Chapter 1
In the darkened restaurant, the spot-lights were focused on the blonde singer. Jed Kingsley moved closer to his fiance and ran his hand boldly over her knee. It was silken, warm to his touch. He squeezed her knee, leaned closer to whisper:
"Andrea, let's go up to my place. Right now."
Her hand firmly removed his hand from her knee. Her head turned, her lips brushed his ear as she whispered back.
"Not now, Jed. I want to stay. Everyone's raving about this girl."
Jed clenched his teeth on an impolite word. In the darkness, he reached for his glass of Scotch. The girl singer swayed in the spotlights, and the colors glittered over her black, sequined gown. Jed appraised her with some interest, as he appraised all women. But right now he wanted Andrea, and Miss Andrea Searle, socialite, was being too damned coy and playful.
Jed was fed up with this social bit. He was the first to admit he had brought it on himself. When he and Russell Thorpe had formed the Crown Company and launched their incentive program from their headquarters in Pomona, Jed had decided it was also his chance to crash society in his home town. Shrewdly he had taken on some clients more for their social connections here in Pomona than for their business sense. And here he was, engaged to the granddaughter of old Maria Webber Searle, society queen of Pomona.
Andrea had fallen like a ripe plum into his willing hands. She was in love with him. She wanted to marry him. They had her parents' consent, and Maria's consent.
The lights came up. Andrea turned back to Jed, smiled. "There, darling, wasn't that good? Not the usual raw, sexy act."
"Yeah," said Jed. Was that what he missed? Was he too crude and raw and sexy himself for this crowd?
"Isn't that Russell Thorpe over there?" asked Andrea.
Jed looked around without interest. He saw enough of his partner in business hours. He studied the stalwart man coming out of a side room of the country club. Russell's dark hair glistened with gray in the bright lights. He was getting up in years, Jed decided, vaguely surprised at the observation. Thorpe must be in his mid-forties.
Thorpe went out a side door to the parking lot.
Jed's attention went back to Andrea. She looked delectable in a golden-brown satin dress with a jacket of gold lame. Her golden earrings that dangled to her shoulders livened the quietness of her pretty face, the calmness of her eyes.
"Shall we go now?" he asked again, his impatience mounting. He saw no reason to sit in a restaurant when they could be alone in his apartment.
She pouted beautifully, but he still didn't like it, though her red mouth was luscious and moist. "Darling! I haven't had a minute to talk to anyone here! And we were going to meet the Jacksons. I told you about him."
Jed sighed. Andrea tried to be helpful. She was always introducing him to her society friends, most of whom had no jobs, no business connections, and were as innocent as kittens about the competitive incentive campaigns that Jed handled.
"For once, couldn't we skip all that-"
"Well-well-well!" said a drawling, mocking, slurred voice. A man had stopped at the table beside them. "Mr. Jed Kingsley at his favorite occupation-making women!"
Jed glanced up with a scowl. "Where did you come from?" he barked.
Larry West fall waved a flapping hand at the room across the way. "Over there. Oh, I belong to 'he Maple-wood Country Club, I assure you! It's perfectly proper for me to play cards here."
Jed frowned. Russell Thorpe had come out of that room. Were Thorpe and Larry Westfall in the habit of playing poker together?
Larry was trying to bow to Andrea, whose polite smile was slightly stiff. "Dearest Andrea. I've heard Jed is crazy about women. And so many women are crazy 'bout him. But you, darling. Never thought a Searle would look down at her feet and find Jed Kingsley crawling around down there."
His voice was loud, arrogant. Jed kicked back his chair and stood up. He felt hotly angry. The boy was drunk, but that was no excuse.
"Get out, kid. Stay away from me," he warned Larry in a low tone. "Go sober up."
"But if I was sober, I wouldn't warn you-" Larry staggered, caught at a chair, and laughed. But his bright blue eyes were dazed, tragic somehow. "You look at women too much. You ought to keep one eye on your company." Drunkenly he lifted his hand and elaborately pressed his fingertip to his closed eyelid. "Yes, sir. One eye for the pretty girls, one for the company. And one for-for-"
Jed glared at him, his fists clenched. But he fdt puzzled, also. What was the kid driving at? Or was he too drunk to know what he was saying?
"Oh, please, send him away! This is embarrassing," whispered Andrea. "Everyone is staring at us. Send him away."
"Go away, kid," said Jed. He gave Larry a light shove. The boy staggered, off balance, his blond head wavering. He took a step backward.
Then he lurched forward again, angrily. "Hey, don't shove me! You can't shove me! Don't care if you keep both eyes on a girl. Pretty girl!" He leered at Andrea. "If I get some of your trading stamps, can I have some of her too?"
Jed knocked him down. His fist struck, the boy wobbled and went sprawling flat on his back. Andrea jumped up.
"Oh, Jed! Let's get out of here. Brawling-oh, I hate this-" She was half-crying.
Larry got up again on his feet, and came after Jed savagely. Jed shoved Andrea out of the way. The boy was easy to handle, drunken, off-balance. He fended off the blows Larry tried to make, then knocked him back into the arms of a burly waiter, coming up behind Larry.
"Get him out of here!" said Jed, angrily. "Get him away from me."
The waiter pinned Larry's arms and rushed him easily to the door. People were standing to gawp, to laugh, to stare again at Jed and Andrea.
"Let's go-let's go-" Andrea picked up her brown satin evening bag. Jed walked silently to the cloakroom desk with her, and tipped the girl for his overcoat and Andrea's mink jacket. He was silent under the soft storm of Andrea's whispered berating as they walked out into the cool April night to his car.
"No gentleman," said Andrea furiously, "no gentleman brawls like that in front of a lady. How can you act like that? I've known Larry Westfall all my life. He's just a brash kid. You didn't have to fight with him."
And on and on and on. Jed finally said, curtly, as he drove along the country road back to Pomona, "Okay, shall I take you home? Have you had enough of your roughneck fiance?"
She changed at once. She leaned against him and put her hands tightly around his arm.
"Oh, no, no, Jed! Don't be angry. I was only upset. I should have agreed to leave earlier. Only-only-" She was sobbing. "I never know what will happen next with you! We were sitting there quietly minding our business-Oh, Jed, you draw trouble! You're a-a magnet for trouble. I do believe you could be sitting alone in a church and somebody would come up and punch you in the nose and dare you to fight!"
"I wouldn't be surprised," said Jed. "But what do you expect me to do? Sit back and take it? That kid was being as insulting as he could. What should I do? Shake his hand and thank him?"
"He was drunk. He didn't know what he was saying."
"I wonder," muttered Jed. Larry Westfall playing poker, getting drunk, in the same room with Russell Thorpe. And WestfalPs cold, business-like sister, Edythe, now ran the Westfall Golden Stamps Company. When old man Westfall had died, everyone had expected their incentive business to go to pieces. Instead, beautiful Edythe Westfall, more noted for her beauty and clothes than any business ability, had taken over the management of the company and had made it boom.
Westfall Golden Stamps Company was the biggest threat in Jed's competitive life. He was beginning to believe there wasn't room for both of them in Pomona. What had Larry meant: one eye on the girls, one eye on his company? What did the boy mean? What did he know? And why was Russell Thorpe involved with one of their competitors?
Andrea was snuggling up to Jed, running her fingers over his knee in a way that soon drew his attention hack to her.
"Darling. Jed, darling. I didn't mean it, really," she said, her fingers brushing little points of fire along his thigh. "I really do love it, the way you're so different from the tame men I know. I wouldn't want you any softer, really, darling." She murmured the words in his ear, and her lips brushed against the lobe of his ear.
His spine tingled. He forgot about Larry and Russell Thorpe and business competition. When he came to the fork in the road, where the right lane led to Andrea's mansion-home on the edge of Pomona, and the left lane led to the city, he swung left. If Andrea was at last in a love-making mood, he was not going to disappoint her. He headed for his apartment.
She made no protest as he parked the car in the basement garage and they took the elevator to his penthouse apartment. Once there, he locked the door, took off their coats, and prepared for action.
Andrea sat down on the wide couch where the huge picture windows gave a breathtaking view out over Pomona. Lights twinkled from thousands of buildings and streets. The river road was outlined in a pattern of lights that swerved and curled and dipped to follow the hills and the river.
Jed turned off the lights. "Now we can see the view better," he said, rather breathlessly. He came over to her in the dimness, and sat down beside her on the couch. She leaned cautiously into his eager arms. Always cautious, always fearful, always so careful. That was Andrea.
Jed drew her closer, moved his hand slowly over her shoulder as he kissed her soft, willing mouth. Her lips were closed. He longed to hold back her head with a hard grip on the brown curly hair, choke her with sweet kisses, then knock her over on her back and take her. But that was not the way to handle Andrea.
As he kissed her, his hand roamed from her shoulder down over her arm, up again. Then it slid, as though casually, to the mound of breast, firm and satin-smooth with the satin of her dress fabric. The zipper was down her back. There was no way to slide his hand into a silky V-neck opening and touch her flesh. He pressed his hand hopefully against the satin, and wished he could strip her and make love to her naked body.
Yet this was the woman he had decided to marry. Was it vanity to want a son? A son with his own sturdiness, his six feet of height, his black, curly hair and smoky blue eyes. That was what Jed wanted. For most of his thirty years he had fought alone, to found an empire of money and position. It was a modest empire still, but it was his. Now he had come to realize that an empire could be as empty as a shack, without a son to follow and inherit. Someone outside himself, thought Jed. An extension of himself. Someone to give meaning to life, someone to live for and fight for.
"Darling, Jed, darling," whispered Andrea. Her arms went around him as he deftly manipulated her breast. His lips caressed the soft cheeks, the silky throat. She was warming, slowly, to a languid sort of passion.
His hand slid to her waist. He shifted her so she lay back in his arms. His hand brushed over her legs. She stiffened. He closed her mouth with his lips as she started to protest. His hand moved back and forth on the satin dress, down to her knees, up to her waist, to her knees once more.
Finally in her Limpness he found consent. He slid the dress up from her knees to her waist. Eagerly he touched her hare thighs with his big fingers, deftly inserted them under the stiff fabric of her girdle. He was getting impatient. He could not wait much longer.
His fingers prodded, probed. They searched, coaxed, until at last her hips moved convulsively as she lay across his knees. Boldly he ripped off the girdle, unfastening the stocking-garters, pitched the offending garment over his shoulder.
"Jed ... darling...." She was about to protest again. He swung her around to lie flat on the couch, then followed her down. He yanked his trousers down and off. As she struggled to sit up, he pushed her down and held her with eager arms and legs.
She sighed and gave in at last. Her warm legs moved, and he fitted himself to her soft curves. He had to move slowly, cautiously, but at least he was moving in the right direction. He nuzzled his head down on her breast, wishing the satin fabric could be ripped away. He longed to kiss her on her mounds of breasts, to take complete and final possession. But she must always withhold something, always remain reserved.
He -edged forward, his passions burning. She whimpered, tried to pull away. Head nuzzled on her shoulder, his hands firmly on her slender waist, he forced her to accept his caresses. His passion drove him on, and the urgency was communicated to her. Her body wiggled, pressed against him. He held her even more tightly against him.
His head was whirling with desire. He wanted, ardently wanted the soft flesh so close under him. Her reluctant body shivered against him. He rested, panting.
He waited, pulses pounding like drumbeats in his ears.
Her arms were around him. Her hands lay passively on his back. If only she would clutch at him, shriek her delight, wound him with spasms of scraping fingernails. If only she would once, once, let go and cry out-
He hit the peak and knew release, and it was a relief. But he had hit it alone, and it felt lonely.
He got up, let her sit up. In the dimness he saw her face. She looked pleased, but not very excited. Was something wrong with him that he could rarely arouse his own fiancee?
He picked up a package of cigarettes and an ashtray and came back to her. She curled up on the couch and leaned on his shoulder as he lit their cigarettes.
"Oh, darling, have I made you happy?" she murmured.
"Sure, baby. Sure."
She was smiling, complacently. If he struck her down, beat her, forced her, would she respond? What could rock her out of this calm acceptance of his most fervent passions?
Maybe it was Jed. Something wrong with him. He was a roughneck, a tough guy who had fought his way out of alleys and street gangs, into college, into business, now into society. He could change his clothes to gray flannel, but the guy underneath was still the leader of the Dukes of Blaine's Alley, he thought ruefully. He still relished a good fight, though now he had to watch them on television. He liked his women with honesty and fury and sweetness and passion, like the first girl he had ever known, down in the alley, the sister of his enemy. How she had fought him the first time, and how wildly sweet she had been later. He smiled to remember Maureen. She had been tops.
Andrea put her cigarette daintily into the ashtray. She was finished with it.
Fight. Tonight with Larry. Jed stared out the wide expanse of windows at the city he knew so well. He had fought a lot of fights, but he wasn't proud of the fight with Larry. The boy was only about twenty-three or twenty-four, a soft kid, drunk. What had he been trying to say? Keep one eye on your girl, one on your company. Why?
Was his sister about to steal an important client from Jed? Edythe Westfall had done that several times in the past couple of years, but Jed had always managed to retaliate with a few stolen clients of his own. What was Edythe about to pull now? Something new and dirtier?
He ought to get to know Edythe better, he mused. It didn't hurt to know one's enemy at close range, to be able to figure out her moves. She was a beautiful woman. It would be a pleasure to get to know her better.
"Jed. Jed? Are you listening to me?" asked Andrea plaintively.
"Sorry, darling. Thinking about business," he said, half-truthfully. He had been thinking of his business rival, but his mind had strayed to the full bust, the swaying hips, the attractive face and mysterious loneliness of that rival. "What did you say, darling?"
She pouted. Even in the darkened room he could see the pout of her red mouth. "You never hear me when I talk about our wedding. Mother says a June wedding is absolutely impossible to plan now. So I thought maybe September..
Jed flinched. He wanted marriage, a son, an heir, yes. But every time Andrea said the word "wedding," he flinched. He would have to get over his nausea at the idea of being a bridegroom puppet going through the huge ceremony that Andrea's mother wanted. It was her price for giving up her beloved daughter. He would have to pay that price sometime. But as for now-
"Darling, let's not talk," he said. He set down the ashtray on the floor, pulled her across nis lap. "I don't want to talk now. It's been so long since we've been together, I want-" His hand swept up the hem of the dress she had pulled down demurely. His fingers played skillfully on the warm thighs, the yielding flesh of her hips.
"But ... Jed ... we must ... talk...." she said weakly. He closed her mouth with a long kiss. His fingers probed, explored. She tried to avoid his touch, but his hand was too clever for that. His hand found its way up the silken inner thigh, to the secret pleasure she wanted to deny him.
"Darling," he whispered. "Sweetheart ... Andrea ... my love...."
He forced her back on the couch, crowded her against the cushions and held her down with arms and legs. Her struggles ceased, and she yielded to his attack as he rubbed his hips tantalizingly on her soft bare flesh.
"Oh, you," she murmured. "You always want your own way-"
"Always," he said, and found the warm flesh relaxing under his touch. He moved closer, pulled her firm hips nearer to him with a big hand.
"Urn," she said. "Um ... Jed ... not so ... fast ... darling."
He slowed down the pace a little, hoping she would catch up. But though he made love to her earnestly and tried all the little tricks she would allew, he could not raise her to the boiling point. Finally he swung over her, leaped to the peak alone, and retired-in triumph, but not completely satisfied.
She gave him what he wanted, what he forced her to give. But she seemed to gather no pleasure herself, and that spoiled things for him.
He took her home about one o'clock in the morning. As he unlocked the side door of the Searle family mansion for her and kissed her good night, chastely and with little passion, he wondered many things.
Was this the woman to give him a strong, passionate son? Did he love the beautiful Andrea Searle, or had he deceived himself? Did he want to be in the social whirl he had been trying so hard to enter?
Sometimes, he thought on the way home, success could be bitter. A man could work hard for what he wanted, only to find when he had achieved his goal that it was not what he wanted after all.