Chapter 14
The day Joy left the hospital, she didn't see Clay. She had thought he'd, at least, drop by to say goodbye.
Joy didn't leave her apartment except to shop for food for two days. That she was frightened was something she wouldn't even admit to herself. Twice, she pulled out her suitcases and started to pack. The stickers on the sides, from London and Paris, changed her mind. She couldn't believe that what the police had said about Bart was true. And she decided she owed it to him to wait. He had said he would get in touch with her.
Friday evening's paper changed it all. She stared at Bart's picture and the caption beneath it and refused to believe what she read. Bart couldn't be dead. Well known criminal lawyer a suicide. She read on, below the picture. The Montreal police hinted that it might not be suicide despite finding the prominent New York lawyer dead in a car with hose attached to the exhaust.
Joy felt numb. There was no grief, only a sense of sympathy. Bart McLane was dead. That was it. Nothing more. Without thinking, Joy pulled out her suitcases and started to pack. There was no longer a reason to leave New York and yet ... She knew she had to.
The doorbell rang, startling her. At the door, she asked cautiously, "Who is it?"
"Clay. Open the door."
Joy opened it. "What do you want?"
"I missed you the day you left the hospital. I was out on an emergency call. I suppose you've seen the papers."
"I've seen them," Joy said.
Clay moved past her into the apartment without waiting for her invitation. Seeing the packed suitcases, he said, "You going somewhere?"
Joy nodded. "I'm leaving New York. I'm going to the coast."
A frown creased Clay's forehead. "Aren't you curious as to why I came to see you? There is a reason."
Before Joy could stop him, he caught her in his arms. His kiss was hard and bruising on her lips.
She twisted free. "I told you, no, at the hospital. It's no use trying," she cried angrily.
He dropped his arms. "Damn it, Joy, it isn't that. The day they wheeled you into the hospital and I saw you, something happened. These past two days, I've been trying to forget you. I can't." He paused. "When I saw McLane's picture in the paper tonight, I had to see you again. There's something I must know. I can't believe you were in love with him. He was an old man."
"I never said I was in love with Bart," Joy said. "He bought me. He paid for me the same way your father did once. The only difference was he treated me as a woman not some some-" Joy's voice trailed off. "It's not the same. We were in love."
"We?" Joy said, bitterly. "I was Barbara Lansing's daughter, remember?"
"What about before that night? Can you deny you loved me then?"
"What happened before that night isn't important. I grew up the night your father handed me that five hundred dollars. I got smart to a few things." Joy hesitated when she saw a sudden brushfire of anger in Clay's eyes. "Time changes things. I'm not the same girl any more," she said.
"There are some things nothing can change. Maybe you're afraid to admit the truth. You think I didn't notice how you trembled when I touched you at the hospital."
Joy forced a laugh. "You think all it takes is a touch to bring back what we had in Havenhurst? If you do, you're a fool. Besides, love isn't sneaking to a cabin and crawling into a bed. I'm not sure what it is. Right now, I don't think I even care. Be honest, Clay. Why not admit what you want is me, in your arms. You're curious. You want to find out what I've become."
Clay's mouth was a hard straight line. Then, he pursed his lips. "Yes, I want you, Joy. And what you say may be true. Back home, I did want only one thing. I didn't know then what you meant to me. But you can't joke about love. It's real. It has to be accepted." He stared at her. There is one way of finding out if we can find what neither of us knew we really had," he growled.
Joy knew what he meant. His challenge angered her. Suddenly, it was more than a challenge.
In a way, it was a chance for revenge. Joy couldn't deny she had loved him once. If it had been love. She was telling Clay the truth when she spoke of love. She didn't know what it was. That night when Clay had walked out on her at the cabin, she had died a little. But Vicky and Bart ... that was a kind of love, too. Clay had been the reason for them. Joy forced herself to believe that.
It was rather ironic. Right now, she could turn the pages of the book back. Clay wanted her. It was in his eyes, the way he stared at her.
A thought came. Did it matter if she gave herself to him? Why not? Give and then laugh in his face. Tell him he meant nothing to her, tell him about Vicky and Janine. She could picture his reaction. These were things his college hadn't taught him.
"Bart used to love to watch me undress, Clay," she said, her lips twisting in a smile. With the words she undid her blouse and let it slip from her shoulders. Watching him she unsnapped her bra and let her breasts spring free.
Clay's mouth twisted, relaxed, then twisted again. "You're more beautiful than I remembered," he said hoarsely.
Joy laughed. "I know I'm beautiful. It's why a man like Bart McLane wanted me." Her fingers found the zipper of her skirt. Slowly, deliberately teasing him, she eased it down. Then, she wiggled her hips and let the skirt drift down over her thighs. Reaching her feet, she Jacked it aside.
Attired now only in panties, she looked at him. There was a satisfaction in seeing the light come into his eyes, the animation and admiration.
He'll want me more than he ever wanted me before I'm through with him. She walked toward him, her hips swaying seductively.
Clay stared. He moistened his lips. And he knew she was teasing him. She wanted to make him believe she was hard. But she was still the same Joy Lansing. The pride was still there. No matter what she pretended, he wasn't fooled. She wasn't a hardened woman. No, she was still soft and desirable.
As her head tilted and her lips parted, he kissed her. His hands closed on her breasts.
Joy let his lips linger for a moment, then she pulled back and caught his hands, urging them down to her hips. Leaning away, she said, "Bart used to like to take them off."
Clay felt the pressure of her thighs against him. Fire stormed in his veins. He fought to gain control.
"I'm not Bart McLane," he growled at her through clenched teeth. Then, he kissed her hard, the force of his kiss driving her head back.
Joy laughed. "No, Bart was a gentle man. He never tried to hurt. You always were kind of rough," she teased.
The laugh, the taunt brought anger. Clay wanted to wipe the smile from her lips.
"Damn you," he grunted. His fingers, hooked in her panties, tore them free from her body. Then, he crushed her in his arms.
Joy went limp, let him caress her for a moment. She felt a triumph. She was making him want her more and more.
Pushing at his chest, she freed herself. She gave him a look. "Your clothes are rough. They irritate. Take them off."
Clay stared at her. The expression on his face showed an uncertainty. "Putting on an act doesn't fool me," he muttered.
"I'm not trying to fool you, Clay. You don't see me trembling to your touch, do you? After all, you aren't the one man any more. There have been others."
Turning, she walked away. At the bedroom door, she stopped and looked back over her shoulder. "You said, you wanted to find out. I'll be waiting when you're ready," she taunted.
In the bedroom, she lit a cigarette and dropped on the bed. Thoughts rose and brought conflict. Did she have the right to treat him like this? And yet ... It was his fault. She forced that belief. She would show him the result, make him suffer some too.
Clay came to the doorway. He paused there for a moment.
"I didn't mean it to be like this," he said.
Joy forced a smile. "Does it matter what way it is, Clay?"
Seeing him standing there, brought back a memory. A fear caught at Joy.
"Tell me, what are you trying to prove?" he asked.
"Nothing. It's all quite simple. You want me. I'm here. You think you're any different than Bart McLane? He wanted me and was willing to pay." Joy snapped the words at him harshly. Then she was sorry. The hurt in his eyes was genuine. It was there only for a moment. Anger replaced it as he strode across the room and stood over her.
Joy smiled up at him. She let her eyes trace the ribbon of black hair that started at his navel and spread across his broad chest. Clay was even more handsome than she remembered. For some unaccountable reason, she felt a tingle creep up her spine.
"Well?" she said.
He didn't move.
She reached with her hand and ran her fingers up his thigh, pausing and then moving on to the top of his shorts.
She tore them free and laughed, again. "You used to be more anxious," she taunted.
Her careful plans to hurt him, ridicule him lost meaning in the fire of his lips, the hot tormenting flames, the dart of his tongue between her teeth.
The pressure of his mouth lifted her higher and higher, up and up.
"Clay!" She sobbed out his name, nothing more.
Arching, she sought to engulf him, hold him tighter and tighter. Her legs rose, spread to receive the luxury of his manhood. There was hurt, still a tenderness from Paris and the hoodlums, but it lost meaning in the rapture.
Suddenly, Joy was back in Havenhurst and nothing had ever happened to her. He shuddered and it was over, but she wouldn't let it be. Urging, crying out, she demanded more, and he complied.
The yearning flowered anew in her body. She trembled violently as his mouth caressed her breasts, re-igniting the fires.
The sharp burning pain in her ribs went unnoticed. The wild ecstasy became a song, a lilting wonderful song. Lifting, pleading with her body, Joy fought for fulfillment. Crazy thoughts raced through her mind.
Clay was a man. This was not Vicky or Janine offering promises of the unknown. Her hips rotated, the tempo increasing, her body challenging his.
Then, it came, an explosion that lifted her almost off the bed. It was far greater than any thrill she had ever known, greater than the memories of Clay back home. And she knew why. Suddenly, she knew. Before it was a girl and boy seeking stolen moments. Now, Clay was a man and she was a woman.
Joy wondered if this was the love she had taunted about, told him she didn't know.
Contentment flowed through her and she couldn't stop. Twisting and churning, she forced the pace, her hips a blur of speed. She didn't want it to end. A tiny fear caught at her as she felt Clay shudder, but the respite was only for a moment."
Joy felt the moist sweat on his back as they rose again to orgiastic heights.
The tides of ecstasy flowed and ebbed at last. Exhaustion finally called a halt, and they lay back.
Clay kissed her lips gently. "Tell me you don't love me now."
Joy stared into his eyes. "Clay, I ... I ... " The words wouldn't come. She felt tears in the back of her eyes. It wasn't supposed to be like this. Why wasn't she laughing, telling him the things she had planned to tell him?
"Tell me you are in love with me," he demanded. "Admit it."
Joy nodded.
"Things haven't changed, Joy. The place, the time, maybe, but nothing else. I was a fool back home. I didn't have brains enough to see what was there all the time. Thank God, I've come to my senses. I guess something more powerful than either of us arranged all this.
"It couldn't be just luck that you happened to be brought to my hospital."
Joy stared into his eyes for a moment, then looked away. She tried to control the tears but they came anyway, drifting down her cheeks.
"Hey, this is no time to cry," Clay said. "This is a beginning, not an ending."
"Beginning, Clay? Beginning of what? We have been all through this once before. I couldn't again."
"Now what is that supposed to mean. You admit you love me. And I love you. What else matters?"
"You're forgetting Bart."
"Hold on. You don't understand. I want to marry you."
Joy forced a tremulous laugh. "You must know how impossible that is. You're a doctor. Doctors don't marry women like me."
"This doctor is going to. You think I give a damn about what's past and done with. It's my life and yours. We have a few lost years to make up for. That's all that's important."
Joy shook her head. "You think that now, but we're not alone on some desert island. I was Bart McLane's woman. The papers will have it. They're bound to play it up."
Clay laughed. "You think I haven't thought of that? How long? A few days, maybe a week. McLane is dead. The minute something else hits the headlines, all this will be forgotten. I'm talking about a lifetime, Darling, not a few days."
It isn't something we can forget. It did happen."
"All right. Damn it, it happened. So did that night back in Havenhurst. We're both grown up. There are some things we have to live with. I'm asking you to take a chance with me. What does it take to lick a past. If we love each other and believe in that love, nothing can beat us. I want you. And I won't take no for an answer." Clay paused to catch his breath. "I finish interning in a couple of weeks. I already have a job up in New England. It's not much, only a small town. I'm replacing a doctor who is retiring."
"I ... I would like that," Joy said. "But ... Oh, I don't know, Clay."
"I do. And it will work out. I'm not offering you the moon. It isn't going to be easy."
Clay went on. "A man has to have a wife. In a small town, a doctor works day and night. I'm asking you because I need you. There are no bright lights or other doctors to look after things. You and I, Joy, you and I against the world. Maybe, that sounds corny, but it happens to be true. People who need help don't look at pasts, or even think about them. It's now that counts. And that's the way it is with you and me. Now." His fingers brushed aside her tears. "Now, Darling," he whispered.
"I ... I've seen the bright lights, Clay," Joy said.
He kissed her. It was answer enough. Then, touching her, caressing the satiny smoothness of her breasts, he wanted love.
Joy felt the strength of his arms tightening around her. In a way, it might prove a prison but she didn't care. It was a nice prison, one she didn't want to ever escape from. The touch of his hands rekindled a desire. The flames ignited. And this time, from the start, there was no thought of revenge. She was home, home at last.
She accepted him, accepted everything he had to offer and sought more. It was so wonderful, so glorious.
Joy knew what love really was, then. And when it ended and she looked at Clay, the past seemed only a fading memory. Perhaps some day she would tell him about Vicky and Janine, but ... Well, the time would come.
She felt alive, so much alive after so long in the void of indecision. It was a nice feeling. She curled up in the cradle of Clay's arms and closed her eyes.