by Susan Kyle
It wasn’t as difficult as he’d imagined. By listening to the sounds she made and following her reactions, he discovered what pleased her best. He eased her back against the pillows and discovered her body with more pleasure than he’d ever experienced in his life. There was a sweet, warm smell to her skin, her own perfume. She tasted of woman. He drew his face against her stomach and caught his breath when she began to plead with him.
He knew what she wanted. He wanted it, too. His body was taut with anguished hunger, but he didn’t really know what to do beyond the obvious.
He slid between her legs and kissed her eyelids, so that the thick lashes came down over her wild eyes. His lips eased over her mouth, and one lean hand slid under her thigh, gently lifting her hips. He moved, settling on her, and began slowly to penetrate her body.
She stiffened and made a sound. She shuddered. Her breathing stopped. He lifted his head quickly and looked into her dilated eyes. He felt her nails stabbing into his arm and was afraid that she was remembering what had been done to her long ago.
“Are you frightened? I can stop, even now, if you want me to,” he whispered unsteadily. Although his body hurt from having to hold back, he would have borne the pain for her sake. “The choice is yours. It always will be.”
“Oh, I don’t… want you to stop, Nelson,” she gasped. “You don’t understand. I…” She flushed and bit her lip. “It wasn’t fear…” She couldn’t find the words. Instead she lifted her hips and pushed upward in a soft, tender rhythm. She gasped and her teeth clenched. “It’s… that!” She cried out and shivered.
“My God, is it hurting? Is that it?” he asked in anguish.
“No!” She caught his mouth and dragged it down onto hers while her hips writhed under his. “Nelson… don’t you know… what’s happening to me?” she groaned.
She whispered to him, finally, embarrassment giving way to exasperation. She arched and shivered, and he looked as if he’d just been given the crown jewels.
“For the love of heaven!” he exclaimed, astonished.
Through her violent satisfaction she began to laugh. “I never dreamed…!” She cried out again.
Neither had he ever dreamed of such pleasure. But he couldn’t get the words out. He drove for his own fulfillment, finally convinced that whatever he was doing to her, it wasn’t painful. He pushed down, hard, and convulsed. His body flew into the sun, splintered into rays of exquisite pleasure, in the first complete fulfillment he’d ever known.
When he collapsed on her, Mirri was still riding the clouds. She shivered one last time and gave up the greedy search for even more satisfaction than he’d already given her. She clung to him, her mouth touching his shoulders, his throat, his chin. She shivered with him in the glorious aftermath.
“I thought you didn’t know what to do,” she whispered when they were lying together quietly.
“I didn’t. I must have gotten by on instinct.” He chuckled, delighted with himself. He stared at her with such arrogant pleasure that she hit him. “Damn it, I’m good,” he murmured, trying not to sound too conceited. “And here I thought I was killing you.”
“So did I for a few seconds.” She laughed and kissed him softly. “It felt like death, but it was sweet and heady, and I want it again and again and again.”
“So do I.” He lifted himself above her and joined his body to hers in one smooth motion, smiling at her look of surprise. “I think we’re going to discover that I’m one of those rare fellows who can go all night,” he murmured. “I always thought I might be, with the right woman.”
She smiled through her building excitement, gasping when he began to move. “I’m glad that I’m the right woman, Nelson!”
“No nightmares?” he whispered.
“No. Not ever… again. Not with you.”
“Good.”
“You have to marry me now,” she whispered as she lifted to him.
His heart felt as if it might burst from happiness. “As soon as it’s daylight,” he promised, smiling as the pleasure built. “Did you buy me a ring?”
“Of course I did.” She laughed, panting now from the exertion and the joy of belonging to him. “Do you want me to get up and look for it?” she asked innocently.
“Not right away.” He drew his body against hers from side to side and watched her groan and shudder. “I’m glad you like that, because I like it, too.” He brushed his open mouth over hers. “I love this with you. I love every… second of it!” he groaned as he began to lose control.
“So… do I!”
“Oh, God, Mirri…!”
His voice broke, and as his lean body arched down in a fierce rhythm, she began to cry. The poignancy of it was beyond bearing. She felt as if she were shooting among the clouds, a firefly being tossed against the sun and wind. She felt herself become one with the universe, one with the blazing sun and sky and sea. She was an empty vessel, being filled with the sweetest substance in the world.
“Nelson!” She hadn’t dreamed anything could be so awesome. She did, in fact, lose consciousness.
An eternity later, a worried Nelson bathed her face with a cool cloth held in trembling hands.
“Oh, my God, I thought I’d killed you,” he whispered when her huge, wet eyes opened. “Really killed you!”
“I’m not dead,” she murmured drowsily, and reached up to kiss him. “But I’ll bet you just made me pregnant.”
The cloth stilled in his hand, and he looked incredibly radiant. “Do you think so?” he whispered.
She did, although she had no idea how or why. She smiled up at him with awe. “You don’t mind? Would you like a baby, so soon?”
“I’d like a baby anytime, with you,” he murmured adoringly. He wrapped her up against him, unembarrassed by his nudity or his vulnerability. “I love you, Mirri,” he whispered. “All the way to the grave.”
Her eyes closed. She knew that already, but it was nice to hear it. “I love you, too. I’m hungry.”
“We just had dinner,” he pointed out.
“That was hours ago.”
He looked at the clock, and his eyebrows levered up. “My God! It was hours ago!”
“Didn’t you realize how long we’d been in here?” she murmured. “Why, Mr. Stuart!”
He managed to look indignant through his grin. “I was seduced,” he accused. “Seduced and compromised.”
“You don’t have a thing to complain about,” she reminded him. “I’ve bought the ring and I proposed to you. And if you get pregnant, I’ll stand by you,” she added, placing a firm hand over his heart.
He grinned. “If I get pregnant, you sure as hell will.”
She nuzzled her nose against his. “You aren’t planning on going home?”
“No,” he mused. He turned her into his arms with a long sigh and tucked her close to him. “Because I am home, right here.”
“So am I.” She closed her eyes and smiled against his chest. When she slept, there were no nightmares. This time she dreamed of babies.
Ward Johnson was just getting home. He’d been at the office with Dora. It was sweet, being with a woman who wanted just him and not what he couldn’t give her.
“So there you are. It’s about time,” Gladys said sourly, swaying a little as she came into the room. She was wearing a see-through blue gown, but there was nothing under it that would interest her husband.
“I’ve been working,” he began.
“Sure you have,” she agreed, her pale blue eyes flashing at him. “Working on some woman. Who is it this time?”
“I don’t have other women,” he lied wearily.
“I wouldn’t care if you did,” she muttered. “You’re a loser, Ward. That’s all you’ll ever be. A no-account little pencil pusher with no ambition. Someday they’ll tip you right out into the street.”
“Go to bed,” he said.
“Want to come with me?” she teased, striking a seductive pose. “Even if you did, I wouldn’t let you. You’re a real bu
st in bed, honey. A nothing.”
He could have told her that Dora found him exciting and satisfying, but that would only make things worse.
His life had become bearable since he’d been seeing Dora. But the minute he walked in his own front door, it all fell apart. He was sick to his stomach of what passed for his marriage.
“Why don’t you get help?” he asked curtly. “See a doctor. Join Alcoholics Anonymous…”
“I don’t have a problem,” she murmured, and smiled at him. “You have the problem. And I’m it. Why don’t you kill me?”
He hated the thought that flashed through his mind. He turned away. “Where’s Scotty?”
“I don’t know. He went off with some people.”
“He’s on drugs,” Ward said harshly. “Don’t you care?”
“It makes life with you bearable, why shouldn’t he use it?” she asked with laughing sarcasm. “If you cared, you’d stay home at night. You don’t give a damn about Scotty. You never even wanted him!”
“I never thought he was mine,” he corrected. “You’ve had half a dozen men since we married…”
“To get the taste of you out of my mouth!” she threw back. “I hated you. I still do!”
“Then why don’t you get out!?”
She swayed a little more and began to laugh. “You ruined my life. Why should I do anything to please you? I like the way we live. I like watching you suffer. You’re too damned honorable to leave me. You’d feel guilty if you threw me out. No, you’re stuck, honey. Stuck, stuck, stuck. Like a fly in flypaper.”
She laughed even louder. He pushed past her and went to the guest bedroom where he’d stayed since Scotty’s birth sixteen years before. When he closed the door, she was still laughing.
The next morning at work, Ward managed to maneuver around Amanda long enough to get a word with Dora.
“Can you stay tonight?” he asked her.
She gnawed her lower lip worriedly. “I don’t know. Edgar doesn’t like my staying out past dark. Oh, he doesn’t suspect anything,” she whispered. “But he’s worried that something might happen to me.”
“Something might all right,” he murmured dryly, and reached out to caress her full breast.
“Stop that!” She slapped his hand away playfully. “I’ll stay, but the boys have to be picked up from baseball practice at seven.”
“Okay.”
He slipped back out. Amanda looked worn out, he noticed in passing, and wondered if she was seeing someone. But that was none of his business. As long as she didn’t interfere in the way he ran the paper, or get between him and Dora, he wouldn’t disturb her.
Amanda went back to her desk, glancing disinterestedly at a flushed Dora. She sat down at her desk and began combing through the classifieds for ads to mark and charge out. She had raised the advertising and printing prices without consulting Ward. She’d simply made up new rate cards and had Lisa set them and slide them in. None of the advertisers or old printing clients had complained so far, and Ward hadn’t noticed.
She wondered if he’d noticed anything. He seemed to spend most of his time watching Dora and working late, although Amanda would bet he wasn’t working. His distraction had made lots of minor changes possible. By working behind his back—the only course open to her, although she hated having to do it—she was slowly raising the efficiency of the business. He’d remarked that making up the paper certainly seemed easier. She hadn’t told him about the changes in procedure she’d initiated. She’d only smiled slyly and remarked that she didn’t notice anything different at all. She’d noticed that Lisa quickly left the room, hiding a smile.
Amanda met Brad for coffee later in the day. He’d already been to Las Vegas to make his peace with Donner.
“Well, I’m off the hook,” he said wearily, smiling at her in his old irrepressible way. “Donner agreed to accept thirty-five hundred a month as a ‘friendly gesture to Lawson, Inc.’ Jake, our controller, is arranging it so that the payments are made straight out of my salary.”
“Good for you!” Amanda exclaimed. “I knew you’d find a way.”
“I’m glad you did. I wasn’t sure.” He hesitated. “Amanda, I’ve done a lot of thinking about addiction lately. You were right. I’m not going to solve this problem by denying I have it. I talked to Jake about a clinic. He told me that Josh had already okayed the funds for it, anytime I got my head together and asked. So I asked.”
She knew what courage it must have taken for him to admit he had a problem and get help for it. Her eyes glistened with pride and delight. “I’m so proud of you I could just burst,” she told him.
He flushed, embarrassed. "At least you were in my corner. Josh never was,” he added with bitterness.
“Wasn’t he? All he ever wanted was for you to admit you needed help and get it. By forcing you to stand on your own two feet, he made you strong, don’t you see? You’ll never have to depend on anyone again.” She frowned. “Well, maybe on the power company for electricity,” she amended.
He laughed. It had been a long time since he’d felt like it. “Maybe on them. I’ll have to make my peace with Josh.”
“That wouldn’t hurt.” She’d heard nothing from Josh, and she missed him terribly. “I suppose Josh is all right?” It was the closest she could come to asking outright.
From the tone of her voice it was obvious she wasn’t even trying to get over Josh. Brad knew she couldn’t help how she felt. Yet he also knew she was making herself miserable.
“Of course Josh is all right. He’s self-sufficient to the bitter end,” he replied tersely. “Ted said he’s in Europe at a conference.” He eyed her cagily. If Amanda could get angry at Josh, maybe she’d be able to forget him. “I hear Terri’s getting a divorce,” he lied glibly.
Amanda wanted to die. The knowledge that Josh might even now be with Terri made her sick. Had she gone with him to Europe?
She forced her chin up and even smiled. “Is she? How nice for her. Tell me more about this clinic, Brad.”
He did, hating himself for lying to her, even by default, but he’d begun to believe he was doing her a favor. After he returned from the clinic and Amanda got over Josh, anything could happen. If she wanted control of the damned newspaper, he’d help her get it. All he wanted in the world now was Amanda.
CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN
The Chamber of Commerce held its luncheon on the third Tuesday of the month. Ward Johnson never attended, even though the newspaper was a member, but Amanda went.
She wore a nice pale green silk suit with a matching scarf around her neck, and she looked every inch the professional. She introduced herself to the other members as they arrived, making sure she knew their names and places of business.
By the time lunch was served, she was on a first-name basis with two of them and competing openly for their printing business. She went back to the office afterward feeling quite pleased with herself. It might not be a bad idea, she thought, to join some other civic organizations and get to know their members.
She mentioned to Ward, very casually, that a couple of the chamber’s members had asked her about their printing prices. She’d given them a rate card, she added.
He scowled, pausing as he cut up a column of copy to paste it onto the makeup sheet with hot wax. “We don’t have a rate card,” he said.
“Yes, we do. Don’t you remember?” she murmured, hiding her eyes as she lied through her teeth. Again. “I asked you a few weeks ago if I could have Tim print one and you said yes.”
He scowled harder. He didn’t really remember that at all.
“It was about the same time you agreed that we could change our paper supplier and sell off those old flats of paper.”
“I did that?”
“Oh, yes. And you said Lisa could do some soliciting for the print shop when she wasn’t setting type… Don’t you remember the three new customers we got last week for brochures and flyers?”
“I remember the new custome
rs,” he said slowly.
“You were going out to lunch when I talked to you about those things,” she persisted.
Out to lunch. With Dora. He smiled dreamily and glanced across the room to where Dora was running out headlines in the developing tank. “Oh. Sure. I remember.”
Amanda was delighted. She was taking over his operation right under his nose, and he was too smitten with their new employee to even notice.
She went back to her bookkeeping. So far, so good. She was already noticing a difference in revenue, just from the few changes she’d managed to slide by him. Now she wanted to up the quality of their work in the job press, to go into real competition with the other print shops in the metro area of San Antonio. Some of them were cut-rate, some were sloppy. If she could keep their prices competitive and their work above average in quality, they could get even more business.
Tim, when he listened to the modifications, whistled softly. “We’re doing good business with the copier, now that you have it working right. But for the kind of printing you’re talking about—four-color jobs—you need a quality typesetter. You can’t afford mistakes on that sort of job. Lisa’s good, but she averages several errors per page. And some of them,” he added, showing her a copy of a recent newsletter they’d printed, “don’t get caught before they’re processed. I’m too busy, and she can’t catch her own typos.”
There were red lines through the errors and a note from the client saying that he expected correction lines he’d marked to be put in before jobs were printed. Amanda had already discussed this with Lisa, and she said so. They needed someone to do nothing but job-work typesetting, while Lisa sold ads. The girl was a whiz; she’d already brought in two new advertising accounts for the paper in addition to the three printing job customers.
“How about Addie Wright?” he asked suddenly. “She works for old man Tellman’s ad agency. She used to set type here about ten years ago. She’s the best. We might coax her into some Saturday work. You know, correcting Lisa’s copy and even setting more.”