Chapter 6

He looked at her. She went up the steps a bit awkwardly but not very much so. "All right," he said. "You go to your room. I'll see who it is, get rid of them, and come up later."

"Good," she said.

He waited until she had disappeared, then went to the door and opened it. It was the old gentleman, Harvey Ainsworth.

"Hello there, young man. You still here?"

"Yes," John said, and tried to block the entrance.

The old man stepped around him, peered down the hall. "I want to see her, young man. I'm going upstairs."

There was nothing John could do to prevent him short of restraining him physically, which he was not about to try. He stepped out of the white-haired man's way, said nothing.

"She'd better be willing to see me this time, too, young man. I'm getting tired of her avoidance of me."

"She's upstairs, I believe," John said quietly.

"Of course she is. I know that, young man. The point is ... oh, the hell with it. If you see my son, tell him I want a talk with him, too."

The old man walked briskly down the hall and disappeared up the stairs. John stood there momentarily, feeling frustrated again, shrugged finally, walked back into the large room, picked up his drink. He lighted a cigarette, sat down, smoked it, had two drinks, besides the original one. He waited for the old man to come down, but he did not do so. A half-hour passed. John got to his feet, went out to the hallway, peered at the stairway.

Keith Ainsworth was standing at the top of the stairs. He appeared to be listening, but John could not be sure of this. The way he stood, the way he leaned forward, seemed to indicate he was listening to something. A moment later, John saw him turn and walk out of sight.

John stood there for some time. He wondered where Joanie was, if she was in her room yet. He recalled with satisfaction the love scene he had had with her. It had been damned pleasant. Thinking about it made him want her again. He was not a guy who wasted time when he wanted something. Up the stairs he went, stopped at the top, looked down the hall. He strode down in the direction of Joanie's room. As he passed Mrs. Ainsworth's door, he saw the old man standing at the foot of the bed talking to her. She was in the bed, sitting up, apparently listening. John went by the door quickly, not wanting her to see him. He went to Joanie's door, rapped softly. She opened the door almost immediately. She was in her night clothing. He saw she was wearing shorties. She looked nice, lovely.

"John," she said, and bit her lips.

"I'm coming in," he said.

She shook her head. "You can't. You have somewhere else ... to go now."

He felt his face growing warm. "No. I want to come into your room. I have nowhere else to go."

She looked at him closely. "Yes, you have. She just told me a few minutes ago ... before Mr. Ainsworth came."

"Oh, I see," John said. "And what did she tell you?"

"She said ... it was time." John laughed. "I have something to say about that."

"She said you were willing, John." He frowned. "Mrs. Ainsworth," he said, annoyed, "talks too much." She was silent.

"All right," he said. "You don't like hearing an outsider criticizing your family. So what?"

"I didn't say that, John."

"Are you letting me in or not?"

"I want you to, John, but I can't let you."

"Why not?"

Her bosom rose and fell, she sighed. He saw the bold look come into her eyes. He knew she wanted him badly. Neither of them had gotten enough of the other that first time. He stepped into the room all the way, closed the door.

"There," he said. "I'm in. You'll have to scream for help."

She smiled a little. "Who would come to rescue me? There isn't anyone."

He put his arms about her, pulled her close to him. He was ready again. He knew she knew it. She pressed her stomach against him. He pulled her closer still and once again she pressed against him.

"Oh, John," she said softly. "You touch me and I turn into a regular nympho. What is it you have?"

"It's not what I have, it's what you have that does it, Joanie."

She sighed. "But we can't. You have to ... have to...."

"I don't have to do anything, Joanie. I think you know what I mean."

"But she expects you to and if you ... make love to me, you may not be able to love her."

He threw back his head and laughed. This whole bit struck him as being absurd as well as funny.

"What are you laughing about?" she asked, drawing back.

He pulled her against him once more. "Nothing," he said, and picked her up and carried her to the bed. He stood holding her aloft for a moment, then he lowered her gently.

"John ... don't do this thing ... not to her."

"For Pete's sake," he said, exploding a bit, "I'm not under any obligations to her."

"I know. But still-"

"Nuts," he said. "You want to or don't you?"

"Y-yes," she said, and closed her eyes and lay still on the bed.

He was thoroughly aroused. He stripped off her shortie panties, drew them down and off her legs. She crossed one leg with the other, the knee slightly bent, as if to hide her cunt partially. He licked his lips, thought-I'm getting to be a lover-boy. I want it every hour on the hour.

He lay down beside her, ran his hand up her back, let it come to a stop on the small of her back. He rubbed her there for a moment. She moaned, turned on her back, parted her lips, opened her eyes, looked up at him lustfully.

"Hurry, John, please?"

He needed no encouragement. He prepared himself, moved above. She spread her legs, sighed deeply as he thrust at her. He moved slowly for a time, gradually increasing the tempo. Her loins stiffened, she shoved them upward.

"Joanie," he gasped. "I can't get enough of you."

"Nor I ... you," she sighed.

She began a circular motion with her hips and this set him up in great shape. The inner heat of her pussy was tremendously pleasing. It seemed to surround him completely. He thrust at her harder and she cried out from the pleasure of it. He could tell. She wrapped her long legs about his and, closing her eyes, began to moan constantly as he worked.

"Now ... John...." she gasped.

He increased the speed a great deal, stroking hard.

She cried out again.

He felt it happening and, when it did, she pulled his hair so hard it hurt him. He paid no attention to this. Pain was a part of love, wasn't it?

"John...."

He kept it going as long as was necessary, even longer. He finally stopped, lying there above her, savoring the delicious feel of it.

"John...."

He could hear her, of course, but her voice sounded as though it came from some distance away. It was strange. He raised himself, saw her glance over his shoulder, felt her body go rigid.

"John...."

He realized then that it was not Joanie speaking but someone else. He straightened up, turned about, saw Mrs. Ainsworth in the doorway. Her face, he noted, was very white.

"John...." she repeated. "I am very angry with you."

What do you do in a situation like this? You do what John did. You get up from the bed, you calmly rearrange your clothing, you walk to the door, you go past the woman standing there, and you walk to your room and close the door.

Then-if you are John Deering-you go to the bed, you lie down-and laugh your head off.

When he had ceased laughing, he sat up, thought, What a crazy household-you can't make a move around here without someone interrupting you. This thought started him laughing again, which he kept up for several minutes. The look that had been on Joanie's face was enough to ... to ... something or other, he didn't know what. Enough to convulse a guy. Perhaps that was it. And the look on Mrs. Ainsworth's face was enough to cause a guy to double up.

Both of them had been embarrassed more than he had ever seen in his entire life. Probably, he thought ruefully, I should have been, too. Maybe I don't have as much sense as they do.

This started him laughing all over again.

He stopped it when he heard the knock on the door. Oh, brother, he thought-here it comes. She's gonna kick me out.

He got off the bed, went to the door, opened it. Mrs. Ainsworth stood there. She looked at him coolly.

"All right, Mr. Deering. You can take off my husband's clothes, put on your own and clear out. I've had enough of you, I'm afraid."

He studied her. "You don't mean that. Your feelings have been hurt. They shouldn't be. I'm not your husband."

"I'm fully aware of who you are, Mr. Deering, and now I know what you are. I want you to leave immediately."

He shook his head. "Sorry. It's too late. You can't order me around. I won't let you."

"It is my house, not yours."

"No. It isn't my house, but I'm not talking about a building. I'm talking about myself. You can't order me out. Not now. I intend to remain and go through with your little scheme ... your little scheme, I might add, to defraud your father-in-law out of his money."

Her face blanched. "You wouldn't dare tell him that."

He did not want to be rough with her, but a little firmness was in order, now that he had gone this far. "Why not?" he said. "You just said you knew what I was, implying that I'm a scoundrel, so why shouldn't I hold that threat over your head?"

"I'm surprised at you, Mr. Deering, I really am. I did not imply you were a scoundrel, but I see you may be, at that."

"I may be," he said, and grinned at her. "After all, you had me picked up and brought here. You didn't know who I was. For all you know now, I may be an escaped murderer."

Her face went white again. "I wish you wouldn't say things like that. You frighten me."

"Mrs. Ainsworth," he said patiently, "I don't care if you're frightened. Not now, I don't. You just tried to boot me out."

"Well," she flared. "You made me angry. You made a perfect fool out of me."

"How so?" he inquired, raising one brow.

"By ... making love to my niece. You had no right to do that."

"Who says so?" he said, making it sound impudent on purpose.

"I do," she said firmly. "Goodness knows, it was humiliating enough to ask you to do a certain something for me ... but to actually catch you-oh, you made me furious."

"And you're still furious, aren't you, Mrs. Ainsworth."

"Yes, I am," she said fiercely.

He surprised her. He reached out, picked her up in his arms, held her high.

"Put me down," she sputtered.

"I will when I feel like it," he told her.

She struggled, lucked at him, but it was of no use. She seemed to realize this, stopped struggling, "I can't fight you," she complained. "You're much too strong for me."

"Good for you," he said. "Now you're acting like a woman."

"I hate you," she said, spitting the words out.

"No, you don't, Mrs. Ainsworth. You're just angry because you can't order me about."

"Don't be too sure of yourself," she said angrily.

She, he thought, is a strange woman. She is angry at me, but at the same time her eyes are filled with lust for me. She isn't fooling me. She wouldn't think of putting me out of her home. She is only trying to show me that she is boss around here, that I am an intruder, more or less, that I am nothing and she is everything. Well, it won't work. I've seen too many dames like her before. I won't have a dame ordering me around. I suppose that's why I never married. I couldn't put up with some broad getting out of line with me at every turn.

"What are you thinking about, Mr. Deering?" she asked her lips close to his ear.

He noticed most of the spitefulness was gone from her tone. He smiled nicely at her. "I was wondering if I could make up to you a little."

Her eyes grew stormy again. "No, you may not. I wish you'd put me down, Mr. Deering."

"Do you now," he said, making his voice sound like an Irishman in vaudeville.

"What are you-a comedian?" she asked. "Put me down."

"If and when I put you down, Mrs. Ainsworth, it may be on a bed. How do you like that?"

"Oh, you...." she sputtered. "You make me angry."

"Very well. We will now have a brief recess for madame to become angry."

"Why you...."

He laughed. "I've half a notion to make love to you, madame," he said.

"You'd better not try."

"You really shouldn't talk like that to me, you know. I'm bigger than you."

"Put me down!"

"Sorry. I'm not ready to put you down."

She scratched at his face, dug his skin with her fingernails. A bit of blood ran down his face. He looked at her eyes, saw the horror in them, grinned at her. "Aren't you ashamed of yourself, Mrs. Ainsworth, drawing blood like that? What did it accomplish for you?"

"I'm sorry, John," she said, her eyes strange.

"I have never done a thing like that before in my life."

"Don't let it bother you. It doesn't me."

"Aren't you even mad?"

"No," he said. He carried her over to the dresser. "There's some Kleenex in that box. Wipe the blood off my face."

She reached out her hand, got the tissue wiped his face gently. "I don't know what came over me," she said in a small voice. "I just went nuts for a moment."

"Sure," he said. "I know that."

"Who are you?" she said, her tone odd. "Where did you come from? I've never met a man like you before."

"Is that a compliment?"

"I suppose so. I wish you'd put me down. I feel like a child being held up like this for so long."

"My dear Mrs. Ainsworth, I'll put you down when I'm damned good and ready, and not before."

"Who ever told you, you were so all-fired important?" she demanded, kicking at him again.

He held her still. "Stop that," he said. "Those feet of yours are sharp."

He saw the look on her face and instantly was sorry he had said it. He tried to think of something that would assuage her feelings, but nothing would come to mind. He felt like a heel; John did not care for feeling like a heel. He studied her eyes, saw the look of hurt change gradually into something else, he could not tell what. He acted on impulse, kissed her mouth swiftly, drew back, looked at her. There was a slight suspicion of a tear in her eye. She blinked once, stared back at him, grinned.

"I can't figure you out," she said.

"No. I suppose you can't. You're too used to pushing your husband around, aren't you? You can't do that with me and it puzzles you."

She stiffened in his arms. "I don't push him around. There's nothing there to push."

He changed the subject. "Your father-in-law came to see you, didn't he?"

"I don't want to talk about that," she said. "Please ... put me down."

He carried her to the bed, lowered her to it. She lay there looking up at him. She had the strange look in her eyes now. Very strange. She moved over a little, suggestively.