Chapter 20

Her room was spacious, with a thick rug extending under the bed. There was a dressing table to the right of the bed with bottles of perfume, cologne, and toilet water; jars of cold cream, hand cream, bottles of body lotion, shampoo, bath oil and various other toiletries necessary for the well-grooming of the fastidious female.

There was a sette, two boudoir chairs with brocade skirts, and a writing table. There was a big closet and a chest of drawers. The room smelled of Lanvin.

"The lap of luxury," Terry commented.

"Gall wanted mirrors on the walls," she said. "I drew the line at that. He made me douse myself with perfume before we'd start making love."

"I don't need an aphrodisiac," Terry said. "Just the sight of you sets me off."

"It would be an added attraction," she said. She took off her dress and stood there in, garter belt and nylon hose. She sat down in front of the dressing table and took off the hose. She stood up and got rid of the garter belt. Then she poured cologne in a cupped palm and spread it over her breasts. "Shall I douse my entire body?" she asked Terry.

"No, that's enough." Terry put his arms around her and pulled her in close. He cuppled her buttocks and glued his mouth to hers. His fingers sank into her warm flesh.

She snaked her arms around his neck and gyrated her pelvis against him. They stood like that for quite awhile. Then they drew apart and she helped him undress. When they were both naked they went to bed.

With their arms around each other, they kissed. She stuck her tongue between his lips, between his teeth. His teeth sank softly into the red tongue and she squirmed on the bed, her thighs openings, capturing one of his thighs, holding it prisoner.

She put one hand between them, felt his lean belly. Her hand dipped lower, examined him intimately. Her fingers were strong and sure, groping, feeling, giving pleasure.

They didn't talk. There was no need for talk. Enough was being said by touches, kisses and caresses.

Soon his mouth found the warmth and firmness of her pulsing breasts. He kissed each pink nipple, felt each jewel come alive under his probing tongue. He felt the softness become hard. He felt the rigidity of the nipples under his crushing chest as he leaned his weight against her, devouring her neck and shoulders with his mouth.

Her fingers ran up and down his back quickly like small spiders spinning a fast webb. Then her body was receiving and she was moaning for him to come to her and take her without further delay.

He did so.

The room was still.

He got up and put out the light so that only moonlight bathed the room. He went back to bed and kissed her face and neck and touched her hips and belly.

"It was good," she said. "So good."

"Yes."

"I could fall for someone like you. Maybe I already have. But it's no good, is it?"

"No. No good."

She said the words that many women have uttered. "I'll never forget you."

"I wouldn't want you to forget me."

"Stay with me for a while," she begged. "Of course."

"Just hold me."

The room was still except for their even breathing.

"Wouldn't it be wonderful if the world suddenly stopped still and we could be like this forever and ever?" she said. "No one could disturb us. No one could interfere. We can spend the rest of our lives here, together."

"It's not practical," he said, with cold male logic. "I suppose not," she sighed.

"Soon we'll be getting up and getting dressed," he said. "You'll go to town and make that call. And then you'll take off for parts unknown. It's not what you want. But it's what has to be."

"I know," she said.

He looked at his wrist. His watch said 5:04. "The post office will be closed. You won't be able to make the call."

"It's open. There's a man on duty all night. There are phones in the lobby. I'll make the call. And then ... it's good-bye A dead episode. I have a feeling we'll never see each other again."

"Don't get sobby." He slapped her backside, climbed out of bed. "Let's get dressed before you start crying."

"Men just aren't sentimental," she complained.

They dressed, then she packed a suitcase. He took it out to the car. She climbed in behind the wheel She held his hand. "I think I'm a little in love with you," she said.

He leaned over, kissed her lips. "Good-bye, Leona."

"Good-bye, Terry." She turned the motor over and, without a backward glance, drove off.

He watched the car drive out of sight, then he shook his head as though to break up the cob webs and said out loud, "Now, to work."