He tossed the washcloth onto the end table. She watched him watching her. Her eyes were very wide now, and she felt quite tense. Here it comes, she thought. He’s going to yank down the quilt. He’s going to paw all over me and push my knees apart. And then he’s going to roughly. . . .
He put his hand on the back of her neck and drew her head forward. His eyes locked on hers, very near. His mouth came close, and he kissed her, a long kiss. There was the slight hint of tobacco and whiskey on his breath. The sensation was not at all unpleasant. Kristin felt her own lips responding to him. She was surprised that he was not rough. He seemed to be taking his time, savoring the experience.
He drew back a little and looked at her, while his hand moved over her face, his fingers gently tracing the line of her cheek, her chin. His hands moved down her neck, over her shoulders to where she held the quilt in front of her, reluctant to part with it. His face drew forward again, and his mouth moved down her throat and over her shoulders.
His hand pulled down the quilt, and he caressed her naked breast. He rubbed it with his palm and fingertips, letting himself linger, enjoying the sensation. He squeezed her breast and her nipple. His hand moved to her other breast, while his mouth moved down to the first, and her nipple became captive of his wet lips. She gasped with the shocking thrill of it. He had her nipple between his teeth and was teasing it gently.
Kristin felt guilty about responding to him, but on the other hand, she could not let herself seem like a naïve amateur. She let her hands move to his head and began running her fingers through his curly, jet black hair.
After a few tender moments of playing with her breasts, teasing her with pleasure, he stood up. She watched him as he undressed. Then he was naked before her, his back straight, arms down at his sides. Though Kristin had prided herself on being sophisticated, the truth was that she had never seen a naked male body. Now the sight took her breath away.
He was so lean and hard and masculine! His shoulders were broad and well-muscled, as were his arms and hairy chest. His stomach was flat, his legs were shapely. And his maleness was potent and erect.
He reached for the quilt, but not the top—the bottom. He pulled it up from the base of the bed until Kristin’s ankles were bared, then her knees and finally her slim, long legs, all the way up to a few inches below her womanhood. He bunched the quilt up there, still covering her essence. He sat down on the bed his hips practically touching her breasts. His hand moved back to touch the inside of her leg, near her knee. Then slowly he moved it along her fair skinned thigh toward her secret, sacred place.
When he touched her there, she shuddered and gasped. He began to rub her gently. A soft moan escaped from her throat. Her eyes were closed, but she opened them when he spoke. “What’s the matter?” he asked. “Don’t you like men?” She saw that he was grinning slightly and that he was referring to the fact that she was not touching him in any way. In fact, her hands were involuntarily clutched together over her breasts, as if she were afraid to let them wander loose.
Gingerly, reluctantly, she moved her hands to his body. She touched his hard, muscular shoulders and moved down over his chest. One hand found his flank and began rubbing over it, and then squeezing it. She surprised herself by the strong urge she suddenly had to do this, to touch him all over and feel the hard leanness of his body.
This was not the way she had expected it. Not at all! It was not the way she wanted it. She did not want to actually respond in any way to this gangster. She had been willing to put on an act, to pretend to respond. But now . . . now she was getting carried away with it beyond her ability to resist. His hand was still playing with her between her legs, and the sensation was pure pleasure and exhilaration. It was maddening, the way he was driving her insane with sensuality, against all her efforts to resist the feeling. And the way her own hands were caressing his hard, beautiful body. It was shameful! But the urge was so irresistible. She had never touched a man’s body like this. Even in her fantasies she had never imagined one could look and feel so ruggedly appealing.
He took her head and moved it close to him, and she found herself kissing him on his bulging muscular arms ... on his chest ... on his nipples, which became hard. Then, when her hand found its way down to his potent maleness and encircled it, she heard him gasp with pleasure. She held him there lightly, feeling an almost electric vitality quivering within him. He ripped away the quilt completely.
She was naked beneath his roving hands, which moved everywhere about her, rubbing, caressing, squeezing. He was becoming hot with passion. His lips moved over her body, wetting her tingling skin with his mouth and tongue, teasing her nipples alive, making her arch her back in reaction to his mouth moving across her flat belly.
She was breathing so rapidly and loudly now that it shocked her. This wasn’t the way she had intended it, not at all! She had meant this to be a sacrifice to accomplish a desired goal. She had expected it to be painful and humiliating. But it was—dare she admit it? —it was turning out to be the most excruciating pleasure she had ever experienced.
He lay her on her back and pushed her ankles up toward her buttocks. He gently pushed her knees apart then and lowered his hips down into her, supporting his upper torso on straight arms.
There was a moment of startlement when he realized she was a virgin. She was looking up at him, and she saw the surprise on his frowning face. He was undecided about whether to continue, she saw. He was on the verge of getting up and calling the whole thing off. But she quickly threw her arms around his shoulders and pulled him down to her. She kissed him passionately on the mouth.
She heard her own voice moaning “Don’t stop . . . please?”
He pressed into her, firmly but not roughly. She screamed as he broke through. He did not move about, but just remained in her fully, while his arms were around her, crushing her against him. After a moment the sharpness of the pain receded, and she was left with a strange feeling of fulfillment and warmth from having him inside her, filling her completely. He began to move in her slowly, deeply, in long, rhythmic thrusts. She felt her hips responding to his rhythm, thrusting against him.
The pleasure became so sharp she did not think she could bear it, but it went on and on. It wouldn’t stop. It was driving her mad! Her head was whipping from side to side, her skin burning up, drenched in sweat. Her breathing was shallow and labored, and each of his thrusts drove a moan from her lips.
And then she looked up at his handsome face, and it was this that drove her over the peak. He was staring at her with such intensity, his eyes half-closed with pleasure. She could read his expression. He seemed to be saying my pleasure is as sharp and unbearable as yours, and it is you that is doing this to me . . . your body that’s torturing me this way.
A volcano of ecstasy erupted deep within her, sending flashes of wild pleasure shooting through her loins. She screamed. He smothered her mouth with his own, kissing her deeply, passionately. Then she heard him moan and felt his body shudder. He held her tightly, as if for dear life.
It took a long moment for the tension in his body to drain away. He lay on top of her, loose and relaxed, making no effort to get up. Kristin was in a dreamy state, feeling the warmth from the last vestiges of ecstasy, which were slowly receding. She was stroking Hunter’s back with her fingers, absently, affectionately.
It took a moment for her to remember who this man was—and what he was. And what he had done to her brother. The realization washed over her like a cold splash of water, stinging her with shame at the way she had responded to him, at the way she had let herself become so ... so caring almost. She pushed at him until he rolled off of her. Then she grabbed for the quilt and pulled it over her to hide her nakedness. Her expression showed her self disgust.
“What’s the matter?” he asked in a concerned voice that was still throaty from the sex.
“Nothing.”
He stared at her a moment but decided against saying anything. He got up and lit a cigarette
. Then he returned to the bed. His back was against the headboard now, as he sat smoking casually. His hand moved toward her, but then it hesitated and dropped down to the bed, still. Kristin sensed that he wanted to stroke her, to caress her, but that he understood somehow her desire to be left untouched. He did not push it.
“You were a virgin,” he said matter-of-factly.
“So?” Her voice was challenging. You want to make something of it, her tone seemed to say.
“If you were a regular sleaze, like some of these others, I could understand it, your wanting to make it with me. But you’re not. And I don’t.” His gaze became penetrating. “So what’s the story with you?”
She pulled the quilt tighter against her breasts. “You don’t think maybe it was your irresistible masculinity that had me dying to see what you were like in bed?” He dragged on the cigarette, exhaled the smoke. “Don’t play games with me, babe. I don’t ask questions just to hear the sound of my voice.”
She had to give him an answer that would be believable, or he would begin searching for other reasons. “I ... I want adventure. Excitement. A life with a lot of action and pleasure and money. That’s why. Does that satisfy you?”
“I’m not sure. You think you can get all that by going to bed with me?”
“Not just going to bed, maybe. But ... by becoming your moll?”
He laughed. “Get an application form from my secretary. Fill it out in triplicate. We’ll get back to you in a month.”
“No, I’m serious. I want to ... to be with you a lot. Often. To be around you and see how you live and, you know, share the life.”
“I think you’re nuts, kid. And the answer is, no.” He got up, pulled a mohair robe from the closet and began putting it on. Kristin watched his beautiful body disappear into the robe. She was surprised at herself for feeling a pang of sadness at seeing it go. He walked around a bit, his face hard with concentration, stealing curious glances at her. Finally he shook his head, giving up on trying to figure her out. He went into the bathroom to shower.
When Kristin heard the shower water come on, she got out of bed and went into the bathroom. She saw him through the frosted-glass shower door. She opened the door and went in.
The hot, steamy water blasted down on her, feeling wonderful. She was facing him, close to him. Her nipples became taut as they brushed against his chest. He stared down at her, angrily at first, as if he had made a decision to not touch her again and was now being forced, against his will, to abandon the decision. Then his arms closed around her, and he crushed her against him. “You damn sexy Sheba. You’re about the most beautiful, most sensual girl I’ve ever known.”
His hands moved all over her body, which was slick with the pouring water. He became erect almost instantly, and he surprised her by putting his hands under her armpits and raising her off her feet. And then right there in the shower, her back against the tiled wall, he pressed into her again. Her feet were dangling inches off the shower floor. The water was spraying over her head and shoulders, and he was moving rhythmically inside her.
She threw her head back and cried out, scratching at his shoulders. The pleasure went on and on, endlessly. . . .
CHAPTER 5
In the morning Dallas Hunter took her to breakfast at a nearby Italian restaurant. The place was clean and quaint with red checkered tablecloths and empty Chianti bottles dangling from the ceiling beams. Sunlight streamed in through the large plate-glass front windows.
Hunter ordered for both of them: scrambled eggs, spaghetti, sausage and buttered rolls. He also ordered kippers for himself, a smoke fish that was an English specialty. He explained that he had picked up a taste for them during the war, when he had been in London.
“A toast,” he said, raising his mug of cappucino coffee. Kristin raised her glass of fresh, cold orange juice. “To our first—and last—meal together,” said Dallas Hunter, clicking his mug against her glass. His dark eyes were penetrating. “After we finish here, I don’t ever want to see you again. Ever. Understand?”
Kristin withdrew her glass and put it down sharply. “But that’s not fair! I want to ... to stay with you. That’s why I . . .” She didn’t finish her sentence. Instead, she said, “Wasn’t I good last night?”
“Babe, good has nothing to do with it. You’re out of your league. That’s got everything to do with it. Being a gun moll isn’t the right life for you. I don’t care about those reasons you gave me last night for wanting to be wth me. I don’t really believe them, but that’s beside the point.”
She started to protest. Hunter cut her short, very firmly. “This isn’t up for discussion. The answer is, no. We’re going to finish our meal here, then we’re going to split up, and I don’t want to ever see you in my club again. Understand?”
She said nothing. She knew argument with him would not work now. But she could not let his decision stand. Her only hope of finding Chad, at the moment, was to work through Hunter. She decided to eat her meal sullenly, in silence, while trying to think of some strategy to get him to change his mind.
When Hunter had first suggested breakfast, Kristin did not think she would be able to eat anything. She assumed she would be too consumed by guilt over her behavior last night. She was surprised, though, to find that her experience of the night before had made her more hungry than usual, not less.
It had been vigorous, and it had awakened needs and desires she had not even known existed in her. And though she hated to admit it to herself, the experience had also satisfied these needs and desires fully, leaving her physically at peace with herself. And famished.
As she hungrily ate her eggs and sausage, she noticed a black limousine pulling up in front of the restaurant. Hunter saw it too through the plate-glass windows and tensed immediately, scrutinizing it. He had the sharp instincts of a man accustomed to living on the edge of danger. The sounds of traffic filtered in from outside.
Hunter relaxed when he saw the lackey in a visored cloth workingman’s cap who came out of the car and poked his head through the doorway of the restaurant, checking to see if it was all clear. Hunter knew the man. The driver nodded to Hunter when he noticed him. Then he returned to the car, giving the all clear to the party within. An instant later, Ironman Gianelli appeared in the restaurant. He came up to their table. “Morning, Dallas. Mind if I sit down?”
Hunter grinned. “What if I did?”
“I’d have you shot, dumped in the river, and then I’d stick Solly in your place to run the club.”
“Sit down, Mike. Glad to have your company.” Ironman grinned back. Nothing like a little light banter with a friend to start the day out right. He turned to the solicitous waiter who had appeared at the table. “Just some coffee.” He patted his stomach affectionately. “Got to cut down on the pasta. You know?”
He straightened his silk tie, looking at Kristin. He made a point of dressing like a dandy, with a silk shirt, chesterfield coat, spats on his shoes. His derby was on the table now, next to the pearl knob topped cane he carried as an affectation. His hair was slicked back, making his broad, mean face appear even more beefy. Kristin had seen his face gazing at her from the front pages of newspapers many times. His eyes were mirthful now as he looked at her. “So was Dallas here scared of you, after all?”
She said nothing. She lowered her eyes down to her plate and continued eating.
Ironman slapped a hand down on the tabletop. “So let’s get down to business. Dallas, you know this raid we been talking about, Rooney’s booze warehouse? Well, I been thinking. The trick is, we got to get someone there on the inside, right? To open the doors and let us in?”
“Unless you want us to shoot our way in.”
“Right. Which is what we don’t want to do, because it’ll just start this whole gang warfare thing right back up again. No, we’re going to teach Rooney a lesson, but if we can, we’re going to do it without any hot lead. So the problem is, how do we get anyone in there without his being suspicious. He knows all
the boys; so that won’t do.”
“You thinking of bringing someone in from outside?” Hunter wiped his hands on a red cloth napkin and pushed his plate away from him, finished.
“Sort of. Even that could be a problem, though. Rooney, he’s a suspicious bastard. You don’t get to his position by trusting people. Even if we wanted to put a man of our own into that warehouse, he’d be suspicious for a long time of any new man. He’d have him watched at first. It’d be a long time before our man would be trusted enough to do us any good.”
“That’s true,” Hunter agreed. “But our man only has to be left alone long enough to open the gates.”
“Well, I got an idea on how we can put someone in there who won’t be watched so closely, who they won’t be so suspicious of, wondering if it’s a plant of ours.” He held Hunter’s interested, questioning stare for an instant. Then his eyes moved to the side and fell on Kristin.
Hunter frowned. “Come on, Ironman! Don’t be ridiculous. She’s just a dame. She’s an outsider. Leave her out of it.”
“She’s an outsider is right. Which is why she’d be exactly the one we’re looking for. Rooney would never suspect a dame. Especially one who, as far as he knows, has got no connections to us.”
“No. I’m against it. I say bring in one of the boys from Philly, instead. At least they know how to handle themselves if something goes wrong.”
“Well, I’m surprised you’re so dead set against it.” Ironman sounded disappointed. “But seeing as how you are. . . .”
“I think it’s a fine idea,” said Kristin, speaking for the first time. They both turned to look at her, surprised. She felt nervous, but she forced herself to volunteer for this mission Ironman had in mind. It was her only chance of staying in the gang, close to Hunter. He intended to put her into a taxi after breakfast and never see her again.
“If you think I can help you out this way,” Kristin said to Ironman, “I don’t mind doing it. It sounds like it can be . . . fun.”
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