answer questions?â
âYouâll catch cold if you donât get out of those wet things,â he replied nonchalantly, still sidestepping her queriesâas usual.
He got out of the car, opened her door, and let her go first in the slight drizzle. It was getting dark already, and she was too tired to pursue it.
Her apartment was done in whites and yellows, with oak furniture, Mexican pottery, and a few modem paintings. It was bright and open and sunny, and she had plants growing everywhere.
âIt looks like the damned Amazon jungle,â he observed, staring around him.
âThank you.â She took off her raincoat. âIâll only be a few minutes. Thereâs brandy on the table if you want a drink.â
âIâm driving,â he reminded her.
âIâll, uh, just get changed,â she stammered. He made her feel ridiculously weak. She dodged into her bedroom and closed the door.
It was the first time sheâd ever had a man in her apartment. She was all thumbs while she took a quick shower, washed and dried her hair, and put on a neat gray crepe dress with white collar and cuffs, and shoes to match. She curled her hair into a neat bun atop her head, added a dash of pink lipstick, some powder, and a hint of perfume, and went to join Bowie.
He was standing at her window, looking out, his black eyes narrow and brooding. He turned as she came back, his appraisal electrifying as it slid boldly down her body and back up to her face.
âIs it too dressy?â she asked nervously.
âIâd have said it was twenty years too old for you,â he replied. âYouâre an attractive young woman. Why do you dress like a matron?â
She bristled. âThis is the latest style...â
âNo, it isnât. Itâs a safe style. Youâre covered from neck to calf, as usual.â
Her face was going hotter by the minute. âI dress to please myself.â
âObviously. You sure as hell wonât please a man in that rig.â
âFor which you should be grateful,â she said with a venomous smile. âYou wonât have to fight me off all evening.â
He considered that carefully, his sensuous lips pursed, a faint twinkle in his black eyes as the cigarette smoked away in his hand. âIâve never made a pass at you, have you noticed? What is it nowâeight years?â
âNine,â she said, averting her eyes to the window.
âAnd I know as little about you now as I did that first night,â he continued. âYouâre an enigma.â
âIâm also starving,â she said, changing the subject with a forced, pleasant smile. âWhere are we going to eat?â
âThat depends on you. What appeals to you?â
âSomething hot and spicy. Mexican.â
âFine by me.â He held the apartment door open for her, one of his habits that secretly thrilled her. Aggie had raised him to be a gentleman, and in times when most men left women to open their own doors and lift their own burdens, Bowie was a refreshing anachronism. He was courteous, but not chauvinistic. Two of his executives were women, and she knew for a fact that he had hired a female architect and several female construction workers. He never discriminated, but he did have a few quirksâsuch as insisting on opening doors and carrying heavy packages.
They went to a festive Mexican restaurant just two blocks from Gabyâs apartment, and were given a table on a small patio near a wealth of potted trees and flowers.
âI love this,â Gaby sighed, fingering some begonias in a tub.
âYou and Aggie have this hangup about flowers, Iâve noticed,â he murmured. He laid his cigarette case on the table and glared at it. âI hate damned cigarettes.â
Gabyâs eyebrows lifted. âThen why smoke?â
âI donât know.â
âNerves?â she asked daringly.
He leaned back, crossing
Elizabeth Amelia Barrington