Read Online Forever by Margaret Pemberton - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Margaret Pemberton
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glared malevolently at Bradley. But Bradley was indifferent, and, bidding Gussieâs father goodnight, ushered her into his Thunderbird, not even bothering to remark on her appearance.
Gussie seethed and vowed to hold on to her anger. She did, but it had no effect. Bradley was obviously intent on having a good time, whether she was or not. There were friends of his at the club that she had never seen before. Friends far more sophisticated than she had anticipated. There were women too. Beautiful and sleek, and there was no mistaking the reaction when their eyes rested on Bradleyâs dark good looks. It was nice to be the object of so much female envy.
Despite herself, Gussie began to enjoy the evening.
By the time it was 3 a. m. and Bradley was saying goodbye to the friends they had joined, Gussie was reluctant to leave. Bradley merely shrugged and propelled her out into the sultry night air. By the time he got Gussie home and indoors, it would be four. He didnât want to push his luck with Charles Lafayette too far.
âThat music was just great,â she said dreamily as they sped down Bourbon Street and out of the French Quarter. âDo you go there often?â
âEnough.â
She slid her eyes across at him in the dark. There was a negligence about Bradley that was intensely arousing. He had made no effort to attract the attention of the girls who had flocked around him. He was making no effort with her now. He was not heading out to the darkened lakeside as any other escort would have done. She had a strange feeling that he was not even going to attempt to kiss her goodnight. Looking at his mouth as the car flashed beneath the streetlights, she felt a surge of disappointment. There was no hint of cruelty about it, as there had been about Beauâs. No hardness. Bradley smiled easily and often and yet the sensuality was undeniable. She wondered what it would be like to kiss him, and then clenched her hands tightly in her lap. How could she think such things with Beau only dead a month? Hadnât she vowed to grieve for him until the day she died? The Thunderbird turned into the oak-lined driveway of her home and she suppressed a sigh. Secretly, though she wouldnât admit it to anyone but herself, there were moments that she forgot Beau. Tonight she hadnât thought of him for hours. Until now.
Bradley turned to her as he halted the car. Gussie stiffened. Now she would have the pleasure of proving her fidelity.
âGoodnight, Gussie,â Bradley said, a hint of laughter in his voice as he walked round and opened her car door for her. âThanks for a nice evening.â
Gussie was nonplussed. That had been her line, delivered archly and coldly, rocketing him to disappointment because he had been cheated of a goodnight kiss. Feeling slightly foolish she stepped on to the gravel.
âBe seeing you,â he said, and as she walked up the steps to the bronze-hinged mahogany door, he waved casually, got back into his car and sped away as if he had been depositing a parcel.
Gussieâs cheeks flamed with angry colour. He hadnât even attempted to kiss her. He hadnât even held her hand. What kind of boy was he? She flounced up to her room and savagely began lathering her face with cleansing cream. He wasnât a boy. He was a man. That much was clear by the way every female eye had been drawn to him at the jazz club. Then why hadnât he driven her to the darkened lake shore? Why hadnât he attempted to make love to her? Why hadnât he kissed her goodnight? Gussie climbed into bed and stared at the ceiling. He had kissed Mae. Mae had told her so. Mae had said that nothing further had happened, but there was no way Gussie could be completely sure. Why should Bradley want to kiss Mae and not want to kiss her? It didnât make sense.
For the first time in a month she went to sleep with her mind full of someone other than Beau.
It was two weeks before
Gussie seethed and vowed to hold on to her anger. She did, but it had no effect. Bradley was obviously intent on having a good time, whether she was or not. There were friends of his at the club that she had never seen before. Friends far more sophisticated than she had anticipated. There were women too. Beautiful and sleek, and there was no mistaking the reaction when their eyes rested on Bradleyâs dark good looks. It was nice to be the object of so much female envy.
Despite herself, Gussie began to enjoy the evening.
By the time it was 3 a. m. and Bradley was saying goodbye to the friends they had joined, Gussie was reluctant to leave. Bradley merely shrugged and propelled her out into the sultry night air. By the time he got Gussie home and indoors, it would be four. He didnât want to push his luck with Charles Lafayette too far.
âThat music was just great,â she said dreamily as they sped down Bourbon Street and out of the French Quarter. âDo you go there often?â
âEnough.â
She slid her eyes across at him in the dark. There was a negligence about Bradley that was intensely arousing. He had made no effort to attract the attention of the girls who had flocked around him. He was making no effort with her now. He was not heading out to the darkened lakeside as any other escort would have done. She had a strange feeling that he was not even going to attempt to kiss her goodnight. Looking at his mouth as the car flashed beneath the streetlights, she felt a surge of disappointment. There was no hint of cruelty about it, as there had been about Beauâs. No hardness. Bradley smiled easily and often and yet the sensuality was undeniable. She wondered what it would be like to kiss him, and then clenched her hands tightly in her lap. How could she think such things with Beau only dead a month? Hadnât she vowed to grieve for him until the day she died? The Thunderbird turned into the oak-lined driveway of her home and she suppressed a sigh. Secretly, though she wouldnât admit it to anyone but herself, there were moments that she forgot Beau. Tonight she hadnât thought of him for hours. Until now.
Bradley turned to her as he halted the car. Gussie stiffened. Now she would have the pleasure of proving her fidelity.
âGoodnight, Gussie,â Bradley said, a hint of laughter in his voice as he walked round and opened her car door for her. âThanks for a nice evening.â
Gussie was nonplussed. That had been her line, delivered archly and coldly, rocketing him to disappointment because he had been cheated of a goodnight kiss. Feeling slightly foolish she stepped on to the gravel.
âBe seeing you,â he said, and as she walked up the steps to the bronze-hinged mahogany door, he waved casually, got back into his car and sped away as if he had been depositing a parcel.
Gussieâs cheeks flamed with angry colour. He hadnât even attempted to kiss her. He hadnât even held her hand. What kind of boy was he? She flounced up to her room and savagely began lathering her face with cleansing cream. He wasnât a boy. He was a man. That much was clear by the way every female eye had been drawn to him at the jazz club. Then why hadnât he driven her to the darkened lake shore? Why hadnât he attempted to make love to her? Why hadnât he kissed her goodnight? Gussie climbed into bed and stared at the ceiling. He had kissed Mae. Mae had told her so. Mae had said that nothing further had happened, but there was no way Gussie could be completely sure. Why should Bradley want to kiss Mae and not want to kiss her? It didnât make sense.
For the first time in a month she went to sleep with her mind full of someone other than Beau.
It was two weeks before
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