Chapter 6
HE was annoyed by her calmness, by the fact that she made no mention of his tardiness. He waited through her innocent tirade on cocktail guests, especially the ones who anchor themselves to the bar and refuse to leave. He held his breath waiting for the slightest innuendo concerning his three hour-plus late arrival. He had painstakingly rehearsed his speech all the way over in the cab and now she refused to give him his grand opening.
"I thought we might have a little supper," she said, pointing to an elaborately-set table in the dining al-cove.
He glanced quickly over to the table, then resumed his concentration on the worldly woman. Unless his vision was playing tricks on him, her smartly coiffured hair seemed easily twice as thick as it had earlier in the day. Now, for the first time since she had welcomed him back into the apartment, he took note of the low plunging cocktail dress, the flaming red color of it, the matching necklace and earrings.
He held his eyes tightly riveted on the graceful symmetry of Adele Crandon, amazed at how far you could really travel on a seventy-cent cab ride.
She caught him at his study and he switched to an absent gaze, beyond her.
"You men are all alike," she shrugged. "Okay, I'll give you the satisfaction." Performing, she placed her hands on the slide of her hips. "You're late! Where were you?"
He tried desperately not to, but a smile broke through. "High school," he chuckled, thinking of his frustrating experience with teen-aged Dolly.
"Oh?" she started softly. "And did you learn anything?'
"Yeah," he replied, tightening his jaw. "I'm accepting that little deal of yours."
"So you decided that working for a woman wouldn't be such a dreadful fate, and you hopped right over to discuss business?"
"No," he said. "I'd rather discuss business and working conditions in the morning—man-to-man." He squared with her. "Tonight, I intend to go to bed with you."
He watched her. She didn't bat an eyelash. "Before —or after supper?"
Steve recoiled, fought to conceal his anger. He let up on himself and conceded her the victory, wondering how a man could possibly top this woman. He `eased into a smile and she instantly joined him.
"I give up," Steve shrugged.
"Don't you dare," she shot back, suggestively. She turned in the direction of the kitchenette. "Josie? Oh, Josie?" she called out.
An enormous colored woman in an outlandish maid's uniform heaved into sight. "Shall I serve the supper, Miss Adele?"
"Mister Turko isn't as hungry as I thought he'd be, Josie. You can turn in now."
"How about breakfast?" Josie asked.
"You might ask Mister Turko how he likes his eggs," Adele deadpanned.
Josie openly chuckled and retreated into the kichenette.
"I thought you were alone," Steve said.
"I'm never without Josie," Adele replied. "Her room is beyond the kitchen." She moved in closer to Steve. "But that shouldn't cramp your style." She straightened his tie, removed an imaginary piece of lint from his jacket.
"This tie-straightening bit," he started, recalling her identical action on the first visit. "Is that the motherly instinct in you?"
"Did you come here as a lover or psycho-analyst?" Steve shrugged: "They both use a couch."
Now it was her turn to shrug. "You're getting pretty quick on the draw."
He ran the flat of his hands along her arms. "Your better qualities are starting to rub off on me."
"Glad to do my little bit," she replied, her crimson lips turned up to him.
He tightened his hands about her arms, drew her into him, instantly reacting to the electricity of thigh to thigh. He swayed with the initial voltage until the lushness of her bosom nuzzled into him. He brought his lips to hers, his mouth opening slightly in anticipation. She remained passive; the slight quiver of her lips subtly hinting that he would have to be the leader, she would follow him anywhere—anytime.
His lips remained magnetized to hers. The green eyes were fully on him, hypnotically. His eyes met hers and it started: a strange visual love-making set to the tempo of their lips, their arms, their hands, their thighs—their every muscle and sinew.
Finally, seemingly a lifetime, the rhythm slowed, the stillness set in, lips parted—but the eyes remained at it, seeking all of each other.
"You knew I'd return," Steve murmured. "Didn't you?"
"I had my anxious moments," she confessed, eyes still on him.
"I wasn't going to. I fought it."
She gently creased her thumb across his lips. "Let's not go into that-v—not now."
She hesitated, a troubled look shadowed her face. "Do you know what it is to be lonely—really lonely?"
"How about your cocktail party?" he asked. "I'm sure some of the guests were men."
"Two-thirds of them," she stated matter-of-factly. "But loneliness in the midst of a crowd is the most miserable hell of all."
"I can't figure you out."
"Don't try," she pleaded. "Not tonight."
"The way you're looking at me—"
"Steve . . . you know how every girl likes to say, `This is the first time.' Well, I'd like to say it, too." She closed the slight gap between them. "This is the first time I've ever gone into it with my eyes wide open."
He wanted to believe her. Desperately. His arms secured her. His lips sought hers, found them. Suddenly her mouth was open and she was twining her tongue with his, her hands clawing at his back. Her whole being seemed to come alive, to become animal. He dug at her, almost in fright, but was instantly caught up in the swirl of her—and for Steve Turko, there was no turning back.
The distance to her bedroom was the longest "short-walk" of his life.
Steve remained in the doorway as she flipped the light switch on and kicked off her high heels. She turned to him, arms spread out in welcome.
"If you're bashful you can undress in the other room," she coyly informed him.
Steve glanced about the spacious room. "There's plenty of room right here," he replied. "And games are for children."
Adele smiled approvingly and he heard the swish 54 of a zipper and a moment later the filmy cocktail dress was on the floor. She was nude except for a gar-ter belt and her mauve-hued sheer nylons.
Only a woman like this, Steve thought, would dare entertain a crowded cocktail party minus the restraint of undergarments. He stared at her incredulously, and as he did, the defiant jut of her large breasts told him that she didn't require the uplifting firmness of bra-cups.
Adele sat at her vanity, undid the garter belt, her hands rolling the sheer hose down one trim leg, and then the other.
Steve viewed her well-rounded body in the wide mirror. Two of her: doubling the lava-molten fire raging within him.
The hose resting on the plush rug, Adele got to her feet, stretched languorously, making no move to cover her nudity. Steve craned his neck, catching her at a certain angle and the mirrored-image of her played up the high cushion of her buttocks.
"My, what big eyes you have," Adele grinned. "And I'll let you in on a secret. I like the way you're looking at me."
Steve pointed to the mirror. "Two of you . . ."
Adele glanced at her nude image in the mirror, then haughtily crossed to the bed. She yanked the cover off, letting it fall over the foot of the canopied bed. She lay boldly on the bed and arched her supple body luxuriously, flinging one arm wantonly over her hair.
"Stevie?" she teased. "Which one of us do you want now?"
Steve suppressed his grin, undressing at a rapid clip, scattering his clothing about him. He went to her and her need was as urgent as his and there was no time for cute games.
Silence ensued, their bodies labored and the magic was made, swirling them into an endless tunnel of pleasure. They reached the peak of ecstasy together and tumbled back to earth in sheer exhaustion.
Steve fought the exhaustion, but sleep finally got the best of him.
Steve stirred groggily. He flung one arm over his tangled crop of hair, his body flexing lazily in a slow waking. He contorted the muscles of his face and opened his eyes, blinking them against the glare of the bright morning sun streaming boldly through the terrace windows. He clamped his eyes closed and went through the motion of puffing a quilt over his head—but there was no quilt. He rolled over on his side, the sheerness of the bedsheet still foreign to his senses.
He smiled. On a specially made silklike sheet—chartreuse. That was certainly a "first" for Steve Turko.
Steve suddenly bolted to a sitting position, his brain demanding to know the time of day. He'd have to report in at the office by nine, check with Nina Caldwell if he had any callbacks, new prospects, and set up an itinerary for the day.
"What the hell time is it?" he muttered softly, rubbing the soreness in his thighs.
He glanced up at the wide expanse of canopy over the bed; the sky-blue color was easy on the eyes. He brought his gaze down across the chartreuse covering to where she lay, and in that moment, the time of day no longer mattered.
Adele wore a childlike smile on her face. The long tresses of auburn hair, free of all the restraining pins, served as a quilt, covering the highlights of her breasts.
Steve gave in to the urge and gently tugged the quilt of flaming hair away; in slumber her bosom throbbed gently. He studied the tranquil motion of her, the pert thrust of the pink tips. His heart constricted while a fire kindled new life throughout his fatigued body.
He bit hard on his lower lip, recalling the long, seemingly endless night. He wondered if it were humanly possible to ever again equal the pinnacle they had reached together. So surely. So completely. He wondered if the enchantment of their oneness could ever again send him soaring, seemingly through ,space. His breath came in jagged spurts as he ,recalled how the huge canopied bed seemed to have lifted and started across the star-studded sky like the fabled magic carpet.
He touched her face, ran a finger gently across the smile on her lips. She stirred grudgingly, rolling on her side and drawing up her knees. She came awake slowly, reluctantly. She groaned, arching her supple body. She wet her lips and opened her eyes.
"Good morning," she sighed, then meticulously rubbed the sleep out of her eyes.
"It might be afternoon," he replied.
"Then good afternoon," she smiled, circling a finger through the mat of black hair on his chest.
"I wonder what time it is?" he asked dumbly, feeling her brush up close to him.
"Our time," she informed him with deliberateness. "A time to live." She brought her lips to his. "Kiss me, Steve. Hard."
He complied. He felt her lips cling fiercely as her hands tightened at the arch of his back.
"Thanks," she moaned. "I wanted to recall our night, be certain it really happened." She flicked kisses about his eyebrows. "Oh, Steve, it was like a dream!"
"With you—I could dream forever," he replied, rubbing his hands over her bosom.
She mumbled incoherently, her mouth nibbling an earlobe. His hands slithered down the sleek hips, tried desperately. to still her. His lips sought hers, found them. He heard gentle moan in her throat and her tongue became a darting snake in his mouth, her body throbbed against-him.
"Oh, Steve!" she moaned. "I need you! Desperately!"
Her sharp fingernails scraping his thighs betrayed her urgency. Her warm breath teased his senses. He lengthened his body as moist lips brought a surge of sweet sensation to every muscle and sinew of him, a surge so strong as to jolt him to total readiness. He rolled over instantly, rocking unsteadily on his knees. Fiercely, he gripped her sleek wrists, pulled her up-right and close to him, imprisoning her.
"Damn you!" he groaned.
"Damn you!" he repeated, then smiled. "You don't even have to whistle to make a guy jump through loops. What's your secret?"
"I live right," she deadpanned.
"Maybe I'd better stick around," he replied. "Some of it is bound to rub off on me."
"Why don't we stop talking?" she asked suggestively.
"Why don't you wave your magic wand and make the night return?"
"Gladly," she sighed. Wriggling an arm free, she stretched it over to the night table and gently applied a finger to a button. The wall-to-wall drapes moved steadily from each side of the room, across the wide expanse of windows, meeting in the center and locking out the sunlight. "Will that do, master?" she asked devilishly.
Steve blinked at the sudden semi-darkness of the room. "Damn you," he repeated. "Just press a button—that's all there is to it. I guess I just haven't been living right."
"Maybe you'd better start making up for lost time."
"Got any more miracles?" he asked.
She jabbed little kisses at the cleft of his chin. "I need you for the rest of the magic."
Steve responded, telegraphing his urgency with a groan. The moist lips brought him to an unbearably frenzied anticipation and his fingers worked feverishiy through the flaming tresses of her hair. He tilted her head upward. Her glittering catlike eyes told her need of him. Her hands moved to grasp his shoulders and offer encouragement.
He hovered over her until his labored breathing cleared. With deliberateness, he nibbled at the lobe of her ear as her body curled against his with a cushioned fullness. Her groans of anticipation added fuel to the fire scorching him. She stiffled the cry deep in her throat and a faint smile traced her crimson lips. She was anxious to please as he was to take pleasure in her and her body throbbed, meeting him in a never-ending quest.
Steve nodded negatively, asserting his mastery over her.
She sank her teeth savagely into the soft flesh of his neck. He tensed at the sudden pain and succumbed. When his last bit of strength was gone, Steve opened his eyes. The smile was still there on her face.
"Damn you," he whimpered.