mind.
It was late in the evening before he took his leave. He took her hand in the doorway and held it just a little bit longer than necessary. The subtle but insistent pressure of his fingertips upon the palm of her hand set her trembling against her will. She was actually afraid of him, afraid of a man who could excite her so easily.
What was the matter with her? Perhaps it was true, as her mother had said years ago: she must be a tramp, an insatiable slut who never got enough in the way of loving. Here she was, married to a wealthy and loving husband, coming fresh from the embraces of a rough boor and ready for a fresh go with a friend of Ronald.
What was the matter with her?
No, she decided firmly, she couldnât let Charles make love to her. With a man like the gas-station attendant she was safe: he didnât know who she was and she would never see him again, at least not for a good long while. But Ronald and Charles were friends, and if anything started in those quarters it would be bad for her.
Usually when she made a decision her mind was able to relax. Now, however, things didnât seem to work that way. Although she told herself repeatedly that she wouldnât have an affair with Charles, there was a nagging doubt in the back of her mind as she recalled the look in his eyes and the touch of his hand on hers.
For the second night it a row, it was a long time before she drifted off to sleep.
In a far less imposing room on the other side of town, Danny Rand had his own troubles sleeping. He tossed feverishly on his creaking army cot, trying to concentrate on the problem at hand.
The problem was money.
While he made a good salary running the gas station, Danny knew there was no future working for somebody else, especially in his business. If he could only save up some dough he could buy the station on time from his company, and then the money would start to come in. He lived frugally enough, paying six bucks a week for the hole-in-the-wall of a room he had and taking his lunches with him. But whenever he got a little pile together, something always came up and he blew the dough on some damn thing he hardly wanted in the first place.
It was time for him to settle down and save his money. Christ, in another year he would be thirty, and what did he have to show for it? No money, no home, no wife and no kids. A fat string of zeroes.
The problem was money, and he had to find a way to keep from spending what he managed to save. But he couldnât manage to concentrate on his problem. His mind kept returning to the woman he had met that afternoon, the woman who liked her loving on a grease-room floor. At first, smarting from the way she had left him and patronizingly advised him to keep the change, he had dismissed her as a rich little bitch hunting for kicks.
But she was more than that. The bit in the greaseroom was no act; he ran his finger across his throat and could still feel the tooth-marks where she bit him in a moment of heightened passion. Closing his eyes, he could recall perfectly the shape of her perfect breasts and the slope of her thighs. He remembered the way her skin was all satiny beneath him. She was a beautiful and passionate woman, and although he was no raw schoolboy when it came to dames, this one had him knocked for a loop. He had to admit itâhe was pretty hung up on her.
But what kind of a chance did he have? Those clothes cost plenty of money, and the MG wasnât a toy. She was used to luxury and he sure as hell couldnât give her that. He was just a game for her, someone to satisfy her when she needed loving. She didnât care any more about him than about a meal she had already eaten and digested.
Forget her, he advised himself. Keep on working and save your money and marry one of your own kind, a gal who doesnât expect a mansion and servants.
But he couldnât put her out of his mind. Christ, he didnât even know her name! He had to find out who
It was late in the evening before he took his leave. He took her hand in the doorway and held it just a little bit longer than necessary. The subtle but insistent pressure of his fingertips upon the palm of her hand set her trembling against her will. She was actually afraid of him, afraid of a man who could excite her so easily.
What was the matter with her? Perhaps it was true, as her mother had said years ago: she must be a tramp, an insatiable slut who never got enough in the way of loving. Here she was, married to a wealthy and loving husband, coming fresh from the embraces of a rough boor and ready for a fresh go with a friend of Ronald.
What was the matter with her?
No, she decided firmly, she couldnât let Charles make love to her. With a man like the gas-station attendant she was safe: he didnât know who she was and she would never see him again, at least not for a good long while. But Ronald and Charles were friends, and if anything started in those quarters it would be bad for her.
Usually when she made a decision her mind was able to relax. Now, however, things didnât seem to work that way. Although she told herself repeatedly that she wouldnât have an affair with Charles, there was a nagging doubt in the back of her mind as she recalled the look in his eyes and the touch of his hand on hers.
For the second night it a row, it was a long time before she drifted off to sleep.
In a far less imposing room on the other side of town, Danny Rand had his own troubles sleeping. He tossed feverishly on his creaking army cot, trying to concentrate on the problem at hand.
The problem was money.
While he made a good salary running the gas station, Danny knew there was no future working for somebody else, especially in his business. If he could only save up some dough he could buy the station on time from his company, and then the money would start to come in. He lived frugally enough, paying six bucks a week for the hole-in-the-wall of a room he had and taking his lunches with him. But whenever he got a little pile together, something always came up and he blew the dough on some damn thing he hardly wanted in the first place.
It was time for him to settle down and save his money. Christ, in another year he would be thirty, and what did he have to show for it? No money, no home, no wife and no kids. A fat string of zeroes.
The problem was money, and he had to find a way to keep from spending what he managed to save. But he couldnât manage to concentrate on his problem. His mind kept returning to the woman he had met that afternoon, the woman who liked her loving on a grease-room floor. At first, smarting from the way she had left him and patronizingly advised him to keep the change, he had dismissed her as a rich little bitch hunting for kicks.
But she was more than that. The bit in the greaseroom was no act; he ran his finger across his throat and could still feel the tooth-marks where she bit him in a moment of heightened passion. Closing his eyes, he could recall perfectly the shape of her perfect breasts and the slope of her thighs. He remembered the way her skin was all satiny beneath him. She was a beautiful and passionate woman, and although he was no raw schoolboy when it came to dames, this one had him knocked for a loop. He had to admit itâhe was pretty hung up on her.
But what kind of a chance did he have? Those clothes cost plenty of money, and the MG wasnât a toy. She was used to luxury and he sure as hell couldnât give her that. He was just a game for her, someone to satisfy her when she needed loving. She didnât care any more about him than about a meal she had already eaten and digested.
Forget her, he advised himself. Keep on working and save your money and marry one of your own kind, a gal who doesnât expect a mansion and servants.
But he couldnât put her out of his mind. Christ, he didnât even know her name! He had to find out who
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