Chapter 2
He withdrew from the room as she closed her eyes, indicating, he thought, that she did not want any further conversation. He walked down the long hallway to the stairs, went down them to the first floor hall and to the door of the front room. It stood open, so he entered, after clearing his throat to announce his presence. There was no need for this, as it turned out. The room had no occupants.
He saw a pack of cigarettes lying on a coffee table, picked it up, extracted one and lit it. He looked about the room, noting the expensive-looking furniture again.
"Wonder what the hell is going on here?" he asked himself aloud.
He sat down on the same chair he had used earlier. Fifty bucks a day for doing nothing, plus a place to live is not bad, he thought. I wonder what she really has in mind for me. Why was she so deliberate about showing me her bosom? I never saw a woman like her before.
The thought of her bosom stirred him. He had little doubt in his mind that she had allowed herself to be exposed in that manner for a definite purpose. She had seemed to be testing him; or so he surmised. He recalled how she had looked him over with those large, blue eyes. Her eyes, he thought, can be damned cold at times. He was forced to admit to himself that most of the time her eyes had been friendly, as friendly as could be. The conversation he had had with her seemed to make little sense to him. She had said she wanted to study him for a few days or a week. Study him for what?"
John Deering shrugged, put her out of his mind. He knew he would find out what was happening in this big old house when the time came.
"Hi," a voice said from the doorway.
John turned around, saw Joan Herlick. "Hi," he said, noting she had changed from her black dress to an even more daring one; a white outfit that showed her bare midriff. John looked her over quickly, decided he liked her in this outfit better. The front of it was cut lower than the black one had been. He could see the top halves of her breasts quite easily. Her stomach is very flat and inviting-looking, he thought.
Her skin is tanned nicely. Her navel turns in, too. Pretty.
"We have no servants right now, John. I'm supposed to show you to your room. Will you come with me?"
She turned, walked out of the room, her buttocks swaying back and forth in an enticing way.
"Coming," he heard himself say.
He followed her back down the hall and upstairs. She opened the door of the first room on the left, stepped back, making a mock bow.
"Enter, master," she said facetiously.
John grinned, bowed back to her. He liked a girl to have a bit of humor about her, even the silly kind. Most girls, women, were too serious about things, to his way of thinking.
They entered the room and John looked around at it. It was not as large as Julia Ainsworth's, but it was still a ridiculously mammoth bedroom. Even the bed was large. It was big enough for a guy to take three women to bed....
"I see," she said, "that you are eyeing the bed. Do you like large beds, John?"
"Depends," he said.
She came closer to him. He could smell her perfume again. It was heady stuff, nice.
"Depends upon what, John?" she asked.
"Whether or not I'm alone in it."
"Oh ... do you like sleeping alone, John?"
He looked at her swelling, pointed bosom, smiled. "No. I hate sleeping alone."
"So do I," she said, and came even closer.
What is she doing? he asked himself, baiting me? "Good," he said boldly. "Then perhaps you will be kind enough to-"
"John," she said, interrupting him. "Be careful."
She was now just a foot from him. He wanted to put his arms around her and kiss her, decided it was too early to try it. Play it cool, he told himself-don't rush it. Once again he could smell the scent of her perfume. He inhaled, let the air out.
"Did my aunt tell you about your new job, John?"
He shrugged. "She was vague about it. She wants me to hang around a few days."
Joan Herlick smiled. It was, he thought, a strange sort of smile. "Yes," she said, and said no more at the moment.
"Yes?" he said. "What's 'yes' mean?"
She laughed. "Nothing. Just thinking out loud."
"I like girls who think 'yes'," he said, eyeing her closely.
She laughed again. "And I like a man who likes girls to be like that."
He grinned. "We seem to be getting somewhere," he told her.
She moved away from him at this. "Oh, no we don't," she said. "We can't. My aunt would be furious."
John was definitely interested in the turn of the conversation. "Your aunt would be furious?" he asked. "Why? What about?"
"If she knew we were talking this way, she'd-" But she did not finish it, just looked up into his eyes with her pretty, dark ones.
John felt a stirring inside him. How he wanted to grab her, kiss her, make love to her. Some way or other, he held himself in, but did not like the feeling of restraint. John Deering was not the kind of man who liked to be restrained where women are concerned. Some restraint, yes, but not this much; not this hands-off bit.
"Know something?" he said. "You're a beautiful girl."
She smiled. "Why, thank you, sir. You're not bad-looking yourself. Those nice, pleasant brown eyes, that high forehead. That-oh, there I go, talking too much."
"Tell me more," he said kiddingly.
She shook her head. "I'm supposed to tell you there are clean clothes for you in the closet over there. Julia ... pardon me ... I mean Aunt Julia wanted me to ask you if you would wear them."
John looked down at his own clothes, noting they were badly wrinkled. You can't sleep on a park bench for three nights running without wrinkling clothing.
"All right," he said, feeling like a kept man or something. "I suppose I do need a change. I'd like to take a bath, too."
"The shower room is at the other end ... over there." She pointed at the bathroom door-apparently it was the bathroom, John could not see inside from where he stood.
"Will you wait while I take a shower, Joanie?"
"Hey," she said. "I like to have you call me that. Please keep on with it."
"All right," he said, grinning down at the top of her pretty, dark head. He could see the white part in her hair. It made him feel good, for some reason. "All right," he repeated. "But you didn't answer my question."
"Oh ... I forgot what it was, John."
"Will you wait while I take a shower and change my clothing?"
"Do you want me to, John?" she said, and softly.
He swallowed hard. "Yes. I might be lonesome in this big house without you near."
"Oh, you're kidding me, John."
He laughed. "Just the same, hang around, will you? I want to ... talk to you."
"All right, John. I'll just sit on the bed and wait for you."
Please lie down on the bed, was his thought, but he did not say this. "All right. It won't take me long. I'm a fast shower man."
"I like a fast man," she said suggestively.
"How about you? Are you fast?" he said, feeling bolder about things now.
She smiled. "That's a secret, John. Go take your shower."
He pulled off his coat and shirt and undershirt, started to remove his pants, caught her looking at him, smiled, stepped into the bathroom and completed undressing. He turned on the water, stepped under it. It felt good. He had not taken a shower in four days. He stayed under it longer than was necessary, enjoying himself. He stepped out, finally, dried his strong male body with a Turkish towel. He stood there looking at himself in the mirror for a moment. He needed a shave, found a razor, took care of the matter swiftly.
He started to step out of the bathroom when he realized he had not pulled on his pants yet. He reached for them, missed them. They fell to the floor at his feet.
"Hey," she said from near the doorway, "what a body you've got, John. Were you ever an athlete?"
He stared at her, saw the strange look in her dark eyes, grabbed for his pants, started to pull them on.
"Are you going to spoil it, John?" she asked.
"W-What?" he stammered.
"Leave them off, "she said quickly.
It startled him. "Did I hear you right?"
"Yes. I think you did. I said don't put on your pants, John."
He laughed nervously. "You must be kidding."
She walked away from the door, turning her back to him. He pulled on his pants in a high state of excitement. Her meaning was very obvious. He liked the idea. He could always remove the pants. It would be no trouble at all. Right now, however, he wanted them on. He wanted them on for an obvious reason.
He was sexually aroused and did not care to expose himself at this point. There was just a trace of the shy boy left in him.
He walked into the bedroom. He saw she was closing the door that led to the hallway. She turned around, after locking it. "We must be very careful not make any noise. You know what I mean. My aunt must never know about it."
John moistened his lips; they were excessively dry. She was ready. Fine. So was he.
He stepped over near the bed. "Come here," he said, and was surprised at the huskiness of his voice.
She smiled tightly, walked slowly toward him. "John," she said, stopping momentarily, "do you think I'm terribly bold?"
"No," he said tensely. "I think you're just great."
"That doesn't answer my question." She came closer to him.
"No, I don't think you're bold, as you put it. I think you're ... a passionate girl, nothing else."
"Yes," she said, coming close and putting her arm about him. "Yes, I am very passionate, John."
He put his arms about her, then lifted her chin, looking down at her pretty face. "I want to kiss you," he said simply.
"Please do, John."
"Do you want me to, really?"
She nodded. "Very much, John."
He bent Ins head kissed her lightly on the lips, then withdrew his mouth, feeling the chills running up and down his spine.
"Hey," she said. "That gives me goose-bumps."
He laughed tightly. "It's supposed to, Joanie."
"Give me a few more," she said, looking up at him. her dark eyes glowing. ' "All right. I'll try."
He kissed her lips, held it for a long time, finally pulled away. He saw that her eyes were closed.
"Oh ... John ... I wish I hadn't brought you here," she murmured.
He studied her face. "Why? Why do you say that, Joanie?"
"Because...."
"That's not much of a reason."
"It's not my place to ... tell you, John."
"You mean it's your aunt's affair, the reason I'm here?"
She opened her eyes. "Of course."
"What does she want of me?" he heard himself ask, wishing he would have kept his mouth closed about it.
"You'll find out, John. You may not like it."
"Like what?"
Again she shook her head. "My aunt or uncle will have to tell you that."
"Why," he said, "are we talking about them? Why are we talking at all?"
"I don't know," she said. "Kiss me again ... please?"
"Kiss you?" he said. "I think I'm not going to stop there, just kissing you, Joanie."
She jerked away from him. "What do you mean?" she asked, her face a study.
"I mean," he said, "that you are doing something ... nice to me."
She ran across the room, stopped, turned around. "Oh, no," she said tensely. "We can't. My aunt would find out about it."
"We won't let her," he said, looking at her heaving bosom.
She came back to him slowly. She is a strange girl, he thought. What's going on inside of her? Apparently, she wants me to love her, but is afraid to let go-all the way. He put his arms about her. "I'm going to kiss you, first," he told her.
She looked doubtful. "Don't ... go any ... farther, John ... please ... I won't be able to ... well, you know."
"No," he said. "I don't know. What do you mean?"
She leaned back, looked up at him strangely, pressed her bosom against him. "I mean ... oh, I don't know what I mean." She looked frightened, he thought.
"All right," he said and released her just to see what she would do.
She did the wrong thing, as far as he was concerned. She turned, ran to the door, unlocked it, stepped out into the hallway and closed the door after her.
"I must be a damned fool," he muttered. "What did I do wrong?" One moment she had wanted him to leave off his trousers, had let him kiss her and returned it with passion; the next moment she had changed completely, turned and ran from the room. One thing he knew for certain: He was a vastly disappointed man.