was probably a closet or bath.
He whistled softly. "Nice place."
"Thanks.' She took his hand and led him to the pale green sofa in front of a draped wall. "I'll get you a drink."
He sat and watched her walk, hips swaying, across the room to pull a drape. It opened to reveal a small bar. Expertly, she mixed drinks and returned with them in a short time. She stood in front of him and held the glass out to him. "To the beginning of your outside interests," she said.
He took the tumbler and sipped at the drink. He had to admit it, it was getting more interesting all the time.
CHAPTER THREE
She watched him with cat-like eyes as he peered at her over the rim of the glass. The soft lights behind her made her hair gleam like polished onyx, and her eyes reflected the green of the room. Her sinuous body was a pulsating invitation. He wasn't sure if it was his imagination or some trick of the light, but he saw the outline of her thighs through the green cotton that seemed to have become transparent. He could see the bulge of her nipples at the peaks of her breasts.
He swallowed more of his drink, but it did nothing to quiet the desire that was growing steadily inside him. He had a momentary thought of Jean, but it diminished to unimportance almost before it took form. The woman before him was what mattered. As though sensing his thoughts, she smiled and tilted her glass to her mouth, lifting her breasts high with the motion. She had turned slightly so he enjoyed a profile view of her magnificent shape. The size of her bust looked impossible, but he knew it was real. As she lowered the glass, a long sigh rippled down her body like a lover's caress.
"Come here," Mel said, reaching toward her.
"Drain that drink first, and I'll fix another."
It was impossible to refuse. He gulped the rest of the scotch and handed her the glass. Her trip to the bar and back made the wait worthwhile. She was a symphony in motion, enticing and alluring. When she gave him the glass, she sat next to him on the sofa.
He drank and set the glass on a low table at his side. Without words, he put his arm around her and drew her to him. The peaked breasts lunged at his chest as he covered her mouth with his. Her response was instantaneous and complete. She melted into his body, becoming part of him. Each curve flowed against him, blending with desire. He felt the tension in his groin that warned of his growing passion. His tongue seared against hers while the pressure of her body on his increased.
Mel ran his hand along the curve of her hip and down her thigh to slip it under the edge of her dress. Her flesh was warm like sunshine, honey golden and ripe. He traced a trail up her leg to the moist cave of hair and twined his fingers in it lightly and lovingly. He felt her teeth on his lips and her tongue speared in his mouth with insistent demands.
He reached for the zipper at the back of the cool sheath and felt it give under his touch. She drew back and let him skim the dress over her golden shoulders. With an easy twist of his hand, he tossed the dress to the end of the sofa.
The bra she wore was almost nonexistent. Strapless and topless, it curved pale-green lace to support the undersides of her huge breasts and hold them without covering them. The turgid tips stood out from the deep red circles like hitchhikers. His mouth watered at the thought of the succulent taste that waited there for him. He let his eyes flow along the sleek curves to the honey flesh of her belly, flat and smooth, and finally to the wisp of bikini panties that filmed over the promised land between her legs. The green lace disguised nothing only gave an intriguing air of mystery to what lay behind it.
He touched one dome of perfect flesh with a fingertip. "Umm," he said, and the touch grew to a full massage. He flicked his fingers across the stiff nipple and felt it grow eevn more rigid. He put the other hand to the twin mound, cupping and working while his thumbs pushed at the peaks. Her eyes lighted with new fire, and she smiled. He knew she was enjoying it as much as he was. He finally slid his hands along the strands of elastic at her back to search for the hidden fasteners that held the ridiculous bra in place. In an instant, the cloth fluttered to her lap and she pushed it away carelessly. Fully exposed, the breasts were more beautiful than before. He fell to them eagerly, sucking, tonguing and tasting.
Her flesh tasted like nectar, ambrosia of love. He brushed his lips across the naked nipple and murmured "Sweet and gorgeous."
She shriveled with awareness and urged herself into his motions. Her eyes were still wide open, watching him and waiting for new thrills. He kissed her breasts and began working his way toward paradise. The flat firm flesh of her stomach gave a golden flavor to his hot lips and tongue. She arched and thrust herself upward into his passionate kisses. His hand found the elastic of her panties, and he rolled them down her buttocks with tender strokes, pausing to lightly caress and explore the deeply clefted curve of her naked flanks. Slowly she stood up, pulling him with her, and posed before him in naked splendor. He rolled the briefs down her thighs, enjoying the hot flesh that was smooth under his palms. She raised one foot at a time and stepped out of the garment and her shoes. The heat was growing inside him, and his sex organ was pounding with the need that filled it. He leaned to her and let his tongue and teeth graze with tender tugs at the dark nipples.
"Take me to bed," Carlotta said softly. Her eyes were pools of green fire.
He bent to kiss the surging breasts once more, then gently lifted her from the floor and carried her to the huge circular bed. She nibbled at his neck while he sucked a tender nipple. He laid her gently on the dark-green cover, and she spread-eagled herself to tempt his eyes. He started to undo his tie and shirt, but she shook her head violently. "I want to do that. I want to undress you." She patted the bed next to her. "You won't be sorry, I promise. The wait will be fun."
He didn't need further enticing. He sat next to her. His eyes and hands feasted on her golden form, stroking and fondling. His hot hands cupped her melon-like breasts, kneading them until the tips threatened to pop. Then he raced the tip of his tongue across each of the buds to savor their warmth and sweetness. He was so busy that it was several minutes before he realized that she had pulled off his tie and was unbuttoning his shirt. He had to let go of her so she could slip the sleeves from his arms, and the brief pause seemed far too long. His hands went back to her flesh eagerly, drawing long lines down her sides and belly, surrounding her delectable buttocks and finally making their way between her legs. Her fingernails were fiery strips of steel that scorched his flesh as she ran her hands down his chest and back. The touch was electric. He pried at her legs and she lifted them willingly to present her cunt to him. He separated the ruby-red folds tenderly with his fingers and explored the satiny wetness of the entrance to her vagina. Pink and throbbing, it beckoned its invitation to his mouth. His tongue wandered in and out of the softness probing deep to make Carlotta whimper softly. He retreated, tasting her want, and searched with his mouth for the tiny bud of flesh that triggered her desire. He clamped his teeth tenderly on the clitoris and drove his tongue across it in quick darts. He felt her struggle to remain still under his attention, but her flesh quivered and her back arched. She cried out and flung her crotch upward in supplication. He responded by jamming his tongue deep inside her and forcing her to a torrid climax by the oral penetration. Her cry of release and relief came and her thighs closed firmly around his head and held him to her until her ecstasy was complete. Then she grasped his head and drew his mouth to hers in a long kiss.
Her hands went to his trousers and undid them. He had to twist to slip out of them, and at the same time he slipped off his shoes. She yanked off his socks and pulled him back to the bed.
"Lie down," she ordered.
He did so, knowing that she was going to repay the debt. She straddled him at the thighs and leaned forward so her breasts swung at him like pendulums. He reached up to touch them and hold their promise of fire. Her hands made long swoops along his body, and his muscles rippled under her touch. Just as he had snaked her panties from her hips, she worked at his shorts. His throbbing penis was stiff and wouldn't fit under the elastic so she held it down firmly with one hand while she pulled the shorts over it. The tender touch of her hands as she got the underwear down his legs and off was sensuous and teasing. Then she returned to the sex organ.
She sat back on his thighs and he could feel the wetness and warmth of her cunt on his legs. Her hands had his penis again, and she was working it up and down in hard, steady strokes. Suddenly she bent forward and her mouth covered his organ like a hot, wet blanket. She sucked, and he felt his passion almost burst. She moved her mouth in the same rhythm her hands had established. He felt the surge of semen and tried to warm her, but his own passion was too great, and she was too expert. He felt the violent ejaculation pour from him in a frenzied thrill, and he grunted his complete satisfaction. Even when he was finished, she stayed on him and drained the last drop of his passion.
When she finally came up to him, she smiled. "That was to say thanks for the one you gave me. Now we can have some fun."
She jumped from the bed and went to the bar and came back with two drinks. "To us," she toasted, then drank some of the cool liquid. He followed suit and set his glass on the nightstand. "I don't need any more drinks," he said. "I need you."
His hands searched her body, making contact with all the intimate places that brought on desire. She swallowed her drink, placed her glass by his on the table and stretched out beside him. He fitted his hands over her nude contours and felt the impact of her heat as she pressed her full-length against him. She wriggled her crotch on his penis, and he felt new promise as his maleness reponded. She worked against him until his sex organ was hard and ready. In turn he was seeking new ways to delight her.
"Better than scotch," he murmured as he sucked at the nectar buds of her nipples and kissed her breasts and throat. He explored her mouth with his tongue, coaxing her to new heights. His hands pried the halves of her buttocks apart and followed the crevice till he reached the moist haven hidden in the damp pubic hair.
She was aroused and a wantonness filled her. She flung herself back on the bed and held out her arms to him. He grinned because he was in full command now. She had taken him by surprise the first time, and he had lost his control to her stimulating and wonderful oral activities. But now he would call the tunes. He rolled over and thrust two of the small pillows under her belly; he spread her buttocks again to find the anal opening. Then he raised himself onto her and penetrated the tender spot. She gasped as his large organ slid into the small space. It was tight and delightful.
"Oh," Carlotta said into the green velvet bedspread. "Oh, sweetie, how I like that! It's so tight and good, so tight." Mel jabbed a bit harder and his penis penetrated another couple of inches. "Oh, Oh, more," the woman under him pleaded.
He was all the way in now, and he began to move, slowly at first, then faster and harder as the anal canal became lubricated with his efforts. Carlotta's fists clenched deeply into the covers and he watched her face for signs of an orgasm. She was biting her lip hard as she soared to an uncontrollable height.
When he could no longer stand the pressure of his own need, he yanked his penis out and rolled her over. She opened her thighs so the pulsating shaft of desire could enter her vagina in one quick, smooth stroke. She clamped her body to him in a raised arch.
"Make it good, lover," she said, and her fingers bit into his back as they speared and lifted in a frenzy of need.
They went off together in a surge of fire that burned them to contentment. When it was over, he fell back and lay beside her.
It was a few minutes before either of them spoke. "That was terrific," Carlotta murmured close to his ear. "You're quite something in bed, you know that, Mel?" She ran the tip of her finger along his ear. "No wonder that wife of yours can't leave you alone." She reached to the nightstand for a package of cigarettes. She slipped one between his lips and handed him the matches. When he had the cigarette lit, he offered it to her. They shared the smoke just as they had shared bodies. Carlotta lay close by his side, her long leah form with its high-rising curves warm against his flesh in the air-conditioned room. He let one hand stray to the crevice between her legs that had lost none of its fascination for him.
He blew a thin column of smoke toward the pale blue ceiling. He hadn't noticed before, but it occurred to him now that the room was like the outdoors, a sparkling green world against a blue sky. And in it, Carlotta was the perfect fruit of womanhood. His fingers probed gently and she snuggled closer.
"What are you going to do now?" she asked.
"Well, I thought I'd finish the cigarette then start at those gorgeous tits again. I swear I've never eaten tastier-"
Her laugh was deep and throaty. "I mean about a job, lover. I don't want an outline of your next campaign. I like surprises."
He laughed with her. "You know, I'd forgotten about Cartelle and his damned agancy." His fingers dipped into her wet vagina. "I had something more important on my mind."
She wriggled to force his hand deeper. Propping herself on one elbow, she leaned for a drag on the cigarette. Her breast lay on his chest like a warm hand. "You can't be too well-fixed for dough."
He laughed mirthlessly. "Understatement of the year."
She stretched so the breast caressed him. "I may be able to help you."
He craned his neck and kissed the tip of the mound on his bare chest. The nipple popped to immediate alertness. "You've done a lot already," he said and kissed it again.
She looked into his eyes, and he saw himself reflected in the cool green depths. Her husky voice went on. "This kind of help is yours for the asking." She swaped her hips and snuggled down on the exploring fingers that were still deep inside her. "I mean that, Mel. I like you, I like loving you and having you make love to me. You're good. I'd like to see a lot of you if you want it that way-no strings attached." She brushed her lips across his, but pulled away from the eagerness he offered with his mouth. "Let's talk about the other thing, a job. If you want something to tide you over for a while, I may have an answer."
"Oh?"
She nodded. "I know a guy who runs a car lot. He needs drivers to take cars to Vegas, Houston, other places. The pay is good and your time is your own as long as you show up on schedule. It might do you good to get away for a little while."
Mel thought about the offer. "Just drive a car to a delivery point?"
"Uh-huh."
"How do I get back?"
"There's usually a return job ready. Sometimes you lay over a day or two to wait for one. If not, you get an airline ticket home." She smiled.
"How long is each trip?"
She shrugged. "Depends on the city. Just driving time. You can drive straight through or stop, as long as you meet the deadline, but usually there isn't any rush. And the money is good, believe me. Eddie isn't like Cartelle. He knows a good man is valuable, and when he finds one he likes to keep him. You deliver, he pays top money."
The idea sounded more interesting all the time. Hell, he needed the money, he couldn't argue about that. And maybe Carlotta was right about doing him good to get away for a while. He knew this afternoon with her had made his problems seem far removed. Jean, the loss of his job, money-none of them seemed important in comparison with the lush, warm woman at his side. And now she was offering him a paying job, a better one than he'd left. She was almost too good to be true. The sexual activity had worn off some of the scotch but it was still strong enough in his blood to make it difficult to think clearly. The offer sounded too good to pass up. "Sure, baby, sounds great. When do I meet your friend,?"
She throbbed her vagina against his wet fingers. "Later tonight? I told Joe I wouldn't be back this afternoon. We have the whole day. Okay?"
He didn't need further encouragement. He turned to her and began to nibble at the coral tip of her swollen nipple. It puckered and hardened under his teeth. His one hand was still exploring the depths of her hot vaginal flesh with deep probing darts. Her hips assumed a rhythmic pattern with his motions while her hands sought and found his genitals. In a matter of seconds, his penis was firm and waiting. Without disturbing his hand, she managed to turn herself and straddle him again. Only when she was directly poised above his erect organ did she let him withdraw his fingers to guide his swollen, throbbing shaft inside her to take their place. She arched her back and swayed on the column of rigid flesh, forcing it deep into her innermost parts. Then she rocked back and forth on it, resting her hands close to his waist and leaning into the thrust. Her eyes were wide and wild. Mel smiled as he recognized the contorted features that indicated she was going off. He lifted his hips and began to move with her. She bit her lip and cried out. "Ready, oh, now, I'm-ohhh!"
Her dark hair flailed her bobbing head and cascaded over her shoulders and creamy breasts that were dancing with passion. She went off with a sustained cry of delight, and finally her body went limp on his chest. His rigid organ waited in the warmth, held tight by her legs as she stretched full-length on top of him. Her breasts strained against his bare flesh like pools of fire. He contracted his muscles to twitch his organ inside her.
"Ummm." She struggled to a half-sitting position and looked at him. "Nice, Thanks." She pushed herself back without sliding from him and then held out her hands for his as she braced her feet on the bed. "Sit up."
He did and felt his penis sink deeper as the full weight of her body forced it upward. His mouth and hands were busy at her breasts, lifting, teasing and stroking their ripe fullness and tasty tips. Soon they became highly aroused from their mutual stimulations. Carlotta fell back and Mel mounted her in a smooth exchange of positions. He shoved his hands under her buttocks and lifted her hips to meet his jabs. He maintained an even pace, unhurried for several minutes, holding back the force that was building in him.
"Tell me when you can't wait anymore," he said. "This time it's really going to be a blast." He accented his words with deep probes. "I'll be right there with you this time."
She nodded, not trusting herself to words as the fury in her body screamed for release. Her legs were high above him, her crotch wide and ready. She raised herself into each lunge and sank back just far enough to caress the full length of his penis with her vagina before another thrust brought them together tightly. Mel concentrated on holding back his exlposion.
"Now!" Carlotta screamed, and her body thrashed under him as she rose and fell in the torrid throes of her orgasm. It was perfectly timed, and triggered Mel's ejaculation to a rocket burst of climax.
They lay weak and drained for a long time until Carlotta finally suggested a drink. Nude, they crossed to the bar and Mel fixed the glasses and stood close to Carlotta while they enjoyed the cooling liquor. Then she led him to a bathroom beyond the closed door near the vanity. The reflection of their naked bodies strolling past the triple mirror, hers golden and richly curved, his paler and muscularly lean, reminded him that the next time he was going to position himself on the bed so he could watch their coitus in that mirror. It would give him a perfect view of every part of her fabulous body.
CHAPTER FOUR
By the time Mel left Carlotta's, the sun was gone and a soft haze of dusk filled the city. He was surprised that the time had gone so quickly, but then his interests had been elsewhere. He whistled softly. What was it Carlotta had called her therapy? Outside interests. Inside interests would be more like it, inside Carlotta. What a day!
In his pocket was the card she had given him with the name and address of the friend who needed a driver. She had told him Eddie worked late most nights and he could stop there before going home if he wanted to. Now that the fresh air had revived him some, he thought it might not be such a bad idea at that. Somehow he was in no rush to get home to Jean.
He caught a quick sandwich at a drugstore and then headed for Charleston Street. It was alive with the sounds of night, cars whooshing by on quiet rubber, muffled sounds of life behind the stone face of buildings, and the distant cries of a city surrendering itself to darkness. He strode the five blocks to the address on the card.
The place was a used car lot. Mel ran a practiced eye over the collection of vehicles that ranged from bare transportation to almost new. The harsh overhead lights were met by hundreds of reflected beams from the polished hoods and tops. From someplace close by, music droned from a radio.
Mel located the shack near the back of the lot. He pushed open the screen door and entered. The short, heavy-set man looked up from his papers. "Hi, friend. What can I show you tonight?"
Mel sat down as the man indicated a chair. The office was tiny, the furniture spartan. The total effect was of an owner who was trying to curb expenses to give his customers the best deal possible. Mel said, "Carlotta Mendez sent me over." He dug in his pocket for the card and held it out to him. The man heaved his bulk forward and read it without taking it from Mel's hand. His expression lost its false joviality and took on a genuine smile.
"Well, glad to meet you. If you're a friend of Car-lotta's, you're okay in my book." He held out a pudgy paw. "I'm Eddie Thorp."
"Mel Wayne." He shook the hand and went on. "Carlotta said you might be looking for a driver."
The man laughed. "Might be? You're damn right I am. I should have known Carlotta would come up with just the right guy." He offered a pack of cigarettes and lit Mel's, then his own. "I need a driver right now. Trip to Duluth. Think I can find the right guy? Not if I care whether or not the car gets where it's supposed to go! You wouldn't believe some of the bums that come in here thinking they'll make off with one of my deliveries." He shook his head. "I should have asked Carlotta right in the beginning." He inhaled deeply. "She tell you much about the job?"
He shook his head. "Only that there's a delivery deadline and either a car to come back or a plane ticket."
"Right. That's all there is to it. I want a man to drive a car to Duluth. It has to be there by Friday, two days from now. Easy, only six hundred and fifty miles. You could make it in one day without any sweat, but there's no hurry. You take it to the place I tell you, the customer signs a receipt. You pick up another car at a co-op agency, drive it back. Four days at most, you're home. The job is worth five hundred dollars."
Mel tried not to let his surprise show. That was more than his pay at Cartelle's for two months and here was a chance to pick it up in four days. He tried to find the angle, the sticker hidden beneath the surface. "The car's not hot, is it?"
Eddie Thorp looked indignant. "Hell, no. What do you think I'm running here? If I transported stolen cars across the state line I wouldn't be in business very long. I run a legit operation. My cars are clean. I have this special service for some of my old-time customers because they know I give them an honest deal."
Everything sounded on the up and up, and the money was his for the asking. After a few seconds, Mel said, "Okay. I'll take it."
Eddie opened a drawer in the desk and pulled out some papers. "Sign here and the jobs is yours."
"What is this?" Mel wanted to know as he took the paper.
"Just a word agreement. Read it, go ahead. Never sign anything you don't read first. Good business. It outlines the agreement and gives me some security against your running off with the car."
Mel read quickly. "Do I have to be bonded?"
Eddie's head wagged a slow negative. "Ordinarily yes, but you're a friend of Carlotta's. That's enough bond in my book." He handed Mel a ballpoint pen and watched him scrawl his name at the bottom of the sheet. Mel pushed the pen and paper back.
"Can you leave tomorrow morning?" When Mel nodded, Thorp went on. "Be here about ten. Everything will be ready." He rose and extended his hand again. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Mel. Thanks for coming in. I'll see you in the morning."
Mel left, still slightly dazed by the ease and speed with which he'd gotten the job. He turned the deal over in his mind, but he couldn't find any loopholes. It was crazy, but it was so crazy it had to be honest. And as long as Eddie Thorp was going to pay someone five hundred dollars to drive a car to Duluth, it might as well be him. His spirits soared. It had been quite a day. He raised his arm to signal a cab.
When he got to the apartment building, the street was quiet It was past eleven and the usual crowd of slouching youths who inhabited the corner was miraculously missing. The apartment house was hot and airless as he climbed the stairs to the third floor. He inserted his key and pushed the door open.
The living room was dim in the bluish haze from the TV set. No other lights broke the gloom of the apartment. Mel shut out the glare from the hall behind him and leaned against the door. After a moment his eyes became accustomed to the faint light and he saw Jean curled in the big chair by the window. The window was open to coax in any stray night breeze, and Jean had set the chair to reap the full benefits of the air. She stirred, a blur of white in the gloom.
"Mel?"
"Yeah."
"Oh, honey, I was so worried. You're late, and you didn't call or anything. Where have you been?" The blur of white rose from the chair and came toward him. As she crossed the beam of the picture, he saw that she wore only a flimsy baby doll nightie that barely covered her rump. Even in the dull light, he could see the dark stain of her nipples and crotch under the cloth.
Suddenly his anger returned, full-blown and directed at her. He recalled Cartelle's biting words as he had literally thrown him out of the office this morning, and the humiliation he had felt at his own weakness. Now it was easy to transfer it to Jean where it had all started.
"Since when do I have to account to you for every minute of my time?" he asked harshly.
She stepped back in surprise. "I didn't mean-Well, for heaven's sake, what am I supposed to do after I sit here worrying about you for hours with no word from you?"
Her anger flamed him further. "Since when did you start worrying about me?"
"Mel, I don't understand."
He pushed past her and flopped on the couch. "I lost my job today." He watched her face for the emotion he knew would flood it. "I walked into the office and Cartelle threw me out, just like I predicted he would. If you had worried a little about me this morning and let me get to work on time, I wouldn't have had to listen to the crap he handed me."
"Oh, Mel." She fell to her knees in front of him and put her head in his lap. "I'm sorry." He felt her shoulders rise in a sob, but the coldness inside him wouldn't melt.
"You wouldn't believe me then. Maybe now you will." He knew he was being unfair in putting all the blame on her, but somehow he couldn't back off his offensive. He had to make her realize that the same thing could happen if she didn't change some of her ways. The memory of her pleasant antics in the bedroom and shower this morning was warm despite the trouble they had brought. Then the memory of Carlotta and the green-plush afternoon pushed the other memory away.
"You act like some kind of a nut, never satisfied with the lovemaking I give you. Sometimes I think there's something-" He let the sentence die.
Jean's hand came up sharply. "Mel, you can't be serious!" When he didn't answer, she drew back and let her hands slide from his knees. "Are you calling me a nymphomaniac?"
He felt uncomfortable under her gaze and looked away. "I didn't say it, you did."
"But you meant it, didn't you?' Her voice was coldly angry now.
"Listen, all I said was that you and your damn games are what made me lose my job. No boss in the world is going to put up with a guy who strolls in an hour or more late every day. What am I supposed to say, "Sorry, Mr. Cartelle, my wife wanted one more lay after the first, second, and third ones didn't cool her'?"
Her face drained of blood and looked gray against the comedy show on the screen behind her. Her huge breasts were heaving in great sobs under the nylon nightie, but the protruding tips of the nipples didn't excite Mel. He looked away.
They sat in silence for several seconds. A cold pain churned inside Mel, and he felt slightly sick. Part of him wanted to take Jean in his arms and comfort her, try to erase the cruel words he'd flung at her, but the rest of him refused to give up the sudden advantage he had gained. He felt her move away from him and get to her feet. He looked up. The light from the television outlined her ripe, youthful body under the thin gown. Even in the dim light, there was no mistaking the anger in her eyes.
"I won't bother you anymore. I'm sorry about your job, but it's too late to do anything about that now. It will never happen again, I swear." The promise sounded more like a curse, and she wheeled and fled the room. The bedroom door closed carefully behind her, and Mel knew she was fighting to control her anger.
Well, she'd had it coming, he rationalized. He'd warned her. He forced back the guilt. The hell with her. He got up and snapped off the television and started for the bedroom, then changed his mind. Let her stay mad a while. He detoured to the bathroom, washed and brushed his teeth, then went back to the living room. He stripped to his shorts and stretched out on the sofa. The muggy heat of the apartment blotted out his thoughts, and he slept.
When he woke in the morning, the apartment was quiet. For a moment he was confused before his memory flooded back. He sat up and listened for sounds from the bedroom. Nothing. His "watch showed a little after eight.
Jean wasn't in the kitchen. On his return from the bathroom, Mel checked the bedroom. The bed had been neatly made and Jean was nowhere in sight. He shrugged. He was surprised, but it didn't really matter. In a way it was a relief not to have to face her this morning after his accusations and angry words. They had never fought before, never even quarreled. It left a bitter taste in his mouth.
He heated the coffee and drank as he shaved. He was to be at Eddie Thorp's by ten. He thought again of the job offer Carlotta steered him to. In the sober light of morning, his suspicions returned. Five hundred dollars for three or four days of driving was suspect in any guy's book. What was Thorp up to? And how did Carlotta fit into the deal? He splashed cold water over his face and dried off with a towel. Carlotta, who had never been anything more than an interesting coworker, suddenly showed special interest in him-enough to take the afternoon off and spend it with him. Then she steered him to the job she knew he needed so desperately. Was it coincidence? He wished he hadn't had so many drinks yesterday. The scotch fuzzed the edges of his memory, and he had concentrated on only one thing-the sexy woman who had given herself so freely and completely to him.
He crumpled the towel in a ball and threw it to the floor. "What the hell," he said aloud. The tiled walls echoed his voice back to him. He strode from the bathroom and began to dress. He couldn't run around suspecting everyone and everything. He had the job, he needed the money. He'd be careful but not crazy.
He found his travel kit in the closet and tossed in the things he'd need. He packed clean underwear and shirts in a small case and tossed the kit on top before zipping it shut. He hooked his sport coat over his finger and tossed it lightly across his shoulder. It was going to be another scorcher. He left the muggy, lifeless apartment without a backward glance.
CHAPTER FIVE
Eddie Thorp sat in a direct line with a small fan he had propped in an open window. A thin film of sweat across his upper lip and his damp, clinging shirt gave him a harried look that he had not had the previous evening. He shifted the cigar to the corner of his mouth and said, "Sit down. I'll be with you in a minute." He shuffled through some papers in a drawer and inspected the pile of tagged keys until he found what he wanted. He dropped the key on the desk and shoved the drawer shut. He scribbled something on a paper, folded it and slipped it into an envelope, then turned to Mel.
"The car goes to Roger Seward. The address and stuff are in the envelope. You take the car to his house have him sign the receipt. That's it. He'll tell you where to pick up the car for the trip back. Any questions?"
"Any special time he wants it?"
Eddie shook his head, and his fat jowls quivered. "Long as it's there before six Friday evening. Take your time. Enjoy the trip. Get receipts for your meals and the motel you stop at overnight. Seward will reimburse you for them. I pick up the return trip tabs.
They don't come out of your five hundred." He tapped the envelope against his palm. "That's about it, except you make the trip alone. No riders. I can't take a chance on anything happening to that car, understand? Seward wants it in good condition." He watched Mel for a instant.
"Sure," he agreed, and Thorp handed him the envelope and the keys. "I'll expect you back here by Monday morning, the latest." He smiled and the cigar jigged upward. "I don't open the lot on Sundays. If you get in then, wait until morning to deliver the car keys, okay?"
"Right." Mel got to his feet and waited while Thorp pushed himself up from the chair. They walked to the door and out onto the small platform that served as a porch. Thorp peered across the shining tops of the rows of cars and pointed to a black Mercedes at the end of the row. "That's the car. Take it easy, don't get any tags. Have a good trip and I'll see you Monday." He offered his hand and Mel took it.
The Mercedes hummed to life at the touch of the key. The big engine was silent perfection, and Mel felt a thrill at the feel of the steering wheel beneath his hands. It would be a pleasure to drive this job to Du-luth. The car looked new, even smelled of leather and polish, but the odometer showed over 8000 miles. He took a moment to familiarize himself with the panel. He pushed the air-conditioning knob and felt the cool current almost immediately. Then he eased the car out of the lane and between the rows of automobiles. Thorp was still standing on the porch, and he raised a hand in parting. Mel turned onto Federal Street and headed toward the Drive.
The morning traffic had slowed to a moderate pace as he moved northward through the city. It felt good to be handling the sleek, expensive car, and Mel found m special pleasure in thinking about Cartelle now. He snapped on the radio and soft music surrounded him.
In less than an hour he was out of the city. Once off the Drive, he pulled over to study the road map that lay on the seat beside him. He decided the expressway was his best bet through the unfamiliar myriad of small communities. He had never been north and he didn't want to risk trusting the brief road guide legend on the map to get him on a road that was suitable for the big car. He memorized the route that would take him to Milwaukee.
The effortless driving gave him plenty of time to think. His mind retreated to the day he'd spent with Carlotta and the evening that led to this job. The argument with Jean last night faded almost to oblivion as he made up his mind not to worry about it. She'd get over her huff, and when she did and he returned, they could pick up the pieces of their marriage and start again. He'd have enough money to hold them until he found a good job. They might even be able to find a better apartment, one in a neighborhood where Jean could get out more and do things. With outside interests, she would settle down to a livable routine of sex in their marriage.
Outside interests. His thoughts went back to Carlotta and the interests she had provided yesterday. God, she'd really been something, he reminisced. His gut tightened at the memory and her promise for the future. He recalled their dalliance in the huge sunken green bathtub where they had played exotic and erotic games that teased them to white heat. Then they had wrapped themselves in one of the gigantic green towels and pressed tightly together for the slow walk back to the bed. This time he had remembered the mirrors and had taken advantage of them. He laid Carlotta belly-down, across the bed with her knees on the floor, and straddled her from the rear. In the mirrors, he watched as he took her first at the anal opening, then in the vagina. They rolled over and joined together in mutual oral manipulations. The sex play went on in mounting intensity until they found repeated and prolonged satisfaction both by oral and genital coitus. The time fled in bursts of passion and delight, and Mel had lost count of the number of times they went off, individually or together. It had been an afternoon to remember.
When his stomach began to tell him it was lunch time, Mel decided to take a short detour from the expressway and find a quiet spot. Something had been nagging at the back of his mind since he accepted this job last night. It was still impossible for him to believe that he was being paid five hundred dollars simply to move a car less than seven hundred miles. There had to be a catch, not that he minded, but he didn't want to be taken for a sucker. If there was something phony about the deal, he wanted to be smartened up enough to know what to watch for.
He took one of the exit ramps and then turned off on the first small road he came to. It stuck out almost directly west for several miles before he saw a crossroad that looked promising. He wanted to get away from the traffic and prying eyes of passersby. He didn't know what he would find, and it was safer for him to do his checking alone.
The crossroad narrowed and wound between hills and trees. When he spotted the rutted path that led to some distant farm, he pulled in and eased the car onto the grassy verge. He shut off the motor and looked around the interior of the fancy car. The glove compartment revealed nothing but the manual of instructions for the vehicle, a soft cloth that hadn't been used, and a half-empty pack of Chesterfields. He shook the cigarettes from the package and sniffed each one. He crushed one between his fingers and tasted some of the dry brown tobacco. It was tobacco, nothing else. Just a pack of butts someone had forgotten. He scooped up the loose tobacco and tossed it out the window before returning the rest of the cigarettes to the pack and throwing it into the glove compartment.
He got out then and leaned to look under the seat. The floor mat hadn't even collected a film of dust and grime. He reached under the seat and explored the springs and lining without finding anything. Finally he stepped back and stared at the vehicle. The trunk was a logical place. He opened it and went over the interior with meticulous patience. Spare, jack, a ground cloth and a pair of unused cotton work gloves. Nothing else. Again, he wasn't surprised since he hadn't expected anything to be obvious or easy to find. But he had to eliminate every possibility. He tried the hubcaps next, then inspected the underside of the fenders and hood. He checked the engine, looked behind the radiator and fan, even took off the oil filter and checked the underside. Finally he admitted defeat. If something was hidden in the Mercedes, it was damn well hidden. No cursory inspection would turn up. If he was a stooge for smuggling, the police would have a hard time finding the loot. Unless there was a deliberate tip-off, he would probably get through with whatever the car was carrying.
Mel used his handkerchief to wipe his hands, not wanting to leave evidence of his search on the spotless rag in the glove compartment. When he delivered the car to Seward, it would be exactly the way it was when he pulled out of Thorp's lot. As an added precaution, he rubbed the hood and trunk where his hands had left almost invisible smudges and prints. Then he got behind the wheel again and backed onto the road.
On the small trunk highway that led to the freeway, he pulled into the parking lot of a small restaurant. He was out of the car when he recaled Thorp's instructions about receipts for his meals and other expenses. A receipt from this little place would locate him and the car off the main drag and might bring questions he didn't want to answer. His belly protested as he started the car again and headed for the freeway.
When he did stop to eat he picked one of the big modern chains. He ate a leisurely lunch and spent a half hour over his coffee. It was 1:30 when he filled the tank with gas and got back in the northbound lane of traffic.
He skirted Milwaukee and took Route 16 westward. The landscape changed to rolling farmlands dotted with big old farmhouses and towering barns. He went through a picturesque town named Wisconsin Dells and idly thought that maybe he would stop there someday and see some of the attractions the billboards proclaimed. Right now, he wanted to spend the night in Minneapolis. He liked cities where there were things to do and people to see. He figured to make it by dark.
* * *
How old was she-twelve, thirteen? Jean had been taking orders for Girl Scout cookies. The green jumper was already tight on her ... taut across her budding breasts, clinging to her maturing thighs. She felt uncomfortable the way the material creased into her crotch and outlined the lips of her pubes. The day was sultry too, and she could feel the sweat under her cotton step-ins. Should be green, too, she thought. Whenever she bent over, she knew they showed under the uniform. She wondered why she was worrying about that instead of about the fact that she'd gotten orders for only six boxes of cookies, when she'd been pounding the pavement since breakfast.
In despair she surveyed the tired sheet of the tired working-class neighborhood.
"Hey, chick, you sellin' cookies or givin' 'em away?"
The boy was older, maybe sixteen. As she found out later, eighteen. He chewed a toothpick in the corner of his mouth, and there was a shifty squint in the inner corners of his eyes.
"I just take orders," she answered.
"Nice."
Without taking his eyes from her, he used his chin to indicate the street back of him. "My mom's back there. She digs this Girl Scout jazz.' Jean started to move away. "Hey, I thought you kids got a lot of cookies to sell, hey?"
"I'm not selling-"
"I mean to take orders, right? Hey, my mom takes a dozen at a time. Maybe two dozen. How many orders you get today?"
"I've been there."
"You ain't been to my mom's."
"I must have."
"You sell a bunch of boxes in one place? If not, you ain't been there."
Jetan began moving away again. The boy didn't follow. She felt herself relieved with a tremendous sigh. She didn't know why she had felt so uncomfortable. But he didn't follow her. He didn't bother her. "It's twenty-eight, nineteen," he replied. "On Maple Street ... in the back."
Maple was four streets over. She hadn't been on it. Maybe that's why she only sold six boxes. Six boxes! She couldn't go back to the troop with such a small order. Gee, Hazel Bishop with all the friends she had probably sold a gross already.
She had to go toward Maple Street anyway. Maybe twenty-eight, nineteen was close to the corner-. She looked back. The boy was gone. There was no one behind her ... just the crumbly shadows from the overheated frame houses. It was late. She should be getting home. But if that lady would order a dozen boxes-!
Twenty-eight, nineteen looked like all the other houses. It must have taken her at least fifteen minutes to walk here. God, she was hot, and the skin of her inner thighs was chafted raw. She put her hand down between her legs to soothe the burn. Then she hurridely pulled it away for fear someone was looking. She didn't see the muslin curtain drop back across the window of twenty-eight, nineteen.
The front door was boarded up, but she remembered the boy telling her to go around to the back. She climbed the short stoop and pressed a bell that didn't work. Then she tapped against the paint-flaked door with a delicate fist.
The door clicked open.
The boy was looking at her. No, not at her, over her shoulder. He called back into the room behind him. "Hey, Ma, here's that Girl Scout I told you about." He let the door swing open and stepped out and turned away from her as if he was leaving. "Hey, Ma. I'm goin' now." He looked at Jean again, or through her or past her. "Go on in. She's a nice old lady."
Jean hesitated. Advanced. Stopped. Timidly knocked on the half-open door again.
"I said go on in."
His voice was right in her ear now. It wasn't a conversational voice anymore. It was a guttural voice. Harsh. Strained. Mean. She started to turn away, but he shoved her. Then other arms came through the door and grabbed her. The door slammed. She was in a dim, dirty kitchen. Unused. Abandoned. There were arms all about her. Eyes. Legs. Four other boys. They wore streaked T-shirts, dirty levis. The buttons of one were open, and the owner's hand was groping inside, pulling at something, pulling something out.
In panic, she whirled to the boy behind her and opened her mouth to scream. His hand came up and hit her in the face. An open hand. A slap. But it propelled her across the room, against the sink. The chipped edge gouged into her side. The scream died. Her throat felt in a vise. She couldn't breathe. Her lungs rasped. Her filmed eyes stared at the splash of sample cookie boxes that added to the litter on the floor.
The voice said, "Don't scream, chick. We ain't gonna let you scream."
"What do you want? What do you want with me?" she managed to gasp.
He laughed then. They all laughed.
"Man, we want to fuck you, chick! You ever been fucked?"
The nightmare began. She didn't know what they were talking about, what they were giggling and snickering and laughing about. Someone said, "Man, that's young quiff!" And someone else said, "Mmmm, virgin pussy for my hot prick!"
"Ever suck a dick, Chick?" Now you lay down nice and quiet and spread your legs, baby, while I give you a real he-man fuck."
"Knock it off," the first boy said. "Me first. My way."
He took her little blond head in his hands and pulled her face close to his, He slowly kissed the trembling lips; then ran his tongue inside her mouth. When she couldn't open her lips at first, his thumbs dug into her cheeks, and her mouth flopped open like a fish. He wrapped his lips around her tongue and sucked on it.
Then inside her mouth, he said, "Suck my tongue. Suck it, damn it!"
She tried. She knew she wasn't supposed to kiss boys on the lips. She didn't want to get bad breath or a disease or something. His tongue felt slimy in her mouth, and she pulled back.
"Shit!" he grunted. Then he pulled back and smiled at her. "Hey, I'll show you how."
He pushed on top of her head until she was down on her knees. Then he brought her face against his levis, right against the hard rod that was tenting behind the sweat-stained material. "Open the buttons," he said.
"You gonna make her suck ya' off? Let's all fuck her first. Shit, we'll be here all night."
"Nobody knows she's here," the boy said. "We got all night, right?"
Her stiff fingers had trouble unbuttoning the pants and the boy reached down and ripped them open. "Ain't that a gorgeous prick, girlie? Ain't that the prettiest prick you ever did see!"
The elongated organ was jutting out of his pants, inches from her face. He held her head rigid so she could see the tumescent tip reaching for her lips.
"Man, it's going to be dark," one of the boys whined, "and we ain't gonna get to see her cunt or know what the shit she looks like while we fuck her."
"Just give one kiss," the boy said. "Kiss my cock right on the tip once, and I'll let you up."
She kissed it on the tip. A virginal tight-lipped kiss. But a kiss.
"You kissed a cock, you know that?" he gloated. "Now you're a cocksucker."
They took turns then. They waited while she unbuttoned the Girl Scout uniform, but then they didn't wait any longer. One pulled on her left leg to get the green stocking off, while another tugged at the right. She got the white, sweaty, cotton pants off herself; but while she was doing it, one of the boys was down on his knees kissing her ass, and another one was rubbing his cock against her head.
"Man, look at all of this blonde hair wrapped around my prick. Hot damn! I'm gonna come on her scalp!"
Then they spraddled her on the floor, fists holding her ankles, while prick after prick was shoved into her tight vagina. "Oh, Cunt, you're tight!! Man, this is good fuckin' once you get it in, Jack!"
"Man, it's like fuckin' in the ass!"
"Jimmy, boy, while I'm shaggin' her, keep your cock in her mouth and don't let her stop suckin'."
"Sonofabitch, her teeth hurt my prick-the cocksucker don't know how to suck!"
"Here, bend her over. Fuck her dog-fashion. Shit, I'm tired of doin' it the same way!"
"Man, I come four times!"
"You shit, too! You fucked her four times, but you lucky you come once."
The night never ended. Somewhere during it, they left her. One by one, stealing out through the door after listening to hear if there were any sounds anywhere. All the sounds were in this room. Grunting, groaning, squealing, giggling, sucking, slurping. The first boy was the last to leave.
"I do 'predate it, Chick." Then he tossed a coin on the floor that rolled between her legs. "For my box of cookies," he said. "I like those cream-filled kind." And he was gone.
They were all gone.
When she read about herself in the papers later, it was like reading about somebody else. She was supposed to be in shock, out of her mind, hovering on the brink of death. She wasn't. She merely spent the days quietly, lying there, staring at the ceiling, her hand lying between her legs, covering her mound of venus, the long, middle finger furrowed in the healing slit.
Then came the trip to her aunt, out of town. Then boarding school and even college to keep her away from the people who knew about her. Her assailants weren't denied the company of their friends. But the victim was.
Now with a cosmetic bag and her hurriedly packed suitcase banging against her knees, she walked to the nearest bus terminal and checked them in a forty-eight hour locker.
She stopped for a doughnut and glass of orange juice at the coffee-splattered stand-up bar. She timidly smiled at the strapping Texan munching a roll next to her. He grinned back, but a woman with a passle of kids joined him. He touched Jean's hand, shrugged, and left with them.
She took a streetcar downtown, got off near the Loop and wandered around until she found Jackson Boulevard, with its row of decrepit office buildings. Nice fronts with glass and chrome lobbies, but filled with a warren of one-man offices-insurance salesmen, freelance bookkeepers, sleazy photographers. She selected a floor at random, and cased the offices with the same pitch, until she got the response she expected. She was "selling" business magazine subscriptions or office supplies and needed a sale desperately.
"How bad do you need money, honey?"
The man came out from behind his desk and put his arms around her and pulled her to him so that his cock jabbed like a lance against her pulsating cunt. "That bad, huh?"
She kept her head down and nodded. He licked his lips and stuck one hand into the top of her dress and groped around for the soft flesh of her tit. He squeezed it and said, "God damn, God damn." His groin pressed the crack of her ass up against his desk. "Ten bucks," he said. "Okay, ten bucks?"
She just nodded again without saying anything. "Christ, not here, though."
He locked the office and they grabbed a cab going west on Jackson. He knew the hotel he was taking her to, and they knew him. It was almost noon when he began fucking her. It was dark when he was ready to leave. He put the ten-dollar bill on the dresser. Then he looked back at her naked form spread wide in the shadows, and added another bill.
"You didn't eat me," Jean said to him.
"I don't go that route, kid."
"Then keep your money. Leave me alone."
He came back to the bed. "Baby, we screwed the day away. I got to get home."
"Go on," Jean said. "Go on, leave me alone. Take your money."
He went to the door. "Jesus H. Christ," he said. Then he came back to her.
"Just lick it," Jean said. "You don't have to put in your tongue. Just lick it on the outside, hard."
Her legs were spread on the edge of the bed for him, and he kneeled alongside, grabbing the inside of her thighs with shaking hands, and bending his head to the beckoning mound. It smelled earthy, musky, good. It did something to his prick. He expected a shitty, pissy smell, a rank odor of fish that his wife had. But this made his mouth water. This made his prick come up again. He nuzzled the bush with his chin; then let his lips sink against it. Jean's hands came around the back of his neck, hugging his head deep into her crotch. She brought her legs up so that her bare feet squeezed the man's hips. "Oh, eat me, honey," she gasped. "Suck my cunt!"
Sometime during the night, she called Mel at the apartment. She tried again the next day while her lover was in the John, but then gave up. The fucking was good and the sucking was heaven and she didn't have anywhere to go anyway.
* * *
The glitter and noise of Minneapolis hit Mel in a suffocating wave of summer nightime. People swarmed in the streets, ignoring the sweltering mugginess or they sought relief from it in the blaring, enticing theaters and bars that advertised air conditioning. He turned on a side street and found a ramp. He pulled the ticket from the mechanical watchdog and nosed the big car up the ramp. He found a spot on the third level and after locking the car, he walked to the elevator.
Hennepin Avenue was ablaze with neon and noise. He studied the storefronts, windows and glittering signs that offered everything from drinks and food to records and books. He walked slowly, his jacket still flung across his shoulder. After the measured coolness of the car, the heat was unbearable. He covered several blocks before he decided he would have to trust to luck to lead him to a good meal. He picked a place that looked inviting yet offered some relaxation at the same time. The floor show was in progress when the black-stockinged, mini-costumed hostess led him to a table. He ordered a drink and twisted his chair to get a better view of the stage.
The sign outside billed her as Pepper Mint, the hottest, sweetest, exotic dancer this side of the Pacific. It was a pretty big claim but looking at her now, Mel was beginning to believe it. The girl was sensational. She was tall, he guessed about six feet, yet there was nothing angular or awkward in her lithe body. Perfectly proportioned for her height, her bust was enormous and her hips swelled like rolling waves of white cream from the slim waistline. Her hair was shoulder length and brown. She disdained the artifice of peroxide or henna. As she danced, it flowed in smooth cascades where her easy gestures commanded it, sometimes draped down her back like a waterfall, sometimes sprayed across her smooth white shoulders like a mist, sometimes trailing in a tantalizing caress across her almost naked breasts.
Her costume was almost as sensational as her body. The tiny bra that covered without concealing her breasts was shaped like two tiny red flames licking upward around the swelling mounds. Filmy red cloth fell in soft folds from the swelling mounds. Filmy red cloth fell in soft folds from the flames to her hips where it joined the glittering red gems of a narrow band around her body. The jeweled strap seemed to be part of her since it defied the laws of gravity and stayed in place despite the undulating and swiveling movements of the flesh. A small strip of sequined cloth dropped between her legs and through her crotch to rejoin the band in back, while the misty gauze draped in soft folds to her ankles.
The music blared and she began to sway to the rhythm. Her tempo increased in time with the music. The curves of her body rippled and pulsated as she raised her arms above her and flung her head back. The full breasts throbbed against the tiny patches of red cloth. Her eyes were half closed. The music was beating within her like a flame trapped in a building, rising in licking tongues to find life, then ebbing to build for a new thrust.
Mel was hypnotized by the sheer pagan quality of her movements. Then she began to dance. Her eyes opened and she flung her arms out to balance herself while she twirled and dipped. Each motion was a study in provocativeness. The white flesh commanded Mel's vision and held it in an unraptured confinement. His eyes fell to the deep valley between the cupped breasts. She went through some quick contortions with her shoulders that made the full flesh rise almost out of the tiny bra. Half-moons of coral appeared at the edges of the flames as the cloth moved a fraction of an inch down the mounds. Every eye in the room was on her body as she stepped up the tempo of the dance. She leaned forward to allow quick glimpses of further promise, and when she straightened her breasts became fuller. She flicked the tip of her tongue across her lips.
Her hips repeated the pattern of abandon that her bosom had set, and her entire body became a living beat. The gauzy material fluttered and slithered across her curves of activity behind the bar, the room was hushed in appreciation of her artistry and body.
The dancer arched and curved to the music while her hands traced sensuous patterns in the air. She looked at her audience through partly closed eyes that reminded Mel of a woman on the verge of an orgasm. Her tongue darted across her lips again. Her hands moved closer to her body and followed the edge of the red film. After a few delightful passes, the material floated from her curving breasts and fluttered to the floor. Casually she caught it on the toe of her red satin pump and flicked it aside to rest in a small heap. The white flesh stood out against the brilliant red pasties. The lush ripeness of her breasts was revealed except for the very tips hiding behind the flames. The effect was compelling. She made her breasts move in slow, then faster, circling motions. Mel had seen strippers before, but this was the first one that had managed to not look vulgar as she twisted the right muscles to rotate her breasts. The absence of tassels heightened rather than diminished the sense of movement.
Her entire body melted into the undulating sequence of the dance. Hips swayed, her buttocks rising in enticing, beckoning throbs of the muscles. Her belly jutted forward and withdrew with the sensuality of intercourse. Throughout, her eyes mirrored her ecstasy. The music echoed a throbbing drum beat, and her flesh melted into one total effect of beauty and sex. The second strip of red gauze disappeared almost unnoticed until it was another heap on the floor.
Now, clad only in the small red strap across her intimate crotch and the tiny red blots at her nipples, she threw herself into the frenzied dance with new zeal. It was like a fire finally reaching the point where it is out of control, unchecked by the mere human form that tried to confine it. She swayed, fluttered and reached for freedom above her. Her fingers, tipped with scarlet to match her costume, trembled and stroked the air seeking fulfillment. Her fingertips descended to the pasties and hovered over the moving breasts in an identical tempo to their circling. The effect was electric and the crowd sat forward. She smiled as though absorbed in some pleasant private thought. Then suddenly she arched her back and went down to the floor in a graceful backbend. Near the front of the stage, her legs were widely planted, and the position exposed the hidden valley between her legs. Somehow the costume had been constructed so that the red cloth was folded down the center, and the spreading of her legs forced the fold open. The inner portion of the strap was darker in color and satiny smooth. From the gasp that went up and the whistling and shouting that broke loose, Mel knew the deception had been perfect. For an instant, each man thought the same thing-that the soft folds of her vagina had been exposed. By the time realization set in and they regretfully admitted it was a trick of the cloth and lights, she was snaking her body upward again. She leaped and threw her arms high above her. In each hand, a tiny flame of red shot up from the fingers. Her lush, full breasts were naked, the probing tips clearly visible in their livid beds of coral.
In a swift, smooth motion she turned and ran from the stage. The applause was deafening. Whistles rang through the din and feet stomped an encore on the floorboards. The curtain at the side of the stage moved, and Pepper Mint returned, hands folded demurely at her breasts. At the surge of new applause, she bowed deeply, letting the hands move far enough away from her flesh so that the naked pendulums swung in clear sight. Then she was gone again. Even the resounding noise of the audience didn't bring her back this time.
Mel sat back and signalled for another drink. The show had taken his mind off his hunger. He studied the menu the waitress handed him and ordered a steak. He forced himself to concentrate on the job he was being paid to do. He knew he shouldn't take a chance at becoming involved in a strange city. His other hungers could wait-and thrive on the memory of the dance.
CHAPTER SIX
Mel woke before seven. His first impulse was to roll over and lose himself in the oblivion of sleep again, but it didn't work when he tried it. He lay quietly for several minutes and finally threw back the sheet and swung his feet to the floor. It had been close to two when he fell into bed last night. He had stayed at the bar until it closed, watching the dancer without tiring of her act. The sensuality of her body increased with each show, and he found himself studying the artistry of her work without losing interest in the pleasing sight she presented. The crowd around him shifted and changed, growing drunker with each succeeding show. After the steak, the fresh drinks seemed not to effect him.
He left the car in the ramp and chose a hotel close to it. Now the strange room reminded him of his reason for being here. It wouldn't hurt to get an early start. He could take his time on the way to Duluth and still have plenty to spare before his six o'clock deadline.
He walked naked to the bathroom and turned on the shower. The icy blast stirred his blood and drove the remnants of sleep from his brain. He twisted the hot water faucet and quickly lathered himself and rinsed. Then he stood under the cold spray again until he felt renewed. He dried and dressed quickly. As soon as he packed the overnighter, he made a final survey of the room and left. He checked out before stopping in a coffee shop for breakfast.
He took Route 65 out of the city. The day was cloudy and heavy with humidity. It was a pleasure to wrap himself in the luxury of the big car. He slipped his sunglasses on and settled back to enjoy the drive.
By ten, the world was a crescendo of thunder and lightning. He had left 65 and was cutting eastward on a trunk highway. He cursed softly at the thought o: getting caught on a secondary road. The curving, twisting narrow blacktop didn't present ideal driving conditions. He wished now that he had taken the superhighway.
The windshield wipers struggled to stay ahead o the cascading water. Mel slowed the Mercedes to a crawl. He swore again at his lack of foresight. In the blinding rain it was impossible to find a place where it might be safe to pull off the road and sit out the downpour.
A dark form loomed suddenly ahead of him. He was almost on it before he could stop on the wet asphalt. The tires of the Mercedes screeched on the slick road but caught and brought the car to a halt. If he had been going much faster, he wouldn't have made it.
The other car was almost off the road, the front wheels dipped into a low gully beyond the grass. The back wheels hung on the edge of the road, and the rear end of the car jutted several feet into the path of oncoming traffic. The driver had climbed from the seat and stood by the door, waving in frantic motions.
It was a woman. Clad in a cotton dress that the rain had plastered to her body, she waved and hurried forward. He reached across and opened the door. As she leaned into the opening she looked at him questioningly. Her short blonde hair was water-pasted to her head. Her mascara had left thin black tracks like scars on her cheeks. The pink cotton dress was molded to her figure to become part of each movement. "I'm soaked," she shouted and pointed at the immaculate upholstery.
"Get in," he said.
Gratefully she climbed in. For a moment she leaned her head back and closed her eyes as though trying to erase the reality of the rain outside. She was young, about twenty, he figured. The long line of her tanned throat quivered as she tried to compose herself. Mel studied her. The small, jutting breasts were outlined under the wet pink cloth. The dress clung to her belly and thighs like a second skin, and her long suntanned legs stretched to the corner of the car. She sighed, then closed her arms across her chest and shivered.
Mel reached to turn down the air conditioner. "Better?" he asked.
"Umm.' She nodded and opened her eyes to look at him. "Thanks. I thought I was going to drown out there."
"What happened?"
"I was going faster than f should have. I was-I was in a hurry and thought I could beat the storm." She laughed, and her light musical voice filled the car. "I didn't make it."
"We should do something about your car. That's not the safest place in the state for it."
She shrugged. "Save your energy. No use getting soaked. The car won't budge." She peered out the window then looked back at him. Her eyes looked like deep pools of rainwater in a field. "I tried everything.
It won't move forward or backwards. I did a good job of getting it wedged in that ditch."
Mel thought about trying to nudge it with the Mercedes but gave up the idea before it took form. This car wasn't his to be charitable with. There would be hell to pay if he dented it or scratched the bumper. He was being paid to do a job, and he had better remember it. "Okay,' 'he said as he eased the car into gear. "Where to?"
She seemed to be thinking over her answer. Finally she said, "I was on my way to a place not far from here."
"You call the turns. I'll take you there. Maybe you can call someone to come and pull the car out."
She was silent so long that he turned to look at her. Her arms were still crossed under the peaks of her breasts, hugging her body which seemed to tremble slightly.
"Still cold?"
She shook her head. "No, I'm fine." She smiled as though proving her words.
"Can you give me directions? I don't know where the devil I am."
"Sure. Just stay on this road a way. I'll tell you where to turn. It's about two or three miles." She smiled again and fell silent as he turned his attention to the slick road and poor visibility.
The car rolled along the lonely road that showed no other signs of life. There were no lights or cars, only the hovering wet leaves that canopied over them.
The girl spoke. "Just past that clump of trees ahead is a sharp curve to the left. As soon as you come out of the curve, there's a road leading off to the right. That's the one." As an afterthought she added, "It's a gravel road, but it's solid. You don't have to worry about getting stuck. The water drains and there aren't any soft spots."
"Okay." He concentrated on the curve. He slowed to five miles an hour as he came out of it. She pointed. "There it is."
He headed the car into the vague blur of the side-road. The hum of the wheels on asphalt gave way to a spitting of dirt against rubber. The headlights swept a huge arc along the trees lining both sides of the road. Rain continued to pelt the car in monstrous exploding drops. He hunched over the wheel.
The girl leaned forward and peered through the windshield. The road wound through the trees and up and down hills as far as he could see. After several miles, the girl said, "Take the left fork up here."
The next road was even narrower than the one they had left. Fingers of glistening leaves reached out for the car and slapped lightly against the sides. The road descended and then leveled in a clearing behind a cabin.
"This is it," she said, twisting in the seat to face him. "Let's get inside." She yanked the door handle and shoved the door open, leaped from the seat and sprang across the wet grass.
Mel slid across the seat and sprinted after her. It took only seconds to reach the cover of the sheltered porch, but he was soaked. The girl fumbled in her purse and extracted a key that she fitted into the latch.
The dim interior was a relief after the onslaught of the storm. They stood dripping in the narrow kitchen, and the girl shook herself like a puppy, forcing the plastered hair to rumple and stand out from her head. She came only to his shoulder and her tiny body was a perfect miniature. She laughed and slipped off her soggy shoes and kicked them to one side.
"Come on, let's dry out. She led the way to the front part of the cabin, past the counter-length sink, cupboards, stove and refrigerator that lined the wall. The room opened to an eating area with a captain's table and four chairs pulled to it. A wall of cheerfully curtained windows formed the corner.
The living room was moderate-sized with a stone fireplace covering an entire wall. The wide gray hearth was covered with a dark fur rug in the shape of an animal skin. A sofa stretched before the fireplace and deep armchairs stood at either end of the rectangle. Tables, chairs, a television and phonograph completed the room. Opposite the fireplace, an enormous picture window faced the storm. He couldn't see past the streaming water on the outside of the glass, but he had a feeling of openness beyond.
"Gosh, you're as wet as I am," she said. "Let me see if I can find you some dry things."
"That's all right," he answered. "I should be on my way."
"Don't be silly. You can't go anywhere in this storm."
He recalled the blind driving he had been doing since the storm broke and decided she was right. He nodded. "Okay, you win."
She started for a door that opened off the room. "There should be something in here. Make yourself at home. Take anything that fits." She waved a hand at the closet and dresser on the far side of the bedroom. Then she smiled and left him to his decision. He heard her enter another room.
Mel opened the closet. Several jackets and sweaters hung on wooden hangers from the pole. There was a seersucker suit and five pairs of slacks on a multiple hanger. He slipped a pair of brown ones from the rod and held them up for size. It looked like a decent fit, and he turned to the dresser to search for a shirt. He chose a knit sport shirt in a nubby texture and tossed it on the bed. Stripping the soaked shirt from his arms and shoulders, he thought about the room and the girl. She had a key so she obviously belonged here. The man's wardrobe? Too mod for an older man, so her father was out. Husband? Lover? She wasn't wearing a ring, but she looked like the type for a husband.
The shirt was a perfect fit but the slacks had a couple of extra inches around the waist. He pulled the belt tight. He looked in the closet for a pair of slippers. They were too big, too, but they were better than the squishy shoes he had taken off. He picked up his things and looked for a place to dry them. There was another door that might lead to a bath He crossed and opened it.
The girl's sharp intake of breath was instinctive and frightened .She stood in another bedroom beyond the connecting door .She had undressed and her wet clothes were in a pink heap on the floor. She was reaching for a yellow robe on a hook on the closet floor. She was completely naked, straight as a young willow, richly tanned against the lamplight of the room. Her green eyes mirrored terror, and the hand with the robe paused in midair as if some threat had been made against completing the motion it had started.
"I'm sorry,' Mel said quickly. He felt stupid standing there in another man's clothes, staring at another man's wife in the buff. He felt sorry for her because he had frightened her without meaning to. He backed from the doorway. "I was looking for the bathroom. To hang these," he added as though the explanation were vital to them both. The limp clothes hung from his outstretched hand.
The fear vanished from her eyes and she drew the yellow bathrobe to her body. She turned slightly and slid her arms into the sleeves, but not before he saw the long, angry welts across her buttocks and legs. She squirmed into the robe and drew it over her nudity. She met his gaze. "Bath's on the other end of the hall. Out to the living room and to your right."
He started to turn, but stopped when she spoke again. "Just take those things to the living room. We can light the fire and they'll be dry in no time." Her voice was light and showed no evidence of the emotions that had panicked her a few seconds before.
"Okay." He shut the door and retraced his steps to the living room. In a few seconds she emerged from the other bedroom with her bedraggled clothing in her hands.
"The matches are in that can on the mantle." She nodded toward the high stone ridge. He dropped his slacks and shirt on the hearth and got the matches. The fire was laid, and it took only an instant to coax it to life. The flames licked around the piled logs and tinder, sending up shafts of fire that caught quickly. He turned the damper and in a few moments, the fire was cackling above the noise of the storm outside.
She pulled one of the straight chairs from the other side of the room and put its back near the fire. She draped her wet clothing-the pink dress, a scrap of pink lace panties and a pink bra over it. He followed suit and spread his own things on another chair next to it. The fire felt good. It drove the dampness from the cabin and took the chill from their bodies.
She sat on the long blue sofa and looked at him. "Guess it's about time we introduced ourselves. I'm Dana Bartholomew."
"Mel Wayne."
"Where are you from, Mel?"
"Chicago, at least now. Originally New York. I'm on my way to Duluth. This is the first time I've been in this part of the state. I guess I got a little lost on that road. I was heading for 35."
She smiled pleasantly. "It's not a bad road on a clear day, but this storm is something else again. Even knowing the road, I missed that curve and went in the ditch." Her face became serious again. "I want to thank you for stopping to pick me up. I didn't know what to do."
"My pleasure," he said.
"I really mean it," she repeated. "I didn't think anyone else would be out in that downpour. I might have sat there all day if you hadn't happened along."
He sat at the other end of the sofa and turned to face her. Her eyes were relaxed and peaceful now. She went on. "You must have taken a wrong turn back at the junction. The highway going to 35 is north about three miles."
He laughed. "I was in such a hurry to beat the storm I must have missed it."
"Lucky for me." She dropped her glance and then stared into the fire. "I was on my way here. I guess I wasn't thinking too clearly either." A shadow darkened her face.
He had the feeling she was ready to cry, that some huge emotion was bottled inside her like water behind a dam. He remembered the terror in her face when he had surprised her in the bedroom-and the cruel welts on her honeyed flesh. He leaned toward her and spoke softly. "Look, it's none of my business, and you can tell me to go to hell if you want to, but it might help if you talk about it. I saw the marks on your body. If there's some way I can help, I'd sure be glad to do it."
Her head was rigid for a minute, then she turned to him slowly. Tears brimmed at the eyelids and made the green pools glisten. "No one can help." Her voice was a breath of the rising warmth of the fire.
"You can't tell until you try," he said softly.
The tears spilled over and trickled down her cheeks. There was no mascara left to make them indelible. Instead ,they left silvery scars of sorrow on her browned skin. Then she began to cry with great whacking sobs that choked her breath. She buried her face in her hands and abandoned all pretense at control. He slid across the cushion and took her shaking body into his arms, cradling her like a child and making no try to check the dam that had broken. He left her warm flesh under the soft robe, and it seemed to quiver and pulsate with each sob. She leaned her face into his shoulder and pressed her damp hands against the rough shirt. Gently, he stroked the curve of her back and shoulder, being careful not to let his hand touch the swelling buttocks that were lashed with welts. Outside the storm raged. Silently, he waited for her inner storm to wear itself out.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Somewhere behind him a clock ticked off the minutes slowly. Gradually her sobs lessened in intensity and eventually choked off in gulping swallows. Her flesh quieted under his touch and she raised her face.
"I'm sorry. You didn't deserve that after how nice you've been to me. I just couldn't help it."
"Feel better?"
She nodded and sniffled and dug in the pocket of her robe for a tissue. The front of the robe had parted slightly, and he could see a flash of tan against the yellow. She blew her nose and wiped the remnants of tears from her face. "I must look a sight."
"You look fine. Don't worry about it."
"You seem to be helping me every time I turn around."
"I meant what I said before. If you'd like to talk, it may help."
She nodded. "Maybe you're right. It isn't very nice, though, but I've kept it inside so long it hurts." He waited. "I was running away. Bart, my husband-"Her voice broke and she forced herself to start again. "He's the one I was running from. He gave me the welts you saw."
"My god! Why?"
The tears threatened once more and she bit her lip. "If I knew the real cause, maybe I could have done something about it. I've seen it building for some time-the uncontrollable anger that explodes in him. I've tried to make him happy, I really have. Even when I discovered-' Her voice broke again and a single tear rose over the edge of her eyelid and coursed down her face. He tightened his fingers on her shoulder reassuringly.
"Well, I guess the best way to say it is that Bart has some strange ideas about ... sex. We were married three months ago. At first he was gentle and kind, almost the perfect husband. I was pretty green about sex, I know that now." She glanced away at the fire for a second before continuing. "A few weeks later he began to change."
"In what way?"
"He wanted more and more sex. If I protested, he kept after me until I gave in. The gentleness was gone, though. He made me feel like some kind of possession rather than a human being with feelings of my own. He was cruel, forcing and taking what he wanted with no regard for me. Before long I found that all the pleasure of going to bed with him had vanished. I hated the idea. I spent most of my time trying to think of ways to avoid the situation, avoid Bart."
She looked away guiltily. "I know it was wrong, but I was scared. He didn't care if he hurt me, physically or emotionally. I began to hate him. Even more, I was scared to death of him. Then three weeks ago, he tried a new thing." Her voice dropped to a whisper.
Mel reassured her by touching his hand to her knee under the soft yellow robe. He felt her muscles react, tightened with the tension that bolted through her. He left his hand where it was and after a few minutes, her flesh relaxed. It was as though she had expected him to repeat the cruelty she had endured at her husband's hands.
"He-he began beating me. He threw me on the bed and tore my clothes off. Then he used his belt on my flesh. I screamed and begged him to stop, and he laughed at me." Dana looked directly into Mel's eyes. "He was really enjoying it. The more I screamed, the better he liked it. It was as if-as if he got sexual pleasure from my pain. He was naked, so I know I wasn't imagining things. I saw the passion mount in him. I mean...." The words drifted off.
Mel helped her. "You mean he got an erection from it?"
She nodded. Her voice was barely audible. "Yes. When he was really excited, he literally jumped on me." She buried her face in her hands again. The muffled words escaped through her fingers. "It was horrible. When it was over, he fell asleep, spread out on the bed at my side." She raised her face again. "He'd been drinking, I knew that. But he wasn't so drunk that he didn't know what he was doing. I got up and bathed, but I couldn't wash off the horror of what had happened."
Mel felt his own disgust at the story. The poor kid, no wonder she looked scared when he opened the bedroom door unexpectedly. "That wasn't the only time?" he asked, knowing that the welts of her flesh were too raw and fresh to have been made at the beating she just described.
"No. For a few days everything was quiet. I lived in fear of what was to come next, but he stayed away from me. Usually he wanted sex every night, but during that time he didn't come near me. He never spoke about the night of the beating, and I tried to forget it." She sighed. "Then it happened again. He'd come home late and I was already in bed. I knew the minute he walked in the door that it was going to be the second time. There was something in his look-his eyes. There were no preliminaries. He just walked over to the bed and tore back the covers and ripped my nightgown off in one stroke. He dropped his own clothes quickly, keeping only the leather belt. I tried not to cry out. I thought maybe if I didn't react he'd give up. But he just worked that much harder until I couldn't help myself. The pain was so awful that the sex part was only a dim afterthought. He was as violent with the intercourse as he had been with the whip. I passed out with the pain. When I came to, he was asleep. There was a gash at the side of my breast." She touched her fingers to her left breast carefully. "I don't know how it happened."
"My god, why didn't you leave him then? Why didn't you call the police?"
She shook her head. "The embarrassment ... telling it, showing it ... Oh, my God!" She bowed her head, and Mel waited silently.
"Then last night was the third time. Same pattern-the belt until his fury was built to explosion level, cruel handling of my whole body until I was a solid mass of pain. I have black and blue marks all over. His passion was harder to satisfy this time. He tried to take me in several different positions, but he couldn't go off. It infuriated him and he stopped and picked up the belt again. The last thing I remember is the blinding pain as he twisted my arm behind me and sank his teeth into my shoulder." She shuddered and closed her eyes and mind to the recollection. "When I woke up, I left. The only place I could think of to go was here."
"Is this his place?"
"Yes. I know it's not safe to stay here long, but I don't think he'll realize I've left for awhile. I didn't take anything. For all he knows I'll be there when he gets home tonight. I had to think, somewhere where I wouldn't be terrified of every sound. I thought of this place, and I got as far as that ditch. Then you found me.' She smiled. "Thanks again."
"What are you going to do next?"
"I don't know. I haven't planned that far. I just had to get away before he woke up. I didn't trust him or myself. I guess I was afraid that I might fool myself into staying one more time."
"Have you got someplace to go?" Mel felt a deep concern for the frightened girl.
"I don't want to go back to Minneapolis," she said. "I have a girlfriend in St. Louis. I might go there."
"You have enough money?"
She nodded. "Enough to get me there and hold me until I get settled. I hate the idea of starting over again. I've lost faith in my judgment of people. I was so completely fooled by Bart." She touched his hand with her cool fingertips. "I'm scared. I used to think sex was something beautiful and fun. Now I'm terrified of it. What he did to me has left a lot more scars than the ones on my body. I don't know if-" Her fingers tightened on his hand.
"Hey, that's silly.' He urged her shoulders closer and looked into her face. "You've had a lousy experience, but don't judge all men by the one punk who fooled you."
"Oh, Mel, do you really think so? I want love. I really enjoyed it when it was good. I was just beginning to find myself, learning to let go and enjoy some of the different things-things the kids I'd parked in cars with hadn't known. My body was beginning to awaken. I was looking forward to life. Now I wonder if I can recapture the desire. If I even think about sex, I see Bart coming at me with that leather belt, and I tighten up inside."
Mel stroked her hair gently. "You'll be okay. Don't worry about it."
"Are men ever gentle?' she asked in a child-like voice.
"Sure. Normal guys like doing what the woman likes. They decide together what they enjoy, then do it. Sometimes they experiment to try new ways, but if they don't bring pleasure, they forget them. Bart had .a real hang-up. He's sick. There are guys like that-jokers who get their kicks from inflicting pain on women."
"But he seemed so normal, so wonderful at first. What happened? Did I do something to cause it?"
"Hell, no. Don't worry yourself over that. He's had this all along. When he first married you he was probably behaving himself with you and doing his thing someplace else. The more he screwed you, the more he wanted to go all the way-his way-with you. Finally he resented your withdrawal from his rougher sexual contacts, and he flipped. He had a couple of drinks to erase his inhibitions and came home to practice his flagellation on you."
"But the times between?"
"He was probably ashamed, maybe even sorry, because he'd let you see the worst side of him. But eventually he came back for another try. You did the right thing getting out. It would have gotten worse, believe me."
She sighed and rested her head against his shoulder wearily. "My God, but I'm exhausted. The night, the drive."
"Why not go in and rest?"
"I'd rather stay here with you. I feel better now. I like being with you, Mel. You're good for me." She relaxed against him, and they sat staring into the dying fire. The logs were glowing embers but there was no need to replenish them. The room was pleasant and dry. The sound of the rain on the roof made a restful background to the cracking of the wood.
Mel glanced at the girl in his arms. The yellow robe was cuffed in a deep V that had widened to form an endcing gap between her delicate breasts. He let his eyes enjoy the shadowy hidden valley edged with golden globes of flesh. He made no move to touch her intimately.
After several minutes she raised her eyes to his. "Mel?"
"Yes?"
"Do you really think I'll be able to enjoy lovemaking again?"
"Sure."
"How will I know which man will be gentle with me?"
"You'll know."
She tipped her head and looked at him carefully. "Mel, I think you'd be gentle.' 'She lifted her lips to his.
He bent to them and found their tender warmth. He felt a thrill of pleasure travel through him in a swift course, but he held back and let her lead the way. He didn't want to force her. When her lips parted and her warm wet tongue played at his teeth, he let some of his feelings seep into the kiss. He met her tongue and caressed it with his own.
He let his hands rub her back gently and soothingly.
He could feel the tight muscles of her body let go, and she melted against him. He explored her mouth with his questioning tongue. When they finally released the kiss, she sighed heavily. "Oh, Mel. Please show me what gentle love is," she said softly.
He looked into the green depths of her eyes. He saw the pleading that tried to mask the fright deep inside her. "Are you sure?"
She nodded and lifted her lips again. "I'm sure. I have to try again, and I want it to be with you, Mel. I want to recapture the pleasure I had just begun to find before-"
He put his lips to hers gently. "Don't think about that anymore." He kissed her tenderly and evoked an immediate response from her lips and tongue. Her body grew warm under his hands. With slow gentle motions, he lifted her from the couch to the fur rug. She let his hands guide her until her body reclined before the glowing embers of the fire. He drew back and watched her face as he slowly undid the yellow tie at her waist and the two buttons that held the robe closed. She was watching him, too, her eyes following his face without fear.
He spread the fronts of the robe, and she lay exposed in the honey warmth of her nakedness. He trailed his hands caressingly over the tilting peaks of her breasts, cupping them gently and without pressure. He saw the huge bruise that ran from the mound of her left breast across her ribs and to her hip. It was ugly and sore-looking. He leaned forward and kissed it gently.
"Oh, Mel."
He took the rosebud nipple in his mouth and tongued it lovingly until it rose in turgid response. Dana whimpered a small sound. He went to the other breast and used his tongue and lips to bring the tip to a matching peak. She sighed and reached a hand to touch his face. "I like that," she said.
He let his lips explore the curves of both breasts, being gentle and making sure not to cause her pain. He saw the nasty semicircle of teeth marks on her shoulder and the red jagged scar that had not yet healed at the line where her left breast met her chest. It stirred even more tenderness in him. He pushed aside the fleeting thought of the man who had done these terrible things to her and concentrated on removing the memory from her mind and body.
He sat back and lifted her shoulders to free her arms from the sleeves of the robe. Then he let her back gently to the rug. Her blonde hair was bright against the dark animal fur, and her eyes sparkled with the new desire that had been awakened in her body. He kissed the bruise on her hip then worked his lips across her flat belly and downward slowly. For a moment, she remained almost rigid, legs pressed together. He knew she was trying to force herself to relax and having trouble.
"Don't worry, baby, I won't hurt you. Trust me."
She bit her hp and took a deep breath. He rubbed her thighs gently until the bands of muscles loosened and left her flesh soft and pliable. Then, very slowly, he worked his fingers between her legs into the crop of reddish hair that hit her genitals. After a moment he found the dry crevice of her vagina and carefully inserted his finger. He slid it back and forth until it touched the protrusion of her clitoris. She jumped slightly and then relaxed and let herself enjoy the sensuous contact.
"Ummm," she moaned and tried to hold his eyes with hers.
But he wanted to see something else. He coaxed her legs apart with his free hand, and she finally spread them. He moved closer and looked at the lovely spot. The golden red hairs framed the soft folds of her vaginal opening. He wasn't sure, but the flesh of the vagina looked sore and swollen. He said nothing but gentled his touch even more. The poor kid was banged and bruised all over. That louse must have really worked over her sex parts after she passed out. He stroked gently, and gradually the muscles responded with warmth. The flesh began to moisten as her glandular activity stepped up. Her body was responding to his lovemaking even though her mind still hesitated.
He plunged his fingers deeper into the cavity, and she let out a long breath of delight. "It's good, Mel. I know it will be all right. It's like coming alive again after a long time in darkness." Her hips moved slightly as her body lent itself to the rhythm of his darting and retreating fingers. She was loose now, and he delved two fingers inside the hot cavity. She ran her tongue across her lips in quick delight and smiled.
He felt his own body responding. "Look," he said. "I'm going to take my clothes off. I want you to look at me and get used to the idea that a man's naked body isn't a weapon. I won't do anything until you're ready. You tell me when you want it, okay?"
She nodded. He withdrew his fingers from her vagina and quickly undressed. Then he sat close to her, their hips touching lightly as he faced her. He resumed his caressing of her body and vagina. Occasionally he saw her glance dart to his hardening penis. He tried to be more gentle with her, tenderly working her to a pitch of excitement. He bent and kissed the curtains of flesh that surrounded her womanhood. Even more gently, he inserted his tongue between the folds and found her clitoris with it. There was no mistaking the ecstatic sigh that escaped her lips. He continued the oral contact until her body began to quiver and her hips resumed the pattern of age-old passion. His own body throbbed with the growing need for release in her warm flesh, but he held back.
But she didn't say anything yet so he continued his manual and oral lovemaking. He had promised to wait until she asked for him, and wait he would.
"Mel?"
"Yes, Dana?"
"I think I'm ready."
"I want you to be sure."
"I-I think I'm sure."
"Don't force it, baby. I can wait a while longer."
"Oh. Ohhh. I don't think I can. Oh, Mel."
"Want me to send you off this way?" He probed deeply inside her hot body and searched her innermost place with his fingers. "I can make you come like this."
"No. I want you now. I want the real thing. I have to, Mel, I need you now."
He got to his knees and straddled her hips. For a moment his huge throbbing penis jutted between them. Her eyes followed it, and then she raised her hand to touch it gently. "I'm not afraid. Oh, give it to me now."
He scooted back and got between her spread legs. The passage was wide open, and his pulsating shaft of desire entered her body. She made small sounds but her passion erased the words. He inserted, withdrew, inserted, withdrew. He felt the pressure of his need beat in the sex organ, and he felt the immediate response of her intimate parts. Her body met his thrusts and together they discovered the mounting passion of their impending climax. When it came, they both cried out with delight and flooded each other with their release. Mel felt the semen shoot from his penis in a blinding burst of relief until he was drained and satisfied.
Dana fell back onto the black rug with a gasp of utter relief. Tears welled in her eyes. "It was beautiful. It was like I've always dreamed it should be." She raised her outstretched arms for him and pulled his warm body to hers. He felt the pressure of her breasts bore at his chest as she held him tightly, their sex organs still clasped together in the last delights of their orgasm. He held back his weight so as not to hurt the bruised portions of her body, but she pulled him closer.
Her breath was warm in his ear. "It doesn't hurt anymore. It doesn't hurt anymore," she said.
CHAPTER EIGHT
For several minutes they lay together on the rug drained of strength. He rolled from her body but left his arm lightly across her, his hand gently cupping one lovely breast. Her eyes were closed and her face peaceful. Finally she turned to look at him.
"Mel!" Her soft voice was like a loving touch as she smiled. "It was wonderful. I can't tell you what it was for me or how much I enjoyed it. I feel like a new person."
He returned her smile. "That's what sex is all about, Dana. Not the ugly thing Bart made of it. You're young, you've got a lot of years of that beautiful kind of loving left. Just remember that."
"Umm. I know you're right. The right man .makes a lot of difference, I know that now. I think maybe when I met Bart I was impressed with his suave manner. I didn't really look deep beneath the surface to learn what he was really like. He had money, position, everything I thought would make me happy. I know better now." She put her hand on his bare shoulder. "Because of you I got more education today than I ever did in twenty years of living. Thanks, Mel."
He moved slightly and brushed his lips on hers. "It wasn't all one-sided," he said. "I enjoyed every minute of it." He tickled the top of her breast with his finger and watched the nipple stiffen. Then he leaned down and kissed it gently.
She sighed and her fingers dug lightly into his shoulder muscles. "You'll make me sexy all over again," she said.
"Is that bad?"
Her face was serious. "No. I guess it would be pretty wonderful." Her eyes darkened with emotion and she moved closer to him so her breasts pressed against his skin. She moved her crotch against his sex organs and swayed her weight to him. "It would be wonderful, I want to be sexy with you." She urged closer and they embraced in a long kiss.
They broke away and the room was silent except for the rapid breaths that stirred from her lips. The storm outside had died, and the sun had replaced the rain. Shafts of sunlight streamed through the picture window and crept acros the floor toward them.
He looked at her. "The storm is over," he said.
"Not inside me."
He began to explore her body with his hands, searching, finding, exciting. She alternated between melting her flesh to his in delight and backing away so he could reach new places, do new things. He fondled her breasts and sex passage, he kissed her entire body with lips that left trails of fire on her cool flesh. She grew more heated under his caresses. His own sex organ reacted to the intimate play, and finally she reached down and held it in her tight fist. As he excited her more, she worked at him as though finding her own pleasure in exciting him. He felt his penis swell in her hand.
"I never thought I'd want to hold a man like this," she murmured. "It feels so good knowing I can have it slip up in me whenever I want. It's a beautiful thing, Mel. I love touching it, it's so hard and big. It does things to me. Oh, I'm ready again. Love me."
He was ready, too. She spread her legs wide and he got in position over her. This time she directed the stabbing sex organ into the luscious warmth of her sex canal. Dana's body arched and he pounded the burning shaft deep in her. Her body met each stab that carried them to dizzy heights.
"Now!" she cried as she clamped her golden legs tight around him and forced the penetration as deep as possible. His penis let go with an ejaculation that was like the explosion of a mortar shell. She clutched at him and drained him completely, her vagina sucking the last drops of fluid from his ardor.
He lowered himself to the rug and lay back. Their contentment filled the room and wrapped around them like a cozy blanket. It was Dana who spoke first.
"I'm not even going to try to tell you how good that was."
"Don't have to. I was there." He smiled at the thought.
She waved a hand toward the brilliant sunshine that poured over them. "Want to go for a swim?" He laughed. "Why not?"
She jumped up, her beautiful breasts bobbing and bouncing with the motion. "We don't need suits. This place is a million miles from nowhere. There isn't another place on the lake."
He raised his eyebrows in question. "Sounds like fun, but suppose some eager fisherman passes by? I don't want to ruin your reputation."
"No, fishermen, because there's no public access to the lake. It's just a spot of wilderness that belongs to my husband. I suspect he picked it because it was so damned lonely. I think he had other women up here-and we know what that means."
She was right. It was just the type of place a man like Bart would pick to use women, he thought. He got to his feet and as soon as they had used the bathroom, he said, "Lead the way.' He slapped her bare rump gently and pushed her toward the door.
The sun was warm as they held hands and made their way down the path to the lake. The water was very blue and calm now that the storm had ended. A few puffy white clouds skittered across the sky high above them. The path under his feet was slippery and small puddles nestled on the flat rocks.
A dock jutted from the shore and two boats were tied to it at one end. About a hundred yards out in the water, a floating raft sent up a reflection from the calm water.
"Race you to the float," she said. In a flash she sprinted to the end of the dock and poised for her dive. She sprang and her body arched through the air expertly. He lost precious moments as he stayed to enjoy the view of her lithe, nude body slice into the water. Then he ran and dove after her. She was a good swimmer. Despite his speed he couldn't catch her. Laughingly, she pulled herself from the water and up the ladder of the raft. "Slowpoke," she taunted.
He climbed up and sat beside her. Her face was happy and the wet hair clung to her head in a pixie look. He grinned at her and let his gaze travel slowly over her young body. The scars and bruises glistened with a film of water but seemed less ugly in the joyous feeling that surrounded her. As though reading his thoughts she said, "I feel much better, like a new woman. I can forget about the bruises and the horrid things of the past."
"I'm glad." Then he leered at her playfully and reached for a tanned globule of breast. "Maybe I'd better give you another treatment."
She tilted her head and laughed. The light sound floated out into the summer day. With a quick move, she rolled away from him and bounced to her feet. "You have to catch me first."
With that she leaped to the diving board, sprang, and jackknifed into the water. He waited until she surfaced, then did a long, flat dive after her. They raced her a few feet from the dock. "I'll show you," he said and caught her in his arms and held her close to his naked, wet body. He covered her lips in a kiss that grew from playful to passionate. After a few moments she stopped struggling and coaxed his tongue deep into her mouth. He felt her response growing. It was no longer a game. They both were becoming aroused. He used his hands to spread her bare buttocks under the water, touching the deep cleft between the high rises of flesh. He urged her crotch close to his body and imagined he could feel its warmth in spite of the cool water. He left one hand on her rear and moved the other to the front where he could run his fingers through the coarse pubic hair. He dipped between her legs and searched for the opening that led to her vagina. Finding it, he settled his fingers on her clitoris and played erotically with it. She drew back from the kiss and looked into his eyes. She didn't speak but stared while her own hands found his penis under the surface of the water and lifted it, stroking and fondling until it stiffened. He bent his knees so he could come up beneath her, his penis finding the place his fingers had opened. She squealed as the cool water entered her with him. But the water heated to the torrid temperature of her body and merged with the hot liquid that softened her vagina. He shoved up and set up a plunging pattern until they moved as one. The two earlier coituses had taken the raw edge off their appetites, and they had plenty of time to build a new passion. She backed up slowly into shallower water where he could bring his mouth to her breasts and rouse the nipples to rigid protrusion. She ran her hand across his back and massaged the rippling shoulder muscles. Her tongue flicked at her lips and she made no attempt to mask her enjoyment.
"Mel, Mel, Mel," she said and the name became a plea. "Now!" She stiffened against him and jammed her crotch on his throbbing penis. He plunged again and again until he went off in perfect timing with her orgasm. It was like a burst of skyrockets against a night sky. Dana said, "Oh, oh. More. Don't stop." He pounded the last drops of the act of consummation into her.
After they had parted, he took a quick swim to coo off again and then climbed to the dock where Dana was sunning herself. She looked like a long, golden cat, well-satisfied and enjoying the warmth. Her skin was smooth under the glittering droplets of water that clung to her. Her breasts were twin peaks offered to the goddess of the sun. She was beautiful.
They finally left the cabin at 1:30. Dana fixed lunch for them and agreed to ride as far as Duluth with him. They would stop and send someone after her car. Mel didn't think she should risk driving it any longer. If her husband realized she had left him, he might report a car missing along with her. License plates were easy to identify and her chances of getting to St. Louis might be foiled.
There was a small gas station and general store at the crossroad where he had made the wrong turn. Dana went in and made the arrangements about the car. When she came back, it was as though a heavy load had been lifted from her mind. She settled back to enjoy the ride.
They reached Duluth a little after four. Dana wanted to stay the night with him, but much as he would have enjoyed it, he insisted that he see her off on a plane as soon as possible. He still had his own deadline to meet and he wanted her safely on her way before he delivered the Mercedes. There was a plane to Chicago at 4:45, and they just had time to settle her ticket and hurry to the ramp. She turned to say good-bye.
"I'll always remember this day, Mel."
"So will I."
"Maybe someday I'll see you again. I'd like that. Thanks again for all you've done." She lifted her lips for a kiss and clung to him for a moment. The hostess at the plane door was motioning the last passengers on.
"You better go, Dana. Good luck, and stay away from Bart. See a lawyer right away when you get to St. Louis so there's no doubt about the grounds for divorce. Right?"
She agreed. "If you ever get down that way, stop and see me. My girlfriend's name is Alice Longren, and she lives near Forest Park on Damon Street."
He smiled and kissed her quickly. She turned and ran toward the plane, her pink skirt fluttering at her golden thighs. From the doorway she turned and waved a last good-bye.
Well, that way was good, too, she conceded. It recaptured the romanticism of her teens. But it was too soft, too tender, too sweet, too nice. As a game it was fun, but five minutes more and she'd have taken his own belt to him. Her tongue was raw from where she had bitten it to keep from screaming, "Hit me! Hit me!" But it had been worth it, doggone it. That boy had a great cock going for him. Good thing he had never looked at her drivers license or anything. She laughed as she tried to reflect if there was a real Alice Longren anywhere, let alone in Forest Park.
She found a window seat, snapped on the seat belt, and stretched her legs. Monday she'd be in Paris with Bart. He was right. Little separations were good. The black and blue marks began to tingle, just like her cunt.
Mel headed the Mercedes toward the outskirts of the city. Roger Seward's address was in the posh lake-front district north of the central city. He glanced at the signs that gave the numbers of the big houses hidden beyond long drives and thick trees. Finally he found the ornately carved and hand-painted one that said "SEWARD."
He nosed the car down the drive. He almost expected a gate and a couple of snarling dogs, but the driveway was quiet in the dappled shadows. When he caught sight of the house, he whistled softly. It clung to the side of the hill like a giant stone spider. The back was level with the drive but the front dropped four stories as the side of the hill fell steeply toward the edge of the lake below. The house might have been a molten castle of stone and glass. It had set someone back plenty. No wonder Seward could pay someone five hundred dollars to drive his car from Chicago.
Mel parked in the turnabout, slipped the keys in his pocket and took the envelope from the glove compartment. He stepped to the crushed gravel and walked around the car. At the huge, white-paneled door, he pressed the bell and waited. The place seemed very quiet in the late afternoon sun. He didn't hear anything from inside, but the house was big enough so there could be an orgy or two going on and the noise wouldn't reach him. He jumped a little when the door opened and a full-dress butler stared at him.
"Is Mr. Seward in?"
"Who is calling, please?"
"Mr. Wayne of Chicago. I have something for him from Mr. Thorp." Mel almost laughed at the pompous sound of his own voice, but it was the first time he had ever been face to face with a butler, and he couldn't resist the temptation.
If the man thought it was funny, he didn't let on. He bowed a fraction of an inch and stepped back to let Mel enter. When the servant had closed the door softly, he led Mel to a high-ceiling room that was a living room but looked more like a movie set. The rich oriental rug on the floor was in muted tones of red and black. The furniture was more sumptuous than any he had even seen and it looked too good to use.
The butler said, "Please be seated." The man turned and left.
Mel perched cautiously on the edge of a good sofa and waited. He felt uncomfortable and thought of the tiny apartment he and Jean had in Chicago. The whole apartment would fit in this room and leave enough space to play a good game of baseball. He tapped his pockets for a cigarette. The cigarette dagled between his lips while he searched for a match. He went through each pocket but found none. He reached for a book from the deep onxy bowl on the table and was surprised to see the gold lettered name "Raymond's" written on the black cardboard.
"Mr. Wayne?"
He turned quickly. The man in the doorway was about his size and build. Mel didn't know what he expected, but Roger Seward was just an ordinary-looking guy despite his money. His coloring was dark like Mel's, but his smile was too hearty, too slick.
"Yes. Are you Seward?"
"That's right. You brought the car." It was a statement rather than a question.
Mel nodded. The man continued. "I appreciate your doing this for me. A matter of convenience, but one that's very important to me.' His cold eyes studied Mel. "Mr. Thorp will pay you on your return."
Mel nodded again. "He said there'd be a car for me to take back."
"I'll have someone drive you into town. You can pick up the car at the Center Agency on Seventh Street. Just tell them I sent you. They're expecting you."
Mel reached into his pocket for the keys and envelope Thorp had given him. "If you'll just sign this receipt, Mr. Seward, I'll be on my way."
Seward uncapped a fountain pen and took the sheet Mel extended. He sat on a straight back velvet chair and spread the paper on the teakwood table so he could write his name at the bottom of the sheet. He handed it back to Mel. "I'd also like to reimburse you for your expenses on the way up. You have receipts, I assume."
Mel produced the bits of paper he had collected from the restaurants and the hotel. Seward took them and totaled the figures with adding machine speed. He reached for his wallet. "Thirty-eight, seventy-three," he said and began to count out tens from his bulging wallet. "We'll call it an even forty." He held out the crisp bills to Mel.
"Thanks," Mel was too surprised to realize that he was dismissed. Seward was at the doorway.
"Good-bye," he said. "And thanks again. I'll send someone to drive you downtown." Then he was gone.
Mel sat back. That was that. He'd been turned out like an ordinary delivery boy. He shrugged. No sweat. The money was still good, and there was five hundred more waiting for him in Chicago. He could put up with the rich man's bad manners for that kind of money.
He relaxed with his cigarette until another man appeared in the doorway and called his name. "I'm going to drive you to town," he said.
Mel got to his feet and stubbed the butt out in an oynx ashtray. He followed the man out of the house to a Buick parked at the side. He let himself in next to the driver, and the man expertly backed and turned the car out of the parking spot. It was a silent ride back to the city until the man pulled over to the curb in front of a bannered car lot.
"You pick up the car here," he said.
Once again Mel was dismissed. He yanked the door open and slammed it behind him as he got out. He was surprised when the driver didn't pull away in a cloud of dust. Instead the man sat watching him with seeming disinterest until he crossed the sidewalk and made his way between the rows of cars to the office.
He gave the message to the man at the desk. The man looked from him to the Buick at the curb. "Right," he said, as though the sight of Seward's errand boy had convinced him. "Come on, the car's down here."
He led the way to the back of the lot and pulled open the door of a red, '67 Mustang. "This is it," he said. "The keys are under the seat; the papers are in the glove compartment." He smiled and snowed a flash of gold teeth.
Mel got behind the wheel and searched under the seat for the keys. He found them, and in a moment the car purred to life. He waved jauntily at the lot man and jockeyed the car from the row. The Buick was no longer at the curb. Mel turned toward the center of the city. He had no plans to drive back tonight. He'd find a place to stay then get an early start in the morning. Maybe he'd drive right through. It depended on how he felt. Right now he wanted a shower and a couple of drinks.
CHAPTER NINE
He picked a motel just off the main street facing the lake. He dropped his shaving kit on the bed and stripped. For a long time he stood under the shower, washing away the dirt of the road and the fatigue that driving always left him with. He turned the shower to cold and felt the needle spray of ice water bring him back to life.
When he had shaved and dressed, he left the room. He decided against the car. Chances were he could find a restaurant within walking distance. He took the street that bordered the huge waterfront. The view was something in the dying rays of the afternoon sun. Pretty place. Maybe he'd bring Jean here sometime.
Jean. He remembered her with a stab of guilt. He had managed not to think about her for the past two days. He had done a good job of forgetting her and their problems completely. He thought of the hours he had spent with Dana. He had been enjoying her body and his own satisfaction so much that he had never once thought of his wife. And the day with Carlotta. He managed to put Jean out of his mind then, too. Yet he had had the guts to call her a nympho. God! How could he have done such a thing? Guilt welled up in him. He made up his mind he would apologize as soon as he got back. He loved Jean, he wanted to stay married to her. A little sex with others didn't change that.
He stopped at a black-glassed bar-restaurant that advertised good food. The unobtrusive sign said, "RAYMOND'S," and the name tapped at his memory and finally jogged into place. This was the name of the matchbook he had picked up at Seward's. He pushed open the heavy glass door and was stunned by the elegance of the interior. It was a plush spot, cool and dimly inviting. Soft organ music lent a quiet and pleasant atmosphere. He took a stool at the bar.
"Scotch and water," he said when the bartender stopped in front of him. The man wore a white coat and black bow tie. Mel was glad he'd put on his sport coat or he might have been refused admission. He glanced around the dining room where several couples and groups were dining at the intimate tables.
He dropped a twenty on the bar when the drink came. He took a long healthy swallow of the high-grade booze. It went down smooth and easy. He took another.
He drank in silence, enjoying the pleasant quiet. The music changed tunes but not tempo-always a low minor background sound that wouldn't disturb conversation. When the girl sat on a stool only a few feet from him, he looked at her in surprise. He was surprised first to see a woman alone in a place like this, and secondly he was surprised by the woman herself. She certainly wasn't the type out for a pick-up.
She was tall and willowy, with high-pointed breasts and a tiny waist above gently curving hips. She had on a black cocktail dress that was cut low enough to expose the hills of her breasts and a hint of cleavage, but not low enough to be vulgar. Her red hair was twisted in some kind of knot at the back of her neck while the front made a soft frame for her face. Her face was expertly made up to add to the illusion of perfection. Her eyes were a startling clear blue, fringed with thick black lashes. She didn't speak to the bartender but he set a Manhattan before her within seconds. She tilted her lips to a smile of thanks. The bartender nodded and went back to his work.
Mel studied the woman in the mirror. She caught his glance once, but made nothing of it. She turned and looked into the dining room for a few minutes then at her drink again.
Mel finished his scotch and signaled the bartender. When the man put a second drink in front of him, Mel said, "I'd like to buy the young lady one."
The bartender hesitated but turned to mix the cocktail. He set it on the bar in front of the girl and nodded in Mel's direction. The girl raised her glance to him. Mel smiled.
"Thank you." Her voice was as mellow as the scotch.
He moved to the empty seat between them. "I hate to see anyone drink alone, and I hate to drink alone. May I?"
There was a shadow in her eyes for a moment before she smiled and her eyebrow arched. "Certainly."
He put his drink to his lips and watched her over the rim of the glass. She had done a quick but complete appraisal of him in the brief glance before she answered. He felt dissected, exposed and vulnerable, but for some crazy reason he didn't mind. It was as though her approval was important.
"My name is Mel Wayne," he said. "I just got into town." He laughed. There was a small smile at the corners of her mouth. "Guess that sounds like a standard line, but it happens to be true. Matter of fact I'm leaving first thing in the morning."
"I'm sorry to hear that, Mr. Wayne. It doesn't speak well of our hospitality." The mellow scotch voice purred.
"From what I've seen, I like your city a lot. I'm only here on a short business trip."
She nodded and the hint of a smile was there again. He concentrated on his drink and tried to find words that would get him on the right track. "Do you live here?"
"All my life."
He smiled. "I drove in from Chicago. This is the first time I've seen Duluth. I figured it would be just another town-seen one you've seen 'em all. But it is different. Something about it I can't put my finger on.
She looked thoughtful. "I think it's the lake."
He leaned a little closer. "Chicago's on a lake, too."
"Not like this. I like to think of Duluth as a lighthouse on the side of a cliff. It's a city of light that welcomes travelers and gives them safe port." She dropped her glance and laughed. The throaty sound touched Mel's ears like a breath. She went on. "That sounds a bit corny, but it's the way I feel."
"I don't think it's corny. I think it's pretty nice, ft makes me wish I could feel that way about a place, care that much. I guess I've been too much of a wanderer all my life. Cities are just places to stop for a while."
She looked at him. "Most people feel as you do, Mr. Wayne. Most people laugh at my ideas." She sipped her Manhattan. "But they're mine and they please me.
He agreed. "That's the important thing. Other people's reactions don't matter." He was stalling for time, trying to pick the right words again. Finally he plunged ahead. "Would you-" He laughed. "Say, I don't even know your name."
"Rita Archman."
"Rita, would you have dinner with me? Here, or any place you like. No strings attached to the invitation. I'd really enjoy your company, and I'd like to hear more about Duluth."
She studied him with cool and remote eyes that were not disinterested. He had the feeling she was weighing the offer casually. When she answered her voice was low. "I'm afraid that would be impossible, Mr. Wayne. Thank you for the invitation, though. It would be interesting, I know, but I cannot accept. Thank you for the drink. It's been a pleasure meeting you." She swung away from him on the stool and slid her feet to the floor.
He watched her walk toward the dining room and disappear behind an unmarked door. It happened so quickly, he didn't have time to react until she had vanished. Then the surprise flooded him and he turned back to his drink. The bartender was staring at him. He tried to make light of it.
"Guess I blew it."
The bartender picked up the empty glasses. "You must be a stranger in town." He took Mel's glass when he motioned for a refill.
Mel watched him pour the golden scotch over fresh ice cubes and add the water. "Do I look like an invader from Mars?" he asked as the man set down the drink and extracted a dollar bill from the remnants of the twenty.
He rang up the sale and dropped the change on the bar. "Only a stranger would try what you just did."
Mel raised his brows. "Don't men try to date beautiful girls in Duluth?"
The man eyed him coldly. "Men don't try to date that beauty."
"Why not?"
"If you weren't a stranger in town you'd know that Rita Archman is Roger Seward's woman, private property, not available for dinner or games or anything else." He tightened his lips to a thin smile and peered at Mel.
Well, well, small world. Mel thought. He remembered the house on the lake and the big man who had dismissed him so casually a few hours before. Of the thousands of people in town, he had to try to pick up Seward's girl. He laughed to himself and then decided to throw himself into the role of the stranger in town. "Who's Roger Seward?" he asked innocently.
The man cocked his head and scowled. "He's Roger Seward. Owns half the city, including this place."
The matchbook. Not such a small world after all.
"Money, huh?" Mel asked.
"He doesn't even have to count it. He came to town ten years ago. There are a lot of stories about where he came from but none of them are official."
"What kind of stories?"
The man shrugged. "Chicago, Cleveland, Kansas City. Rackets, syndicate. You know, the usual stuff that goes along with a rich man who doesn't seem to have to work for his money. He bought up a lot of property before anyone realized he was here. He's got three clubs like this, a couple of office buildings, a foreign car agency, two used car lots. Every one a moneymaker. Big money."
The words took a couple of minutes to sink into Mel's brain. Roger Seward did okay for himself. A car agency. The thought stirred in a corner of Mel's mind, finding form and finally bursting. If Seward owned his own agency, why did he buy a Mercedes from Eddie Thorp in Chicago? It didn't fit. He tried not to let his surprise show. "Sounds impressive. What kind of foreign cars does he handle?"
"Porsche, Jags, Mercedes. Word is he can get you any kind of car you want on a few days notice." A customer at the other end of the bar caught the man's attention, and he walked away to fill the order.
Mel rubbed his chin and stared thoughtfully into his amber drink. Seward sold Mercedes. Seward paid five hundred dollars plus expenses to have a man he didn't know drive a Mercedes-one registered to him-from Chicago to Duluth. Why? It didn't fit. If it were a car for a customer, why not have one of his own men bring it up? It brought back the gnawing suspicion that there had been an ulterior motive in the whole maneuver. He wished now he'd spent more time checking the car out, but it was too late. He drained his glass and picked up his change.
He glanced in the dining room but decided against it. Knowing it belonged to Seward made it unattractive suddenly. He left and walked down the street toward the glittering lights of the downtown section.
CHAPTER TEN
The next morning he woke early. He tried to burrow his head under the pillow and catch another hour's sleep, but the nagging irritation of doubt wouldn't let him rest. His mind kept coming back to Seward and the car. He threw the covers off and decided to get back to Chicago. At least there he had the advantage of familiar surroundings. And he knew now that he wanted to see Jean.
He ate in a small cafe and got in the Mustang. He turned on the ignition and sat considering his next step. Another look at that used car lot might be in order. It had to be one of Seward's, he was sure of that. He didn't think he had overlooked anything, but he wanted to be sure.
He made his way through the first gleanings of traffic until he reached the intersection where Seward's man had dropped him the day before. He swung around the corner and pulled to the curb. He adjusted the rearview mirror so he could see the lot on the street behind him. But there was nothing to see. The business day was just beginning, and a kid was polishing dust from the parked cars. In the office, the figure of a man hunched over the desk. Once, he picked up the phone but returned it to its cradle a few minutes later and resumed his work.
Mel stubbed out his second cigarette. He was wasting time. There was nothing to see here. He moved the gear shift and pulled away. Whatever Seward was up to was strictly undercover, and no amateur like him was going to find clues like a cheap paperback detective. He paused at the next intersection to study the highway signs, then turned south on 61.
The Mustang moved smoothly along the miles. It didn't have the heft and power of the Mercedes, but it was easy to drive. The road was good and the driving effortless. His mind wandered, hovering before it settled on the memory of Dana. He thought again of her naked body stretched on the fur rug. She'd been truly loved in spite of the bruises and scars her husband had put on her body. Mel hoped she'd have sense enough to stay clear of him now that she had made the break. She was a sweet kid, too nice to be used so badly. Funny, there were women who enjoyed that kind of treatment at the hands and bodies of their lovers, women who couldn't achieve climax without enduring pain first. Just like there were men like Bart who had to get their kicks that way. He thought again of the beautiful unfolding of Dana's passion under his gentle touch. It had given him a special thrill, like getting a virgin who had to be coaxed to desire and fulfillment. Damn, it had been good.
His thoughts went further back to Carlotta. She was a different case altogether. She was an expert in all phases of lovemaking, expert enough to be a pro. Mel laughed aloud. Maybe she was, but he had the feeling that Carlotta was a very practiced nonprofessional. The kind that found a man that suited her and could contribute willingly and generously to her support. She wasn't the type for a pay-as-you-go-off plan. Carlotta knew what she wanted in life-and in men-and she was going to get it. But what an afternoon that had been. He got hot just thinking about it. He recalled the session on the circular bed after they had bathed together in the sunken green tub. The discovery of the mirrors had heightened his enjoyment as he watched the two bodies come together and melt in a fusion of delight. Carlotta saw what he was doing and laughingly told him that's what the mirrors were there for. Together they watched the manual and oral sex play in which they engaged while Carlotta described each act as she saw it in the multiple panes of mirrored glass. They had tried numerous positions for the sheer fun of seeing their bodies from various angles. Seeing so many images of the passionate woman beneath him had built Mel's urges to white heat, and Carlotta sucked him off, then quickly renewed her passionate play until he was hard and ready again. It became a game to see which of them could rouse the other beyond holding back. It was a game Mel enjoyed losing. Even now, he felt the hot flash that the memory brought, but he forced his mind to other things.
It had been Carlotta who had put him onto this job. She was the one who knew Thorp needed a driver. In the light of what had happened since then, he was beginning to wonder if there was more to the friendly offer of help than he'd suspected. Was Carlotta in on this? Did she figure into Seward's end of the deal?
The bar, the bartender, both known to her. The room upstairs, so convenient. Her booze and her body, so ready. The job, so timely. Maybe he had been a chump. The whole thing could have been a setup. If it was, he was the fall-guy. He hadn't been thinking too clearly that day. Getting fired by Cartelle, the argument with Jean, the drinks ... He hadn't asked enough questions, and now it might be too late. Whatever it was, he was in up to his neck.
When he stopped for lunch, he took a few minutes to go through the glove compartment. An envelope bulging with papers was marked "THORP" on the outside in bold letters. He looked at the glued flap and finally pried it open with his fingers. The paper broke away crisply with only small traces of glue pulling at the surface. He unfolded the papers to examine them. Now he knew he was right. They were blank. He shuffled though them page by page, but there was nothing on them. Every sheet was blank, just sheets of white paper folded to make an impressive package.
He stared at them for a long time before he refolded them and slipped them back in the envelope. He dampened the flap and pressed it back in place, then tossed the envelope in the glove compartment and closed the lid. The blank papers cinched it. The deal was a setup and he was neatly framed in it. The worse part was not knowing what the picture was. He entered the restaurant and ordered a quick meal. It seemed important now to get back to Chicago to get rid of the car and to pick up his money so he could clear out. He wanted out, and the quicker the better.
He stayed on the freeway system all the way. His leisurely trip north seemed very remote as he pushed hard to make time now. He wished that he had gotten an earlier start. The speed limit of 65 was maddening, but he didn't dare break it. The last thing in the world he wanted was to be stopped by a cop. He had enough problems already, and the idea of being confronted by the police, even on a speeding rap, sent a shiver down his spine.
The sky had darkened to a heavy summer night by the time he turned on Charleston Street. Mel's neck muscles were a tight band of tension and fatigue, and he had to blink away the dancing rainbows that haloed the bright lights. He pulled up near the corner and checked his watch. 10:50. Ahead, Thorp's lot was dark. The windows of the shack reflected the streetlights and muted patterns shone from the hoods of the cars. The lot was quiet, closed. Mel extracted a cigarette from the crumpled pack in his shirt pocket and jammed his thumb against the lighter. As he held the glowing metal to the tip of the cigarette, he watched the shadowy lot across from him. Thorp had told him not to deliver the car until Monday. Was that part of the scheme? The uneasy feeling rippled across his neck again. It would be safer to get rid of the car now. He moved the lever to drive and rolled ahead to cross the intersection. He turned into the lot and found a spot in the back corner where the car would be deep in shadows. At a casual glance, the car might not be noticed. But Thorp would see it, he knew.
He locked it and bounced the keys on his palm. Then he crossed to the shack and dropped them through the mail slot in the door. Now it was Eddie Thorp's car and he was through. He jumped the three steps and headed for the street. He didn't slow down until the car lot was several blocks behind him. He felt better already, and his weariness took over.
* * *
His feet were dragging by the time he reached the apartment house. The muggy heat folded around him to suffocate and depress him. He climbed the front steps, making his way around the tenants of the building who were searching for a breath of air. He recognized the youngish woman he had seen in the hall several times but never spoken to. Still in her twenties, she already had the dumpiness of a bored housewife. Jean had mentioned the woman's name, but he'd never paid attention. Now she looked at him questioningly as he sidled past her squat form. Her eyes followed him to the top of the steps.
Mel pushed the vestibule door open and crossed the dirty tile of the lobby. He planted his feet one ahead of the other up the stairs, and once again cursed the lack of an elevator and the whole dirty building in general. Maybe the first thing they'd do with the five hundred dollars was look for a better place to live. He smiled at the thought of Seward's place on the lake. That was living.
His shoes rang against the ancient stone steps, and he gripped the rail to pull himself along. The third floor was a hell of a long way up. He inserted his key and swung the apartment door open. The apartment was dark, the air stiff and heavy.
"Jean?" Mel's voice tumbled through the still rooms and died unanswered. He snapped on the overhead light. The apartment was exactly as he had left it Thursday morning. His dirty shirt, underwear, and towel lay in the careless heap where he had dropped them. He moved quickly to the kitchen even though he knew Jean wouldn't be there. For several moments, he stood in the doorway. Jean was gone. She hadn't been here all the time he was gone.
Or had she? He returned to the bedroom and pulled the closet open. Some dresses still hung on the hangers, but there was a definite gap where Jean's things had been. He tried to think back. Had he looked in the closet Thursday morning? The memory wouldn't focus. He had been angry and in a hurry. The contents of the closet simply hadn't registered. Jean might have taken her things with her then, or she could have come for them anytime in the past three days. He closed the door and went to the living room.
He felt sticky with sweat. He crossed to the window, unlocked it and opened it wide. Back at the sofa, he sat with his head in his hands. If he wasn't so damned tired, he might be able to think. Where was Jean? Her face haunted his mind. He recalled the white blur as she paled at his unspoken accusation. She had faced him with the light of the television behind her, her body outlined under the flimsy nightgown. He had driven her away by putting a dirty name to her desire and love. Suddenly, he felt guilt and shame wash over him. It had been the drinks, the day, and Carlotta. He had been cruel and unfair, but Jean had accepted his insult wordlessly, and now she was gone.
Where? Where would she go in this town? She didn't know anyone. She didn't have any money. He felt a little sick at the thought of what might have happened. What a fool he had been. He thought now of Jean's voluptuous, talented body, and he felt a longing grow inside him. Jean was the woman he wanted. The others meant nothing to him. Jean was his mate, the woman he wanted to be with the rest of his life. He wiped the sweat from his upper lip and walked through the apartment again. He didn't know where to begin looking for her, but he knew he had to find her.
The stoop was empty when he made his way back to the heat-blistered street. He walked to the corner, and when he saw the bus moving toward him, he hurried to the stop. He dropped the fare in the slot and took a seat in the back, away from the eyes of others. He felt naked and exposed, as though his problems were visible to anyone who looked at him. There were two problems now, but they were inextricably woven together. The car and the Duluth trip were part of the picture of Jean's walkout. The job had altered his attitude toward Jean long enough to let him make a few stupid remarks.
He got off the bus five blocks past Cartelle's agency. What had been the name of that bar? The Red Squirrel. That was where it had begun. That was the only clue he had to finding any answers. He had to retrace his steps. If he wanted to find Jean, he had to settle the matter of cause. To find Jean, he had to start with Carlotta.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The Red Squirrel was alive with music and noise. The bar was crowded and the booths overflowing. Mel stood in the doorway a moment to let the first shock of the noise wear off. Then he looked through the smoky dimness and searched for a familiar face. A young bartender, one who hadn't been here on his last visit, tended the bar. He moved steadily to keep up with the orders customers called to him.
Mel walked through the room. No one paid any attention to him, but at the back end of the bar, he recognized Carlotta's brother-in-law. The man flicked a glance in his direction but seemed not to recognize him and went right back to his work with full attention.
Mel squeezed to the bar at the end, with his back against the wall. The man next to him moved to make room for him and Mel nodded his thanks and waited for the bartender to return. When he did, the man looked at him without recognition.
"Scotch and water."
In a matter of seconds the drink was before him and the bill he had laid on the bar was snatched away. Mel sipped the drink slowly. He weighed the idea of asking for Carlotta, but decided not to. The bar had been the starting place of the whole deal. He had to face the possibility that Carlotta's brother-in-law was in on it, too. If the man had forgotten his face, it might be to his advantage.
He leaned against the wall and glanced at the rear door through which the girl had led him. It was closed. He tried to pick out the washrooms further back on the same wall. Could he bluff? He turned back to face the bar. It was his only chance. Once in the hall, he could get upstairs quickly. If Carlotta was there, he would catch her by surprise. The sudden thought that she might not be alone upstairs made him smile into his drink. But he didn't have any other leads. Everything made the complete circle back to Carlotta, and he had to see her again. He had a lot of questions that needed answers, but he had to be careful. If she was behind this phony deal, he didn't want to give her a chance to warn the others.
He finished his drink and left his space at the bar. The crowd shifted and the opening disappeared instantly. Mel didn't look over his shoulder to see if the bartender had noticed his departure.
He walked toward the back as though looking for the men's room. At the unmarked door, he paused and turned the knob. The door opened readily and he slipped into the hall. No sound reached him above the din of the bar. Quickly, he went up the flight of stairs and stopped outside Carlotta's door. He listened, holding his breath and concentrating on shutting out the noise from downstairs. The room seemed quiet but that meant nothing. Chances were the entire place was soundproofed. Carlotta would want it that way.
He touched the knob and twisted gently. It didn't budge. Inside or out, Carlotta had locked the door behind her. He raised his knuckles and rapped. Almost instantly the door swung inward and Carlotta was looking at him.
"Why, Mel, when did you get back?" Her voice purred warmly. She wore green again, some kind of lounging pajamas or hostess outfit. The deep green velvet fit her like skin except for the wide flare of the pant legs. Each lush curve of her torso was highlighted against the soft lights behind her. Her bulging breasts were half-naked in the deep slash of the bodice that came to a point several inches below her waist. Her flesh looked honey-gold. Her black hair fanned loosely across her shoulders like long, dark fingers on the green velvet.
He smiled, "Just a little while ago." Was there a hint of suspicion in her eyes? "I couldn't wait to see you again, baby. You meant what you said about any time I wanted, no strings attached?' He tried to look casual.
"Of course I did. Come in." She stepped back, and when he had entered the green den, the door whispered shut. He was right about the soundproofing. There wasn't a glimmer of noise from outside. The room was an island of green in a sea of silence. Carlotta moved to the bar and motioned Mel to the sofa. "I'm glad to see you. Sit and I'll fix you a drink."
When she handed it to him, she leaned forward and didn't try to hide the view. She was already starting the good time she promised. His glance went to the deep, shadowed valley between the peaked mountains of her breasts. When she looked up, she was watching him and smiling. She settled beside him and touched her drink to her lips. He followed suit but took only a small amount of the liquor. He wasn't going to let himself get plastered the way he had last time. He wanted to stay sharp. Carlotta's casual attitude wasn't fooling him this time.
He touched her shoulder and gently pushed the dark hair back; then he let his fingers follow the edge of the cloth downward. Her golden flesh warmed his fingers. When he reached the crest, he lingered, dipping his fingers under the gown, to find the dark nipple he knew lay hidden just below the cloth. Carlotta's lips parted and the tip of her tongue came between her teeth.
"Did you have a good trip?" she asked softly. "Uh-huh, but I missed you."
She smiled and nestled closer. "No trouble with the car or anything?" The question sounded casual, but Mel was tuned to hidden concern.
He laughed. "That car never had a day's trouble in its life. Christ, what a car to drive. I can't understand why anyone would trade it in."
Her eyes hardened slightly. "What do you mean?"
He shrugged. "It was a beaut-a Mercedes. It only had a little more than ten thousand miles on it. It must be great to be rich and able to afford a boat like that. That's my idea of living."
She laughed softly. "A man after my own heart," she said. "It's fun to want nice things." She held her glass up to toast the idea. After sipping at it again, she said, "I'm glad everything went okay. Have you picked up your money yet?"
He shook his head. "Thorp told me to come in Monday morning. I made the drive in one day. I could have stayed over someplace, but like I said, I got lonely." He rubbed his fingertip against the soft nipple and it responded with instant hardness. "I decided I'd rather be here."
She leaned close to him and touched her lips to his lightly. "I'm glad you're back." Her warm breath brushed his face. Then she met his lips fully and they lost themselves in a searching, sensuous kiss.
Mel was reasonably sure he'd gotten past her guard. The questions she asked were masking more than idle curiosity, and he knew he was right about her being in the deal with Thorp and the others. If he didn't blow it by overplaying his hand, he might be able to find out what it was all about or at least pick up some information. It meant a few hours on the circular bed, but that wouldn't exactly be torture. He squeezed at the breast and nudged the cloth aside to expose the rosy nipple.
"Are you in a hurry?" she asked mischievously.
"It's been three days," he lied.
She lifted her eyebrows in mock surprise. "No women in Duluth or along the way? Why, Mel, you're slipping."
He grinned at her. No, baby, you're the one who's slipping, he thought. He hadn't mentioned the destination of his trip. He had been very careful about mentioning Duluth at all. Yet she knew where he had been. She had talked with Eddie Thorp since their last meeting. Or maybe she knew the whole picture right along. That put her right in the middle of the deal. Now he covered by saying, "I know where the best is waiting. Why should I settle for anything less?"
She pretended surprise again. "What about the little woman?"
"Jean?"
"Yes, your wife."
He squeezed the golden globe under his hand. "You gave me some good advice the other day. My outside interests seem to be paying off. I'm in complete control of the home situation now. Jean will have to wait until I want her." Even as he put the miserable he into words, he felt sick at the memory of the empty apartment. He forced Jean from his thoughts. Carlotta relaxed visibly and leaned into his touch. She dipped her shoulder to loosen the taut dress. With ease, he shoved the green velvet aside and the lush honeyed breast came into full view. He leaned and took the nipple between his lips. He sucked at it eagerly for several minutes, then looked at her.
She was smiling now, convinced that he had only one thing on his mind. Later, when he had fufilled some of his promises to her body, he would question her further, subtly and carefully, but with a single purpose. Why had he been hired to drive the Mercedes to Duluth and bring back the Mustang?
Carlotta raised her glass and drained it. She motioned to his drink. "Finish up and I'll get you another."
"I'd rather get drunk on you," he said. He tickled the rigid peak with his thumb.
"Two drinks won't make you drunk. Come on." She waited while he finished the scotch and then took the glass. She moved slowly out of the range of his hand and rose from the sofa. He watched her swaying hips as she crossed to the bar and made fresh drinks. She stood with her right side to him, and the naked breast bobbed with her movements. She made no move to cover or hide it, and Mel was sure her pose was deliberate. When she returned to the sofa, she sat close enough so the breast was easily available to him.
He put his lips to the drink without swallowing. Then he set the glass on the table. If he could distract her enough, she wouldn't notice that he was ignoring it. He wasn't taking any chances on his thoughts getting fuzzy. It was hard to convince himself that he was here on business, and it was doubly hard not to be carried away with the pleasure her body offered.
He used both hands to free her shoulders and breasts from the gown. He pulled her to him as he undid the zipper he found at the back of the gown, and still holding the kiss, he rolled the cloth from her body. Her skin was warm and delightful, and he felt the hard stabbing of her naked, pointed breasts against his shirt. He worked at the kiss, forcing his tongue between her teeth and searching the wet mouth beyond. She answered with darting enticements of her tongue against his. His palms moved over her back. She wiggled against his chest, and he knew he was triggering her passion. His own wouldn't be denied in the intimate love play, either. Carlotta was too much of a woman for his interlude not to be enjoyable. He let his problems slide from conscious thought and allowed himself to be caught in the pleasure of the moment. . When they finally moved apart, Mel said, "Let's get that dress off." She nodded and got to her feet to stand in front of him. The dark velvet hung from her waist, the folds loose and provocative. He reached to find the zipper again. He pulled it to the bottom and the hostess gown slithered to the floor in a whisper of green. She wore nothing under it, and her nudity was before him in a marvelous burst of glory. His hands lingered on the curve of her hips as he stared at the patch of curly black hair between her legs. Her crotch was only inches from his face-waiting. With deliberate slow motion, Carlotta stepped from the puddle of cloth at her feet. She came a step forward, putting her body so close to his face that his heaving breaths made the tiny pubic hairs flutter. He slid his hands to her buttocks and pulled her into contact.
He pressed his face into the hot privacy of her crotch. She moved her feet apart to give him enough room to press between her legs, and he sought the hidden valley eagerly. His probing tongue finally spread the lips of her vagina and dipped between the soft moist folds. "Eat, lover," she said softly, and he felt her body arch so he could penetrate more deeply. Her breath escaped in tortured hissing as she coaxed herself closer to him.
Mel tasted the sweet juice of her passion and his own virility began responding to the contact and the heat of her body. He sucked hard.
"The bed, Mel!" Her cry was a plea.
Reluctantly, he let her go and rose quickly to follow her across the room. This time he had his shirt off and his belt unbuckled before he completed the trip. This time, he was calling the plays. He let his pants drop and kicked off his shoes.
She spread herself on the bed, her legs wide apart, and watched him take off his shorts. Her eyes stayed on his throbbing penis as he came close and then lowered himself across her body. He jammed his swollen sex organ into the thatch of dark hair and it found its target without any help from either of them. Her vagina was hot and wet, and the penetration was easy. Immediately, her entire body responded. Her hips came to him and thrust against him. For several minutes, he held back, letting her arouse herself and him too. He grabbed her breasts in his hands and massaged them with growing fervor. The turgid nipples were like ripe red blossoms ready to burst. Her flowing hair thrashed at the green bedspread, and her eyes mirrored wildness. She whimpered and shoved her genitals hard on his organ.
"Oh, umm, oh." She abandoned herself completely to her pagan pleasure. Her eyes were pleading. He knew she was ready, and he drove the stiff shaft of his penis to the depths of her cavity of love. "I'm ready," she gasped. Mel thrust again and Carlotta went off in a surge of delight. Mel watched the unbelievable tension give way to complete enjoyment. Her lips parted her tongue was clamped tightly between her teeth. When the orgasm came, she fell back like a rag doll and moaned with each new wave of release he jammed her to. When he saw that she was almost finished, he let his own passion go, and the tremendous ejaculation made her cry out with surprise at the added but unexpected bonus.
They lay together, their genitals locked in the last remnants of the passion they had shared. "Anything I could say about that would be an understatement," Carlotta said finally.
"Good?"
"Unbelievably. My god, Mel, you're terrific."
"Thank you, ma'am," he said with a grin. He moved off her and stretched, The air conditioning worked at the sweat he had roused. "How about another of your famous health baths?"
She nodded and jumped up and crossed to the bathroom. She already had the water running by the time he reached the green-tiled room. She was still leaning over the tub, her bottom raised toward him. He could make out the slightly dark spot of her rectum. He reached for her just as she straightened up. He squeezed her backside to his belly and let his hands search around her body to find the vagina again. He felt the slight stiffening as she seemed to weigh the idea before she relaxed for his caress. But when she turned to face him, any question was gone. She met his lips and worked her body against him temptingly.
They climbed into the tub together and he sat with his back to the faucets so he could face her. She spread her legs and let them rest on top of his in the tepid water. Then she leaned back against the cool porcelain and slid toward him as far as she could in the confines of the tub. The oversized tub let her get very close. Her breasts seemed to float on the surface of the water. Mel picked up the soap and lathered her body, starting at her ankles and working his way up. It was quite a trip, with a long stopover at the crevice where her legs formed a dark V. He ran the soap bar along the folds of her vaginal opening and forced the lips to spread as he shoved the bar in several inches. Carlotta bit her lip and smiled.
"Wow!" The single word was all the explanation she offered.
It was enough. He soaped her more, then used his hand to delve way inside her. The water over her body gurgled as he forced the air from her canal and sank his entire hand deep inside her. Her eyes were wide with pleasure and her breathing was deep and rapid. He had her going again. She slid closer to him and watched him as he continued the manual contact. In a very short time she was on the brink of an orgasm, and he deliberately forced her to a quick climax. She had to hang on the side of the tub to stay above the water as she thrashed with excitement. When she finished, she whistled softly, and grabbed the soap to return the favor. She lathered his penis under the water, forcing it to a new erection. She was trying-to jack him off, but he told her to wait.
"I've something better in mind," he said. Quickly, he rose and pulled her from the tub and they stood dripping on the grassy carpet. They embraced and he lifted her enough to bring her down on his rigid organ. She was still soapy inside from the last encounter, and he thrust into her easily. His penis burned with the soap, and he knew her own fire was raging. She brought her mouth to his violently. He really had her going now, and he knew he could keep her at fever heat as long as he wanted. Together they worked at the best of the coitus, and together they let go their blast of wild joy and fulfillment.
Her eyes were deep pools when she looked at him. "Superstud,' she said softly. "I'm beginning to wonder about that story about your wife. Sure all that sex play every morning wasn't your idea?"
He kissed her throat. "It's not such a bad idea, is it? At least not with you. I like the way you play, Carlotta. Let's get back to the bed."
"God, give me a couple of minutes. You go ahead, I'll be in in a minute."
"Hurry."
"I won't be long, I promise. You're too good to let cool." She climbed back in the tub and began to wash. Mel turned to the sink and rinsed the soap from his penis, then grabbed a towel to dry himself. He closed the door and hesitated only a second before he began to search the room. There wasn't much time. He didn't expect to spot much, but he knew he had to try. Every few seconds he glanced at the bathroom door. The soundproofing worked both ways, and he heard nothing from the other room.
He went through the vanity first, but it revealed nothing but a vast array of toiletries and cosmetics. He moved behind the bar and looked at the shelves carefully. Again, nothing. Then he saw the recessed handle in the wall panel. He tugged, and the door swung open silently. It was a huge closet with dozens of dresses in neat rows. At one end, a built-in dresser had drawers from shoulder-level to the floor.
He stopped short. Had he heard something behind him? He turned to look at the closed bathroom door. He must have imagined it, but he knew he didn't have time to go through all the drawers before Carlotta emerged from the bathroom. He shut the door quickly and got back to the bar just as the door opened. He had the bottle of scotch in his hand when Carlotta joined him.
"Another drink?" he asked as a diversionary tactic. "Great." She strolled across the room. Her nude body was a study in supple motions. She picked up the two glasses they'd left near the sofa and brought them to the bar. He watched her golden breasts sway with each step.
He laughed. "Seeing you walk like that, maybe I don't want another drink after all." He winked at her suggestively.
"You're eager tonight."
He leered. "Blame me?"
It was her turn to laugh. "No. Actually, it's quite flattering, not to mention the beauty and joy of your lovemaking." She handed him the glasses, and he dropped in fresh ice and measured the Cutty Sark. He resisted going easy on his own. She was watching him lazily, but he knew she wouldn't miss a trick like that. He had her off guard now, and he wanted to keep her that way.
He splashed water into each glass and walked around to her, standing close to her so her breast touched his arm gently. They drank while their bodies made light contact. It was inviting and promising. Carlotta managed to move her hip so it brushed the tip of his hanging penis. She smiled and nodded when he raised his eyebrows in question. They moved to the circular bed of one accord. They sat on the edge a moment and lowered the levels of the glasses. This time it was Carlotta who set hers down and waited for him to come to her.
He began with slow caresses that fevered her body. He kissed, sucked and fondled her breasts and then her private parts until she rose to a new desire. She gave a delighted shiver as he spread her legs and found the intimate warm spot again and his fingers delved into it. She received his mouth as he closed it over hers and tempted him with her darting tongue. Her hands found his genitals and she massaged at them. He felt his own shiver of delight. He caught her tongue between his teeth and sucked an invitation on it. His free hand tried to encompass both her huge breasts, but he had to settle for one which he rubbed with growing intensity. She fell back, and he probed deeper inside her body with his fingers.
"Baby, that's so smooth and satiny. I love it." He tried to get his fingers on every spot within her.
"I love, too. More, give me more." She moved her body in the rhythm of desire and her pleasure consumed her. Mel knew he had her ready again, and he jammed the fingers harder and deeper until he brought her to her climax quickly.
When she relaxed, he put his mouth to her nipples, down her golden belly, to her delightful vaginal opening. His hand was still inside her, and he withdrew it far enough to use the fingers to separate the folds of the vagina carefully. He ran his tongue across each one, and then pinched at her clitoris with his fingers while his tongue made quick violent stabs at it.
The noise she made was almost a growl, and she grabbed for his penis. She pumped it to hardness, and this time he didn't stop her as she drove him to a swift ejaculation with her hand.
They matched fire with added fire, finding new thrills, trying many ways to gain their pleasure. The continued oral and manual manipulations drove them crazy. Finally, Mel inserted his rigid organ into the tiny anal opening as Carlotta lay under him.
"Oh, Mel. That's good. It's so tight."
"It's getting looser, baby. I'm plenty hot."
"Umm. Don't stop. Oh, it's going to be a good one. Give it to me. Now!" Her buttocks pounded under him and he let go. His release was quick and violent, and Carlotta sobbed as she went off with him.
They relaxed with cigarettes, smoking quietly as they gathered strength.
"I worked up a thirst," Carlotta said. "I'll freshen the drinks." She rolled away and got up. He watched her detour to the bathroom, and when she returned she crossed to the bar. The smooth curve of her rear was a symphony of sensual motion. While she fixed the drinks, Mel made a fast trip to clean up again. Carlotta handed him the drink when he returned. Mel drank quickly. The small amount of alcohol, that he had consumed before, had been burned up completely in the erotic sex play, and he was really thirsty. He smiled and rubbed Carlotta's dangling breasts as she drank.
"That's as nice as the scotch," she said. "Did I ever thank you for steering me to that job, baby?"
She looked surprised at the sudden switch in conversation but shook her head. "No need to do that. I was glad to help."
"Umm. I could use a few more like it,"-Mel said with a laugh. "That's the easiest money I ever made."
She laughed. "Maybe you can get more where that came from. Thorp likes a good man, and he keeps one once he finds him. He may have another job waiting for you now."
"I hope so. Can I count on a welcome like this every time I get back?' He squeezed the nipple and watched it jump forward.
"Anytime. Like I said, no strings attached."
"That's good enough for me," he said with a smile. He finished his drink and started for her body again.
Carlotta pressed against him and forced him back on the bed so she could raise herself onto him. "Just relax a few minutes and let me have some fun," she whispered invitingly.
I polished off that last drink too fast, he thought. His head buzzed and felt heavy. He didn't try to raise any objections. Not that he really wanted to, since she was giving him some pretty expert treatment. He closed his eyes against the light that suddenly seemed very bright and made his eyes burn. He felt her mouth enclose his penis and her tongue dart over the bulging tip. He felt the throbbing reaction that came to his sex organ without effort on his part. He tried to open his eyes, but the room floated past him, a green blot on a pale blue ceiling. He tried to shake his head to clear it, but the effort was beyond him. The last thing he was aware of was the heated urging of her mouth on his penis. He rose and fell with the motion, up and down, up and down. Then he fell into the black void.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The apartment was still empty when he got home. He hadn't cared enough to close the windows when he left, so at least the air was fresher than it had been the night before, but the rooms were unbearably hot. He stripped his clothes off and took a long cold shower. Back in the bedroom, he got on clean things. There was no sign that Jean had been here in his absence. He made coffee and fried bacon and eggs. His stomach rumbled at the tempting odor of the food, and he realized he hadn't eaten since his stop at the cafe just south of Minneapolis the day before.
On the third cup of coffee, he felt human again. He wished now that he'd bought a fan when this lousy summer had begun. Jean never complained, always insisted that she loved the heat. Jean ... Where was she? The gnawing guilt that he had driven her away ate at him. He felt ten years older than he had last Wednesday night when he had accused her of being oversexed and a drag on his success.
He stared around the empty room. It was lifeless without Jean, just as he was. He reached for the telephone pad and read the few numbers that were listed there. They were mostly trades people, since he and Jean hadn't made any social contacts since they arrived. He knew it was hopeless, but he began at the top of the list and dialed.
Twenty minutes later he dropped the phone in its cradle and slumped in the chair. No one had seen Jean. He sensed the curiosity at his questions, but he avoided answering them. Now what? Where else could he look? He sat blowing thin columns of smoke into the heavy air. The picture of the dumpy woman sitting on the front steps last night came back to him. He knew Jean was friendly with the woman, and she lived right next door.
He got to his feet and went out into the airless hall. He stopped outside the door of the next apartment and wiped his knuckles across his mouth. He felt awkward, but he swallowed his pride and rapped on the door. For a long time, the hall was quiet. Only the sound of a distant television broke the silence. The door opened a crack and the woman stared at him.
"I'm Mel Wayne," he said stiffly. He pointed in the direction of his own apartment. "Next door. I was wondering if you know where my wife is?"
The dark eyes looked through him.
"Jean Wayne," he explained needlessly. "I was out of town and got back a little earlier than I told her I would be. I thought she might have talked to you."
The woman opened the door and stepped into the hall. With a quick shrug of her shoulder she said, "My husband is taking a nap. I don't want to wake him."
"I'm sorry. Do you know where Jean is?" The woman's eyes studied him intently. Finally she asked, "Didn't she tell you where she was going?" He shook his head. "Well," the woman said. "I don't want to get involved. That's between you and her."
Mel met her stare but dropped his gaze. She made him uncomfortable. The lines of her youthful body were not quite masked by the layer of fat she was beginning to accumulate. Her full breasts were heavy against the cotton housedress. He looked away, then back at her face. "I'd appreciate any help you can give me, Mrs.-" He realized he didn't know her name.
"Adamsort," she finished for him.
"I would appreciate help, Mrs. Adamson. It's important that I talk to Jean."
The woman shook her head. "I don't know. If I see her, I'll tell her."
Back in his apartment he fixed a tall glass of scotch on ice and sat by the window again. The Adamson woman knew something about Jean's whereabouts, he felt sure. Jean had no money, she couldn't have gone far. The woman next door was the closest thing to a friend she had in Chicago. There just wasn't anyone else his wife could have turned to.
The harsh blast of the telephone jarred him from his thoughts. He reached for it quickly.
"Hello?"
"Mel? This is Jean. Mrs. Adamson called me and told me me you wanted to talk to me." Her voice was low.
"Jean! Where are you?" Mel was half out of his chair.
"That doesn't matter. What did you want to talk about?"
"Can I see you?"
He heard the hesitation in her voice. "No. I don't think so. If that's all you-"
"Just a minute, don't hang up. Look, I want to see you. I got back from that job last night, and you were gone. From the looks of things, you haven't been here since I left Thursday morning. Jean? Come home so we can talk. I-I'm sorry about that fight."
There was another silence but finally she said, "I did a lot of thinking, Mel. It wasn't easy, but I decided if you felt that way about me, maybe you were right. I don't have the right to ruin your life."
"For godsake, Jean, don't talk like that. Don't you understand? I'm sorry. I didn't mean what I said. Oh, hell, maybe I thought I did then, but I know better now. I've had plenty of time to think, too. I admit I was talking through my wig. I'd had one of those days, you know what I mean. I should have kept my mouth shut."
"You had a right to say what you thought." Her voice was heavy with emotion.
"But that's the point, I didn't think. I just shot off my yap. Look, can't I see you so we can talk it over?"
"There isnt much left to say."
"Give me a chance anyway. Please?"
The silence was almost unbearable before she finally broke it. "All right, Mel."
"Thanks, Jean." He meant it. He felt like a heavy weight had been lifted from his back. "How soon? Where?"
"Tomorrow."
"But-"
"I still need time to think, Mel. I know how persuasive you can be, and I want to make sure of my own feelings. Tomorrow afternoon?"
It seemed like weeks away. "What time?"
"Two o'clock?"
"I wish it were now, but okay. Will you come here or should I meet you someplace?"
"I'll come to the apartment. It's better that way. Good-bye, Mel."
"Until tomorrow, Jean. "I'll be waiting here for you." The soft click on the wire told him she had hung up.
There was nothing left to do but wait. Two o'clock was a long way off. It was barely six now. He drained the watered scotch and fixed another. He would get up early and collect his money from Thorp. He and Jean could use the five hundred to get another start on their interrupted marriage. Getting out of Chicago might be a good idea. As soon as he had his money-and his wife.
* * *
He left the apartment a little before eight the next morning. His mind was a confused jumble of thoughts as he rode the bus to Charleston Street. The more he tried to sort them, the more mixed up they became. The underlying worry that he still wasn't sure of Jean coming back haunted him. As soon as he got his money from Thorp, he could concentrate on convincing Jean to return. With five hundred dollars in his pocket, he'd have a new slant on life.
He got off the bus the block before Charleston. He still had the weird feeling that Thorp and Carlotta might have set some kind of trap for him. There were too many incidents to chalk up to coincidence. A little precaution now might save him further trouble.
The scene was almost exactly as it had been Thursday morning. The black man was dusting the cars in slow motion; the banners fluttered in the tiny breeze that had breathed in from the east; Thorp was alone in the shack, working on his books. Mel watched from the vantage point of the funeral parlor awning. But there was nothing out of the ordinary, nothing to show it was anything other than a peaceful Monday with business as usual.
Mel tossed the smoldering butt of his cigarette into the gutter and crossed with the light. He picked his way around the Cadillac that blocked the driveway of the lot and entered the office. Thorp looked up with a ready smile that lost its glow when he saw his visitor.
"Hello, Thorp."
The man averted his eyes but couldn't hide his shock. He shifted some of the papers on his desk and thrust the cigar to the other side of his mouth. "Have a chair. When did you get back?"
"Last night," Mel answered noncommitally. He sat at the side of the desk. Mel watched the other man's face for another sign of betrayal-, but Thorp's guard was up now. He shoved a pile of papers to one side and looked at Mel.
"Where's the return car?"
Mel nodded toward the corner of the lot where he had parked the Mustang. "You find the keys?"
Thorp said yes, then reached into his pocket for an envelope. He lifted the flap and drew out some crisp, green bills. He fanned them, and Mel saw the five "100" spots at the corners. He waited.
Thorp looked at the money and then at Mel. "You have any trouble?"
"Nope."
Thorp's eyes narrowed slightly, but his voice was unemotional when he spoke again. "Got any receipts?"
Mel took his wallet from his pocket and found the papers he'd stuffed in it. He dropped the signed restaurant and gas tabs on the desk. Eddie Thorp studied them one by one. "You sure made a fast trip back. Any reason?" Again, his voice was casual, but Mel sensed the masked tension.
He shrugged. "No, just decided it was better to get back to Chicago then spend the night in some jerk town. So I drove through."
Thorp seemed satisfied, and he pushed the hundred-dollar bills back in the envelope and handed it to Mel. Then he took a pencil and pad and carefully added up the amounts of the receipts. When he was satisfied with the column, he opened his wallet and counted out twenty dollars. "That covers it. Sign this receipt to show you got your dough. I need it for my tax man." He handed Mel a short typed form that stated he had received payment for the services he had performed. It was almost overdone, but not quite. Mel couldn't find any objection to it. A businessman had the right to get a signed receipt for money he handed over to someone. He picked up a pen and scrawled his name on the paper.
Thorp leaned back in his chair. "Thanks, Wayne," he said through a haze of cigar smoke. "A pleasure to do business with you."
Mel folded the bills into his wallet and was silent. He started to get up from the chair but sat back as Thorp spoke. "I got another job. You interested?"
Mel rubbed his knuckles across his chin. "What kind of job?"
The fat man gestured with his whole body. "Same thing. Deliver a car to a customer."
"Where?"
Thorp lifted his chin and exhaled a billow of blue smoke. "Las Vegas."
Mel frowned. "That's a long way off."
The man laughed. "I get customers all over."
"They have car lots all over, too."
"What the hell do you mean by that?" Eddie Thorp heaved himself forward in the chair.
Mel lifted his palm as if making peace. "Don't blow your cool. It's just a statement of fact, isn't it? Seems strange a customer in Vegas has to get you to drive a car all the way down there for him instead of trading locally. It doesn't add up."
Thorp had regained his composure. He laughed again and leaned back. "What difference does it make to you if the guy wants to do it this way? Me, I don't ask so many questions. Las Vegas money is as good as Chicago money. My cars ain't hot if that's what you're trying to say. I run a legit operation."
Mel nodded. "I'm not trying to say anything. I'm just curious."
"Sometimes curiosity gets you in trouble. I keep my nose clean and my mouth shut. Maybe you could use some of the advice?" He lifted his eyebrows as though he wanted to be friendly. "What do you say, want the job?"
"When do I have to leave?"
"Today. Now. The car has to be there by Thursday. Five hundred miles a day is pushing hard enough. Gets damn hot down in that desert country this time of year."
Mel shook his head. "Can't. I have something to take care of."
"It can wait."
"No, not this time. Sorry, but I'll have to turn it down. Unless you can stall the customer a while. I might be able to get away in a day or two."
"It's gotta be today."
"Sorry." Mel watched the man's expression harden. His face darkened as he struggled for control. Mel wasn't sure what had made him egg Thorp on about the offered trip, but he had the feeling that the job was only a screen for the true purpose-to get him out of the way. Thorp was suspicious-like Carlotta.
Had his early arrival upset their plans so badly? Or had he somehow tipped his hand and shown his own suspicions enough to put them on guard? He got to his feet and held out his hand. "Thanks for the job and the money. Maybe another time?"
Thorp frowned, but put his hand on Mel's and shook it without interest. "Sure, sure. Stop in some time. We'll see what we can do."
Mel felt the man's eyes on him as he left and crossed the street again. He forced himself to walk slowly despite the tight muscles at the back of his neck. He rounded the corner and put himself out of view of the car lot. Maybe it was his imagination, but he had felt a change in Thorp's attitude, almost a reluctance at the turn events had taken. Maybe he should have taken the job driving to Las Vegas. It would have meant a nice bundle to add to the five hundred in his pocket. But it would also mean not being able to see Jean this afternoon. He crammed his hands in his pockets and felt his step lighten at the thought of seeing Jean again. He knew without a doubt that she was more important to him than the money he had turned down. He glanced at the clock in the window of a real estate office in the middle of the block. Nine-thirty. Four and a half hours, but then he'd be with her again.
He whistled softly as he stepped from the curb and crossed Market Street. He heard the whisper of the tires as the car picked up speed. He whirled to see the black vehicle hurling toward him. There was a horrible second of blank, naked fear before his body and mind reacted. He threw himself forward and leaped for the curb. Behind him the big car swerved to follow his movement. He grabbed the lamppost and swung himself behind it in a stumbling thrust. The car twisted just before it would have slammed into the pole. It skidded, righted itself and roared down the street.
Mel got only a quick glimpse of the driver huddled over the wheel, an unidentifiable blur.
He hung on to the lamppost to keep himself from falling. His neck was wet with sweat, and he felt the spreading pools of it under his arms. He watched the car careen around the corner and disappear.
"You okay, Mister?"
The voice startled Mel, and he turned quickly to see a man in blue work shirt and jeans staring at him. "Yeah, I guess so."
"Crazy fool, he could have killed you. Guy like that shouldn't be allowed behind the wheel of a car, crazy bastard." The man shook his head and looked at Mel again. "You sure you're okay? You look pale."
"I'm okay, just a little shaken." Mel wiped his hands together.
"There's a drugstore on the corner. Why don't you go in and have a cup of coffee? I think you can use it."
"Thanks, maybe I will."
He sat in a back booth and ordered coffee. When the woman brought it, he asked for a newspaper. She brought him one and he buried himself behind it. He needed a prop for his attention. He didn't want to think about the car and his close call, he didn't want to think about anything. God! He was still shaking. He didn't want to think about the car because the most vivid thing in his memory of those few seconds was the unshakable terror of awareness-awareness that the car was a planned, guided missile. The near-accident hadn't been an accident at all. Someone had deliberately tried to kill him.
He hid behind the paper, studying each item as though his concentration could erase the memory and fear. He forced himself to understand each word his eyes read in an attempt to focus his thinking. It worked for several minutes, then his mind flitted back to the car and the driver, and he knew he had to face it.
He hadn't seen the driver clearly. It had all happened too fast. He had been concentrating on getting out of the way of the lethal weapon, and he had not even noticed the license plates, only that the car was a Cadillac. His head buzzed and he couldn't shake the thought of the coincidence of the car coming at him so soon after he left Thorp's lot. What had that man who'd seen it said? "He could have killed you." Eddie Thorp? Who else would have any interest in Mel Wayne? But why? Why would Thorp or anyone else want him dead?
Mel knew that he'd been trapped in something out of his depth. He was in a game where the stakes were high, and he was an amateur player. First Carlotta last night, now this. He had apparently raised too many suspicions all the way around. He touched his pocket and felt the reassuring bulge of his wallet. Logic told him to call a cab and go home, to stay there until Jean came, and then get out of Chicago as fast as they could. But something else ate at him. He was mad, damned mad, and he hated himself for considering running.
He signaled the waitress for a refill and began reading the paper again. The item was buried on page eight, and he almost missed it. At first glance, it was just another story, but then he gave it a second look.
Murder of Cleveland Man Still Unsolved
Duluth, Minn.-The death of Cleveland underworld lord, Henry (Hop) Plankett, in Duluth last week is still unsolved today as police enter their fourth day of investigation. Plankett's mutilated corpse was recovered from Lake Superior last Friday but identification was not made until the following day when his clothing was traced through a Cleveland tailor. Cleveland police report that Plankett was reputed to be overseer of most of the illegal enterprises of the city. He has been arrested in connection with numbers, narcodcs and illegal gambling. He was convicted in 1960 of operating a gambling casino. Plankett served 18 months in the Ohio State Prison after his conviction but was released in December 1961.
In the investigation of an apparent drowning, Duluth Coroner, Jim Watson, discovered a bullet wound in the head. The body had been badly battered by the rocks along the shoreline. The Coroner estimated that it had been in the water since last Wednesday or Thursday. A dock worker discovered the body Friday morning.
Plankett's reasons for being in Duluth are still unknown at this time. Police have been unable to find anyone who saw the man prior to his death. Cleveland associates of the dead man claim he was on a business trip and had been traveling with a companion and body guard, Dan Barker. Mr. Barker has not been located for comment.
Several persons have been questioned regarding the mysterious death, but authorities refrain from naming them and indicate no leads in the case. Reliable sources report that a prominent Duluth citizen was questioned and released when he produced evidence to show he was out of town at the time in question.
Mel lowered the paper and stared at his coffee. An insistent thought at him. Underworld lord of Cleveland. The bartender in Raymond's had used similar terms to describe Roger Seward. "Rackets, syndicate." Was there a connection? Had the bartender mentioned Cleveland as one of the places Seward might have come from?
He glanced at the article again. Prominent Duluth citizen. Seward? He dropped the paper and finished his coffee. Hell, he was seeing monsters in the shadows again. That encounter with the car had shaken him badly, and now he was reading trouble into everything he saw. Even if it was Seward who had been questioned by the police in Duluth, it didn't mean anything. Why should he question it, if the police were satisfied?
He dropped two quarters on the table and left the drugstore. He stood in the doorway a minute, trying to argue himself out of where his conscience was leading him. There were simply too many coincidences for him to swallow.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
He unlocked the apartment and went immediately to the bathroom where he stripped and got under a cool spray. He blanked out the insistent thoughts that crowded his mind and ignored the nagging echo of doubt that edged his conscience. He was through with Thorp and Seward. He had been a fool, but at least he was smart enough to pull out before it was too late. All he was out was a little peace of mind. He was a thousand dollars ahead.
He dried his body slowly without rubbing new heat into it. He stared at himself in the mirror of the medicine cabinet and was somehow surprised to see the same face stare back at him. He felt older and different than he had only a few days ago, but the image showed the same Mel Wayne. He went into the bathroom and dressed in clean slacks and a sport shirt.
In the kitchen, he heated the coffee and made himself a sandwich. He wanted to keep busy so the doubts couldn't gang up on him. But the insistant pangs of conscience stabbed anyway and became harder to discard. He wished Jean would come. His anxiety to see her was enforced by the hope of leaving town as soon as they could pack their things. There was nothing to keep them here. Once he got away from the scene, he wouldn't have any trouble erasing Thorp, Seward and the rest from his mind. With a thousand dollars, he and Jean could have a whole new life somewhere, a new start.
The conscience jabbed again. The voice inside accused. Running scared, running scared, running scared. He bit into the sandwich angrily. It was crazy to even listen. He was just playing it smart. He couldn't buck Seward and his plan. It would be suicide to go to the police and try to disclaim the man's alibi. Even if the Duluth gangster used his power to prove his case against Mel's, he would still move Mel to the top of his list so fast Mel wouldn't have time to get scared before he was dead. He would be a fool to buck Seward. Common sense wasn't cowardice, he told himself.
Running scared, running, running ... Mel got to his feet and paced the room with angry strides.
Then, the thought of Jean flooded him with a warm glow. His memory saw her standing close to him in the shower, trails of water trickling over her face and head unnoticed as she brought her body close to him in intimate contact. He saw her white flesh outlined against the gray metal of the shower stall as she met him eagerly. He could almost feel the sensual warmth of her body's invitation.
It was impossible to relax with thoughts of Jean's body in his mind's eye. God how he wanted her-needed her. He glanced at his watch again, willing the hands to move faster.
The knock on the door startled him. He crossed quickly and yanked it open, and then stood speechless as he faced his wife.
"Jean!" He held out his hand to her and drew her into the room. Without releasing her hand, he closed the door behind her.
"Hell, Mel." Her voice was low and sounded hollow. Mel searched her face for some of the emotion he hoped to find there. "I'm early," she said.
"That's okay. Matter of fact, it's great. I was waiting for you." He led her across the room and sat beside her on the sofa. She withdrew her hand from his and moved her leg to escape the pressure of his thigh against hers. Cool it, he told himself. Move slowly or you'll scare her off before you have a chance. "Want a drink?" he asked holding forth his glass in explanation.
She shook her head. "Not now. Thanks."
They were like two strangers meeting on uncommon ground. Mel was nervous and he knew some of the doubt touched her. Her eyes were remote, carefully guarded, untelling. He took another swallow of the scotch and set the glass on the floor near his feet. He took a deep breath and began.
"Thanks for coming, Jean. I have a lot to say, and I hope you'll hear me out. First, I'm sorry. I mean that more than you'll ever know." He looked at her, but her face was impassive. He stared at his hands in his lap. "I was a damn fool, I see that now. I don't know what got into me to say the crazy things I did. I guess sometimes a guy blows his cool because he won't admit that he should be mad at himself." He looked at her again.
"I took that job at Cartelle's because I thought I was going to make big money fast. It wasn't any magic formula, any more than any other job. I loafed and goofed off all the time, trying to act like a big-shot without putting in the work." He shrugged. "Then when the big money didn't roll in, I had to find an excuse. I couldn't admit that I hadn't worked hard enough to earn it. I saw other salesmen pulling down big commissions. It looked so easy I felt cheated. Maybe I'm not cut out for selling, I don't know, but I sure as hell thought I'd score without working for it."
He blew his breath out in a long sigh and smiled at her. "I didn't want to admit to you-or myself-that I was at fault. I guess that's why I tried to pretend you were to blame. The whole thing was my imagination. You were handy and I made you the goat. It was completely unfair, I know that now." Her glance wavered and moved from his face. She stared across the room to the limp curtains at the window.
"Jean? Can you forgive me?"
For a long agonizing minute, she didn't respond. Finally, she turned and faced him again. "I don't know, Mel." Tears threatened at the lids of her eyes as she struggled with the hurt that smouldered under the surface of her calm.
"My god, Jean, I wish there were some way I could tell you, explain, how mixed up I was. If I could take back those words-I know what hell these past days have been for you. I had plenty of rough moments myself. I tried to keep thinking it was all your fault, but I couldn't. My conscience has a lot on it, believe me."
"I've had a lot of time to think these past few days, Mel. One thing I know for sure is that I don't want to stand in the way of your success. Maybe-maybe if it hadn't been for me, you would have stayed in school and gotten your degree. You could be something. I don't want to ruin your life." Her voice choked off in a tiny sob.
He said, "Don't kid me, baby. You know school wasn't for me. You know I'm not the type. That's my problem, isn't it? What am I the type for-anything? Am I qualified for anything? Without you, I'm nothing."
"And what are you with me?"
"Still nothing," he admitted. "But I can put up with it. I can live with it. I can keep trying and maybe I'll luck out. But I found out something. It ain't just me. It's like almost everybody. Even the guy who thinks he's got something going for him ... it can change with the wind. Honest. The last few days was a college education in itself."
Mel moved to Jean and put his arms across her shoulders. She turned her face away and dabbed at her eyes. "I want to be sure, Mel. I can't help-" Her voice broke. "I can't help loving and wanting you the way I do. If that makes me a nymphomaniac, I can't help if."
"Jean, Jean." He tightened his arm and drew her closer. With his free hand he lifted her chin and made her face him again. "Jean, I need your love. I don't want it any other way, honestly. I was talking through a bottle of scotch and a lousy day when I said those things. I didn't mean any of them. I need you." He stared into her eyes and watched the pools of tears form and overflow.
He held her close and brushed his lips gently on hers. At first, she was still resisting and unyielding. He felt her body quiver, and his need for her surged through him. He crushed his lips against hers, his tongue imploring the warmth of her love. After a moment, her lips parted and she gave herself to the kiss. They clung together in the growing heat of their embrace, her body pressed to his. Her tongue hesitated, then speared into his mouth on a fiery quest. He heard her muffled sigh, and he knew that he had won her back. The golden honey of her kiss was sweet to his taste, and he urged her closer, leaning her back slightly so he could press his body to her breasts and feel the high-pointed cones against him through the thin cloth of their garments.
He wanted her. The need raced through his loins and pounded inside him. He forced himself to control his actions, showing enough passion to let her know how he felt but not unleashing the wild desire that might panic her. He wanted their lovemaking to be the result of a mutual need and caring. He had to be sure she was his again, his without reservation, his without guilt.
She shivered, and he stroked her shoulder and the long curve of her back and hip slowly. Then he pulled his lips from hers and looked into tear-filled eyes.
"Jean, come back to me. Please?" He touched his fingers to her face gently and swept her long hair from her temple. "I want you. I love you. My God, I need you so bad."
For a long time she stared at him as though searching her own being for the answer. When she spoke, her voice was a whispered breath. "Oh, Mel. The past few days have been hell. Mel, take me to bed!"
Together they rose from the sofa and walked arm in arm to the bedroom. Jean was already unbuttoning the front of the yellow cotton dress and, when they reached the bed, he finished the task for her. His fingers fumbled as the feel of her vibrant flesh reached him and sent darts of fire through him. The unbuttoning done, he skimmed the cloth from her shoulders and down her arms. It slithered down her body and fell in a circle at her feet. He let his palms caress the smooth warm flesh of her arms before he circled them to her back. It took only a few seconds to locate and undo the tiny clasps that Iield the brassiere in place. The white lace came away in his hand, and he gazed at the released mounds with awe. He never tired of their beauty, especially the soft, waiting tips in their pools of red. He dropped the bra and touched his fingers to the rosebud ends of her breasts. Jean took a deep breath that made her body quiver in a delightful undulation of arousing passion. He flicked the tips and then rubbed them gently between his fingers and thumbs; he felt them grow hot and begin to swell. Suddenly they popped to rigid attention and demanded his mouth. He bent to her and sucked at one of the tender morsels. One hand cupped and gently massaged the other breast, while the other stroked the pulsating flesh of her hips. Slowly, he rolled the wispy half-slip from her waist and over her hips and, when he could reach no further, he reluctantly let go of the breast under his tongue. Gently, he laid her back across the bed, enjoying the view of her heaving, naked bosom. He worked the slip over her thighs and legs and finally tossed it to the floor. She kicked off her shoes, and all that was left was the scrap of lace that covered her crotch. It vanished in two strokes. She lay before him splendid and ready.
He tried to tell her how he felt, but the words wouldn't go past the heaviness that clogged his throat. His need for her consumed him and left him dumb. Quickly he stripped the clothing from his body and kicked it aside so he could stretch beside her on the bed. His sex organ was hard and pounding, and he pressed himself against her leg. She turned to meet his body.
"It's the same for me, Mel. I don't want to wait. I can't wait. We can fool around later, but right now I need you."
He nodded. She spread her legs eagerly, and Mel got in position over her. She stretched a hand to guide his pulsating penis into the hot, moist cavity between her legs. It slid effortlessly, the warmth of her passion enveloping it completely, lighting new fires in the already flaming organ.
Mel moved slowly and deliberately to probe the deepest recesses of her femininity. Each stroke was like the thrust of a javelin and left him panting for breath. Beneath him, Jean was rising and sinking with the movements of his lovemaking. Her eyes mirrored her flaming desire as she followed his face above her.
The steady rhythm burst into a frenzied pounding as Mel's need grew and consumed him. He jabbed deeper into her and was met by her hot vaginal cavity that poured out the lava of its need. He felt the tremendous pressure build in him and struggled to keep it from exploding. His mind told him to wait for Jean, but he was almost beyond caring.
"My god, I'm hot!"
He didn't realize he'd spoken aloud until Jean unclenched her teeth and said, "Me too. Oh-come with me-let's do it together."
Then her neck arched as the wildness broke inside her and her eyes rolled until he could only see white crescents below the fringe of black lashes. A red-hot knife seared through his gut and exploded the powder keg inside him. His penis erupted and shot out the burning semen of release. Jean moaned and cried out as her climax matched his, and they drained themselves in the last moments of mutual contact. When the crest of his own pleasure began to subside, he saw that Jean was lying quietly, and there were thin trickles of tears flowing across her cheeks to the pillow under her head. He moved sideways and pulled her body with him so their sex organs stayed together in the embrace. He cradled her in his arms and kissed her forehead, her eyes, her ears. She raised her lips to him and they lingered in a tender kiss.
"Don't cry, darling."
"I'm so happy, Mel. I can't help it. That was good. I-I feel alive again." She put her arms around him and hugged his body to her. "Don't ever leave me again."
He arched his back and pressed into the warm concave of her belly. "I won't. You're too good to leave." He felt the muscles of her vagina tighten on his penis as she twitched them playfully. He grinned at her. "Think maybe I'll stay right here, like this, the rest of my life."
She laughed softly. "Suppose you get hungry?"
He leered at her and cupped his hand around one of the full breasts that lay between them. He raised the tip and leaned his mouth to it. "I've got plenty to eat." He closed his lips around the nipple and nibbled at it, circling his tongue to raise it to turgid fullness again.
"Mel, Mel. I love you."
"Ummm." He didn't take his mouth from the delectable morsel it had found. Her vagina tightened again, and he thrust further into her. He could feel the resurgence of his need, and his sex organ filled and became hot again. The overpowering need had been partially filled, and this time he could work more leisurely, savoring each moment. He delved deeper inside her while his hands fondled the found globes of her breasts. They were ripe and full, delightful to see under the deeply tanned skin of his hands. He squeezed and forced the ripe nipples to pop like seeds from fruit. He tasted and sucked the beautiful buds.
Jean's hands weren't idle either. She drew sensual patterns with her fingertips along his spine. Her hands separated the hard muscles of his buttocks and urged his body closer to her own. She wiggled and squirmed against him and finally moved far enough to slip her hand between his legs and gently grasp his scrotum. He sucked in his breath as her fingers curled around the soft balls and kneaded them gently. The fire in his penis flamed anew.
Jean's entire body throbbed with her emotion until she finally said, "Do it again, lover."
He didn't need second urgings but rolled onto her and blasted his shaft of passion deep into her warmth to search for new satisfaction. He pounded his flesh against hers, letting his chest brush fervently against her jutting breasts.
"Harder, harder," she cried.
Mel threw away all inhibitions and gave himself to the moment of hot desire. The muscles of his thighs protested the repeated strain as he supported himself on his knees and waited for the final moment. Jean's arching body met each jab until she again met his fire. Mel couldn't hold back any longer, and he crushed his body to Jean's as the great ejaculation exploded from him. It sent her off in a matched orgasm. Their fulfillment went on for a long time as they locked together in the final throes of the lovemaking.
"Quite a workout," she said with a laugh.
"Worth it." He grinned back at her. "God, I sure needed that. Proves what I said before-I need you and on one else."
She propped her head on one hand above a crooked elbow and looked down at her. "No one else?" Her eyebrows arched high against her forehead.
Mel felt a pang of guilt at the direct question and the knowledge that she had struck close to a nasty truth. He had made some crazy mistakes the past few days but he knew now that he wasn't going to add to them by starting out their new life on lies. He stretched up and kissed her, then lay back on the pillow, his eyes still on her face.
"Not anymore, Jean. I know that, and I mean it when I tell you. I fooled around these past days, I'm not going to deny it. But that was part of what made me realize what a fool I'd been. The other women meant nothing to me."
"Women? More than one?" A slight shadow darkened her eyes.
He kissed the tip of the breast close to him. "Two, but you don't have to worry about them. The first one got me drunk and feeling sorry for myself. That was before I left on the trip. Matter of fact, she was the one who got me the job."
"What job, Mel?"
Quickly Mel sketched the details of the driving job he had undertaken for Eddie Thorp. He told her of his suspicions once his own feelings of self-pity had worn off, and of his searching the car in an attempt to discover the true purpose of the plan. He ended his story with his return to the empty apartment, his consequent meeting with Carlotta the second time, and his final escape and confrontation with Eddie Thorp.
"Oh, Mel," she hugged his head to her nude breasts. "You might have been killed."
"But I wasn't, baby," he said. He kissed the mounds and breathed in the heat of her body. "Maybe I was lucky, but I sure as hell don't like the idea of being the fall-guy for some lousy gangster's crime. But he's got me over a barrel. There's nothing I can do. Carlotta and Thorp didn't succeed when they tried to get rid of me, but Roger Seward and his boys are a lot smarter than they are. They won't leave room for mistakes."
"Mel, I want you alive. Please don't take any chances. Let's get away, leave town." There was a sob in her voice, and Mel stroked her back gently to comfort her. He nibbled the coral tip between his teeth before he answered.
"We will. There's nothing to hold us here." He sucked hard on the nipple and let his hand roam to her crotch. "We've got each other, that's the important thing." His fingers delved into the tangle of pubic hair and searched for the warm crevice. They stopped briefly and tantalizingly on her clitoris and rubbed it until her torso began to drum with aroused feelings. Then he entered her wet hot canal and explored the hidden recesses. Jean moaned and jutted her body onto the searching hand. He inserted the rest of his fingers and stabbed as far as he could, then gently massaged the inner walls of her vagina. She shivered, moaning in aroused encouragement. Quickly he set up a measured series of finger manipulations that drove her wild and brought her to a quick, torrid climax. He grinned at her as she finally relaxed again and he withdrew his hand slowly.
"Let's go take a shower," he suggested.
"Love it." She winked and rose from the bed to walk with him to the bathroom. Together they stood in a close embrace beneath the pelting water. Jean pressed herself to her husband's body and smiled at him. "Last time I was in here with you, I got in trouble."
Mel remembered the morning and his struggle to get to work on time and the delightful failure. He said, "I don't have to hurry off this time."
"Ummm." Jean reached for the bar of soap and began to lather his chest with small circular motions. She worked her way down across his flat, lean stomach and hips until she reached his genitals. With both hands, she lathered the soap around his penis and scrotum, handling his sex organs with a gentle but firm touch. He watched her and saw the spark of delight flame in her eye as his penis responded to the touch and began to harden in her hands. In a few seconds, she brought it to a full erection. Even then she didn't stop but increased the stroking rhythm of her soapy hands.
He reached behind her and turned off the taps. Taking the bar of soap from her fingers he began to return the favors. He created a thick foam across both her breasts so that only the peaked red tips showed in the coat of white bubbles. Then he lathered her abdomen and buttocks. She was still playing with his penis, rubbing it suggestively across the stiff hairs of her crotch, dipping it slightly into the tight enclosure between her legs but withdrawing it quickly to tease him. He forced the bar of soap between her legs while he separated them with his other hand. She didn't resist more than a token, then spread them willingly to let him jam the soap and his hands into her vagina.
"Oooh," she said as the soap slid upward. "Mmm."
The soap dropped from Mel's fingers and thudded to the floor of the shower stall, but he didn't bother to retrieve it. His hand was still in Jean's vagina, sliding easily across the soapy and sexy lining.
Jean bit her lower lip and said, "Mmmm. That's so good, Mel. So good."
He leaned forward and kissed her, rubbing his lathered chest against the foam-covered spheres of delight. Her hands coaxed his penis closer, and she balanced on tiptoes while she inserted it in her cunt. His own fingers felt it slide past and fill the space. He withdrew his hand and used it to hold her body against him as they performed their copulation and soared to mutual gratification.
"Wow! That was something special, Mel."
"Glad you liked it. I have a lot more for you." He smiled down at her and slapped her rump playfully. Then he reached up and turned the water on again. She squealed as the first blast of cold water hit them until he adjusted the taps. Then they held each other, helped each other wash, gently enjoying the feel of their bodies in mutual love and pleasure.
They stepped out and Mel grabbed two bath towels. He tossed one across his shoulder and opened the other to form a cape around his wife. Then he led them, still dripping, back to the bedroom. "Drying is part of the service," he said. He laid her back on the bed and dabbed at her glistening body with the towel, roaming the entire length of her gorgeous form, lingering often and long at the most intimate spots of her anatomy. In return, she dried his penis with tender touches. She twisted herself on the bed and put her mouth to the delightful organ that had given her so much pleasure. Mel groaned as it slipped between her lips and her tongue ran across the tip demandingly. He burrowed his face into her crotch and parted her legs so he could savor the golden honey of her femininity. He darted his tongue between the velvety folds and tasted the sweetness.
Jean's prolonged blow-job had whipped him to frenzied desire, and he answered her with insistent darts of his tongue in the molten, clinging vagina. The erotic sensations in him almost consumed both of them.
"Hey," he tried to warn her, but they had gone too far to pause for even a second. The muffled word was lost in her warm crotch as she forced him to a climax that left him spinning dizzily as he buried his mouth in her hot space of invitation. Her body quivered and she gasped in sensual elation as he sent her off a moment later.
They lit cigarettes and relaxed on the pillows. Mel blew a thin column of blue smoke toward the ceiling. "Happy, darling?"
She moved her hand so it rested lightly on his thigh. "You know it. Those few days without you were hell. I never want to go through that again."
"You won't have to, I promise. They were hell for me, too. Funny," he mused, "but I had what I wanted all the time and I didn't know it. What a fool." He looked at her and smiled. "You're not sore about those two babes?"
She shook her head and returned his smile. "I feel sorry for them because I've got you now and they haven't." Her face sobered. "Darling, you only told me about one of the women. Who was the other?", "I picked her up on the road, during a hell of a storm. Her car had skidded into a ditch and she was stranded. I drove her to her cabin a few miles away. It happened while we waited out the storm."
"Tell me about it, Mel."
He hesitated, but then told her the complete story of Dana and her problems and of the intimacies he had shared with her. Jean stubbed out her cigarette and snuggled close to her husband during the recital. When he finished, she said, "Poor kid. She had a rough time. Mel, I get hot all over when you tell me about making love to her. All I have to do is think about your being sexy, and I want you again. What happened to her? The girl in the cabin?"
"I drove her to the airport in Duluth and she caught a plane to St. Louis. She was planning to stay with a girlfriend there until she got the divorce from that character. Told me to look her up if I ever got down that way."
Jean wrapped her arm around his prone body. "You're not getting rid of me that easily. You're through wandering. We're heading east."
"You can say that again," he answered as he ground the cigarette in the ashtray and reached for her. He was busily engaged in savoring the delectable sweet flavor of her fountain of nectar when the first buzz of the thought hit him. For several seconds, it hummed around without settling, and he concentrated on sucking the breast he held in his palms. Then the idea burst into recognition, and he pulled back in surprise.
"Don't stop, Mel," Jean said, and she offered the tempting morsel to his lips.
"I just thought of something, baby."
"Something sexy, I hope."
Absently he massaged her breast as he explained. "Dana, that girl in the storm. Of course."
"What? What is it?" She caught some of his excitement.
"She can prove I was driving that Mercedes!" He laughed and threw his head back to let the sound roll from deep inside him. He stopped and squeezed Jean to his chest. "Seward doesn't have the alibi he thinks he does. I can prove mine, I don't have to run. I don't have to run!"
"Can you get in touch with her?"
He nodded. "She told me the name of her friend. The police can check her out after I tell them my story. Maybe I can call her to tell her so she won't think her husband's up to some tricks."
"Mel, are you sure? Seward can still try something. He's a dangerous man." She clung to him. "I don't want to lose you now that I've found you again. I couldn't live if anything happened to you."
He stroked her hair and kissed her lips gently. "Nothing's going to happen, Jean. Don't you see, I have to do it. I can't let that man get away with murder. At least I can't let him use me for his alibi. He's on his own after that."
"But New York. We were going back."
"We still can. I'll tell the cops the whole story, sign a statement, and tell them where they can reach me."
"They won't let you leave the city."
"Then we'll have to stay a while. Jean, I've got to do this if I want to be free, you see that, don't you?
Otherwise this thing would always be there, hanging over my head like a knife ready to fall. I tried to convince myself I didn't owe anybody anything, but inside I knew I was being a coward. I don't pretend to be a hero, but I have to do what I know is right. We want to start with a clean slate."
For a moment, she said nothing, only clung to him with a desperation of need. Then she sighed deeply. At first her smile was tremulous but it soon grew. "Of course you're right. It's the only way. It's just that I love you so much, I'm scared."
He kissed her again and held her close. Their bodies fused in the complete understanding of their love for each other. "It'll be okay. Then there'll be no lies, no shadows. Only us."
"When will you go to the police, Mel?" She rubbed her breasts against the curled hair on his chest and pressed her legs around his thigh so he could feel the love and heat seep from her and through his flesh.
He sent his hands in a quest of her passion. "Today. As soon as you give me a good send-off." His hands moved in slow patterns over her nude form, one stopping to try to encompass a silky breast, the other finding its target in the inviting crevice between her legs.
"It's great the way everything works out, isn't it?" Mel gloated. "You get yourself into all kinds of trouble, but then something is always there, like a miracle, to set it straight."
"You're sure this girl, Dana, the one you picked up on the road, will support your story?"
Mel leaned over and kissed Jean's navel, running his tongue deep into the crevice and smacking his lips. "Not a doubt, honey. Not a doubt in the world."
