Chapter 5
Jed had never been a subtle clever sort of guy. His method of tackling a problem was usually to jump into it feet first and come up fighting. He liked the kinds of problems he could solve in this manner-he liked conquering.
The subtle, wily ways of Russell Thorpe made him fume with anger. He didn't like infighting within a company, having to guard against a stab in the back. If he had known what the older man was really like he would not have gone in business with him.
Jed had liked Russell's wife, Mavis, who owned a large share of their stock. It had been a tremendous jolt to Jed when Russell had callously divorced Mavis, and about two years later had married a pretty, blonde, stupid chorus girl half his age. Kittie Thorpe was living proof to Jed that a man's good taste could deteriorate with approaching middle age.
But that was not the issue at present. Jed tapped his fingers restlessly on his huge oak desk. There was a mysterious scheme going on, probably aimed at him. The Westfall Company was involved in the scheme. Judging from Larry's confusion and unhappiness, the Westfalls might be unwilling partners with Thorpe in that scheme.
There was one person who might be persuaded to talk. And Jed wanted to see Edythe Westfall again. So he called her at the office of Westfall Golden Stamps.
She answered her phone promptly. "Miss Westfall speaking," said a clear, crisp voice.
"Edythe? This is Jed Kingsley."
Pause. He could imagine the wary expression of her dark blue eyes.
"Oh, yes, Mr. Kingsley. How are you?"
So she wanted to be formal again. Jed leaned back m his swivel chair and cradled the phone on his shoulder.
"Everything's fine, Edythe," he said, blandly ignoring her formality. "I ran into Larry last evening, quite by accident."
"You did?" Her tone was sharply apprehensive. "What happened?"
"Nothing. We just had a chat over a couple of drinks. I thought I'd tell you myself, so you wouldn't think I was looking for trouble. We didn't fight at all."
"Oh."
A longer pause. Jed grinned into the phone. Her mind was probably clicking on all cylinders, trying to understand what the hidden meanings were behind Jed's casual words.
That was the trouble with slick, scheming people. They could not accept anything at face value. They had to pry up the surface and peer underneath for the clues and innuendos that might not be there at all. The penalty for having a devious mind, Jed decided virtuously.
"What did you talk about?" she ventured cautiously.
She was snapping at the bait. He played out his line a little farther.
"Oh-business and pleasure. Nothing special. He does seem on edge, though. Is anything worrying him?"
"I don't know. He doesn't confide in me any more," she confessed. "Mr. Kingsley-Jed-I wonder if I could talk to you-"
Snap. She had taken the bait.
"Why, of course, Edythe. Talk ahead."
"I mean, in your office. Would it be all right if I come up this afternoon?"
He was not going to keep the meeting business-like if he could help it. He pulled his engagement book toward him.
"Just a minute. I'm checking." He flipped the pages so they could be heard over the phone. "This afternoon is out. Wednesday-no. I'll be gone all day. Thursday-Friday-hmm. Monday-Tuesday-Say, how about Wednesday of next week?"
Very long pause. It was devilish to use her anxiety over her brother to tease her, but he wanted to see her again, and not in a business setting.
In a strained voice, she finally answered, "I'd rather not wait so long."
"I'm free this evening. Shall I come up to your apartment? We could talk privately there."
"No! No, I couldn't-I mean, my apartment is a mess-"
She was so neat and precise he could not believe that. She had sounded panicky at the very idea of his coming up. His eyes narrowed. Her home address and phone were not in the telephone book. No one ever knew how to reach her outside business hours.
"There's my apartment," he suggested, without much hope. She had been there once. She might not risk a second trip, knowing his reputation with women. "If you care to come up, you're welcome."
Long silence.
"Well, I don't suppose I could tell you anything you don't know about Larry," he said, as a final teaser. "You know his problems better than I do."
"No, no, please, Jed. Don't hang up." She did sound desperate. "I-I'll come up to your apartment for a few minutes. I must talk to you."
Landed. Beached. Wiggling in his net. He grinned triumphantly.
"Fine. Shall we say, about eight o'clock this evening? You know where I live?" He made it sound casual, as though he had forgotten her previous visit.
"Yes. Is it all right to park in the basement garage?"
"Sure. Park next to my car. It's the last one on the right end."
"All right. Then I'll see you about eight."
"Sure. See you then."
He hung up and laughed aloud, his eyes sparkling.
So Edythe would come to him. He would plan this evening very carefully.
At noon, he bought some sherry, choosing the brand with care. He spent most of the afternoon thinking about Edythe, remembering what she had said about Italy, recalling her vulnerable points. Her brother, Italy, an Italian lover, a strict but neglectful father, a demanding, competitive business. She had to be tough, but she probably did not enjoy toughness. Her dark blue eyes had been wistful as she talked about her brief escape from the confining life her father had laid out for her.
Jed had known Mr. Westfall only from a few rare business contacts. His impression of the man had been that of a stern, driving, ambitious older man whose health had been eaten away by the heavy demands he had made on himself. If he had not died in the crash of the company plane, he might not have lived long anyway. Edythe and Larry must be more like their mother's side of the family. Edythe seemed ambitious more from a sense of responsibility toward her father's company than because of any inner compulsions.
As eight o'clock came closer, Jed paced the apartment nervously. He was as ready as possible. He had turned up the heat so that the apartment was quite warm. The sherry was chilling, the glasses on the kitchen table. He had drawn the heavy crimson drapes to shut out the beautiful but distracting vista of the city. He wore trousers, a thin shirt, and a red Chinese silk brocade lounge robe that could be whipped off in a hurry.
Eight o'clock came, but not Edythe. Jed paced faster, trying to decide what to do if she didn't show. He couldn't go to her apartment. Dared he call Larry, insist on knowing where Edythe lived? Would Larry tell him?
Ten after eight. The elevator door clanged. Jed stiffened, listened.
High heels clicked in the hallway. He fairly ran to the door, then forced himself to wait till the doorbell rang. He waited another couple seconds, then opened the door.
Edythe stood there. He could scarcely conceal his relief and delight.
"Come in, come in," he said happily.
She walked in slowly, glancing around suspiciously. "I can only stay a few minutes," she said coldly, keeping her blue jacket wrapped around her.
"Sit down. Make yourself comfortable." He coaxed her, and she finally sat down stiffly on a straight chair. He sat down on the couch.
She gazed at the drawn curtains, her winged eyebrows in a slight frown. "I shouldn't have troubled you," she said. "You may have a date." It was half a question.
"No. My evening is free. I feel I may have worried you unnecessarily about Larry," he said. "I have a talent for meddling in other people's business, I'm afraid."
She studied his face. And he gazed at hers, frankly enjoying the beauty of the oval features, the wide, dark blue eyes, framed by the sunny gold of her hair. The severe braids could not make her look unfeminine. She was a beautiful woman from the top of her shining head down her ripe rounded body, to her dainty slender feet.
"I was wondering why you got me up here," she said bluntly. "You have quite a reputation where women are concerned. Was it about Larry really? Or are you on the make for me? I warn you, you'll be wasting your valuable time."
He grinned at the sarcastic tone. "Oh, I like variety, Edythe. And you're a new type for me."
She jumped up. He stood politely.
"You probably know all about Larry's involvement with Russell Thorpe," he added, watching her sharply. "How about some sherry?"
She sank down in the chair once more, as though her knees had given way. The name of Russell Thorpe seemed to be sufficient to take all the starch out of her backbone.
Feeling quite safe, he went to the kitchen, and returned with the sherry and glasses. She was gazing into space, her mouth tight, her eyes slightly glazed with thought.
"You do like sherry, don't you?" He filled the glass and handed it to her, then filled his and sat down on the couch, closer to her this time. "I've been fond of sherry since a visit to Spain some years ago," he chatted on, to give her time to recover.
She sipped at the glass, then drank it down as though she craved the stimulation of the drink. He filled her glass again. While she was sipping at the second glass, he thrust in a sharp question.
"How long have you known Russell Thorpe?"
She swallowed convulsively, and coughed to clear her throat. "Three-years," she finally whispered.
"And Larry has known him that long? Or did you introduce him?"
Her blue eyes turned to him, her suspicion evident. "I-ah-introduced them-about three years ago."
"I see. Does your brother play poker often?"
"Poker?"
"Yes."
"Why are you asking all these questions?" she cried. "I thought you had something to tell me." Her hand was shaking as he took the empty glass from her. He filled it again.
The sherry was smooth. It slid down the throat with ease. She did not realize how much she was drinking, distracted by his questions.
"I'm not sure whether I have anything to tell you," he said blandly.
She jumped up once more. "Did you get me up here on purpose-
Her jacket fell open. She was wearing a silver-blue shantung dress with a tight bodice and full skirt.
"You must be warm," he said, standing. "Let me take your jacket. What I mean is, what I have to tell you about Thorpe and Larry may not be news to you. Pretty old stuff, probably, the fact that Thorpe has a strong hold on Larry...."
He paused, deliberately. She let him take her jacket.
"Here, sit on the couch. It's more comfortable." He coaxed her down to the couch, and put another full glass of sherry in her hand.
"A ... hold...." she whispered. She drank, absently, gazing at him over the rim of the glass.
"But you probably know all about that. When did it start?"
She jerked, and set down the empty glass. It clattered on the coffee table. Her hands were shaking. "You-you are asking the questions again," she said. "I want answers to my questions."
"If we pooled our knowledge, we could get somewhere," said Jed, pouring more sherry. She refused it abruptly.
"I think you're just guessing. I think you don't really know anything." She tried to get up. He slipped his arm around her waist and held her boldly.
"No. Don't go. We haven't finished talking."
"Let me go! I might have known this was only a trick!" She tore at his arm furiously. He held her tighter, with both arms. The warmth and silkiness of her body, the heady perfume drove him on. He wanted this woman. She was a challenge to him. He wanted to conquer her.
But he had to use strength to hold her. She fought him with furious energy. When he tried to push her back on the couch, she kicked out at him. He couldn't kiss her. Her head swung from side to side, and she bit and scratched and kicked.
"You-little-devil-" he panted. "Come on. Stop that! I just want to kiss you-"
"I might have known! Bully! To use Larry-my worries-" With a fierce burst of passion, she broke free of him, got to her feet. She ran around the couch, paused to grab her jacket. He was after her, caught her at the corner of the wall near the door.
He was full of passion. He could think of nothing but having her. He must have this woman.
He had caught her near a corner. Deliberately he forced her back into the corner, crushed her against the wall. He jerked open his robe, and pressed his body hard against her squirming body as she tried to escape. He grabbed one arm, held it against the wall. His other hand caught her wrist, forced it to her throat, so that with one hand he could control her arm and her head.
Forcing her to stillness between himself and the wall, Jed rubbed his hips on hers. She could not help but feel the pulsing desire that raced through him.
"Edythe," he muttered. "Edythe. Don't fight me. There's passion locked in you. Let it out. For once, let it out. This could be good. Like Italy," he whispered, close to her ear. "Like Italy. Love and passion."
"No," she said, her head weaving to evade him. "No. No. No."
He pressed closer. "Love," he whispered. "Love. You want love. You're starved for it. I know the signs."
"No. No."
But her body was weakening, softening. He smiled, and dared to kiss her cheek. She shivered. Her hips were trembling.
"I could make love to you right here," he said, his voice deepening. "Right here, against the wall. It wouldn't be hard. Because you want it too. You want me too."
"No. No."
She wasn't fighting him now. Her arms were lax. He kissed her mouth. It was warm, the lips damp.
She groaned, deep in her throat. Her body was limp. He dared release one arm and pulled up her dress and slip. He ripped down the girdle, and she was bared to the knees. Eagerly, he followed up the advantage.
He unfastened his trousers. Her eyes were closed, she leaned on the wall as though she would fall if he did not hold her. He explored quickly, found a response to his eager flesh. He ground against her, stooped, then stood straight slowly.
Her released arm closed spasmodically around his body as he held her. His desire was so intense that it soon shot to a peak. He found release, held her, finished, withdrew. She was gripping him with her free hand.
He drew her with him over to the rug. He made her lie down, ripped off the girdle, shoes and stockings, and touched her greedily. His hands caressed her bare flesh from the slim waist to the slender legs.
Her eyes half-opened. "I-must-go-" she said, in a daze.
"No," he said. "Not now. Not now."
He leaned back, ripped off his trousers, and bent over her once more. She sighed, and adjusted her body to his. This time her hands went around to his back under the robe. He felt sharp fingers digging at his shoulders, rippling over his spine.
Then there was the thrilling, exciting jolt as he embraced her again. He settled down to prolong it and enjoy it thoroughly. He moved smoothly, listening to the sibilant caresses of their flesh as the warm body surrendered to him.
He raised up a little to see her face. The eyes were tightly shut. The mouth was open, the red tongue licking her lips. A humming came from her mouth. Passion was building up and up in her lush body, shaped for love, designed for a man's embrace.
He paused, to tease her and prolong the desire. Unexpectedly she moved, swayed, pushed at him hungrily. Delighted, he returned the pressure. They danced the dance of desire, sprawled full-length on the floor. Her fingernails bit into his spine, and she cried out, begging for more.
"Love-love-my darling," she cried. "More-a little more-more-darling-love-"
He gave her more. He speeded up the pace until they were whiplashing at each other, racing to speed the drive to the take-off point. The fuel built up; the heat grew unbearable. Then she screamed in his ear, grabbed him, surged to meet him.
They kicked off into outer space, free-wheeling into orbit, fighting for breath, the Earth dipping away from them. Stars and sparks of light and the sun itself I exploding, and her voice crying to him as though from deep inside him.
He collapsed beside her when it was done. He heard her sobbing for breath, and it took him a while to get his own breath back. He rolled from her, but kept an arm around her waist to hold on to her. She was too good to lose now, too precious to let slip away.
When he had recovered, he sat up, looked down at her. Her breath was still panting, her full breasts heaving, her fists clenching and unclenching. He surveyed proudly the area he had conquered, the slim white waist, the wide curving hips....
He reached over to the coffee table for his glass of sherry. Meditatively he sipped it. He was glad he had bought the best. The best was none too good to celebrate this night.
She stirred and sat up. Her blonde hair tumbled about her shoulders. Her dark blue eyes were hazy. He offered her a glass of sherry.
She took it. "I shouldn't," she said. "But I'll need it to get home on."
"You're not going home for a while, honey," Jed enlightened her gently.
"Haven't you proved your point? I'm vulnerable. I'm a woman. Isn't that enough?" A flush mounted in her cheeks. She pulled her dress down to her knees proudly.
"You're a woman, all right. And that's why you're going to stay. Don't fool yourself any more, Edythe. You want me as much as I want you."
"I do not!"
"I'll prove it again. Shall we use the bed, though? The floor must be hard on your back."
She glared at him. "I have no intention of-"
Presently, in the bedroom, he had the pleasure of removing the remainder of her clothes. Her shoulders were gleaming white. Her breasts were full and rounded, swollen with desire.
He undressed, and came to the bed. The sherry bottle and glasses were on the table, in case further incentive might be needed during the night. Then Jed settled down beside his reluctant love, his lovely enemy, to teach her more about herself, her passions, her body, her possibilities.
He managed to keep her all night. But sometime during the early morning, he fell asleep. He wakened, reached out for her, remembering her on the first moment of waking.
She was gone. Her clothes were gone. Only the crushed pillow beside his and the rumpled bedclothes and a languid sense of well-being remained to remind him she had been there.
No matter. She would return, Jed decided. He smiled, his arms stretching above his head. What a woman. What fire and passion and heady delights all in one compact silken frame.
He rolled over. Ah, Edythe. She would be back. When a woman like that was once aroused, she could never retreat into coldness. Not if the man was smart. And Jed intended to be smart. He wanted her again-and again.