I could show you my Europe ..." Harris broke off with a sigh of annoyance. "Damn! I think Grady is drunk enough to start becoming obnoxious. Wait for me, will you, love? I'm going to have to rescue Carol."
It must be getting very late. She ought to go back home and get some sleep-or at least call and leave a message with the electronic voice ... Anne didn't know whether she felt sick or wanted to giggle. Imagine Mrs. Preakness's cold-sober New England face if she came back like this! Oh dear-I think I'm getting quite drunk. Maybe Harris will have to rescue me next. Or will he take advantage of me instead?
Thank God Craig wasn't here to look disapproving and disgusted. Why was it that whenever she had too much to drink she always felt sick instead of happy or sexy like everyone else? Defiantly, Anne finished her latest martini, frowning down into the empty glass while she wondered if she should ask for another.
The glass was taken away from her. She looked up to protest, her head moving in slow motion, and was almost sober again with the shock of meeting Webb's eyes.
When had he come up behind her? Why couldn't she react normally and tell him to go to hell, that she was only waiting here for Harris to finish rescuing Carol ... ?
"You look like you've had enough, Annie. Why didn't you stick to something safe like ginger ale?"
He had no right to sound so sarcastic. Nor to pull her off her safe perch on the bar stool as if he owned her, so that she fen against him. He shouldn't be here at all-she had just blotted him out of her mind. Angrily, she struggled against the pressure of his arm, thwarted by her own treacherous senses as much as by his strength. "What do you think you're doing, anyhow? You can't just .. ." She finished on a note of desperation: "You haven't even asked me if I want to go with you, damn you!"
Abruptly, he swung her around so she was facing him, his hands rough on her arms, his voice hard and full of tamped-down fury that she didn't understand. There was a long scratch down the side of his face that she didn't remember How.
"All right, damn you, Annie! Why do you think I'm here? I'm not used to asking, but I will, if that's what you must have. Come back with me to my room. I want to make love to you again. I want more time with you, Annie, so I can try to figure you out, and maybe try to understand at the same time what the hen kind of hex you've put on me
.. ."
His voice, softening, roughening, made Anne suddenly oblivious of who might be watching them. Her whole body started to shake when he held her against him and kissed her.
"You can't pretend it isn't there for you too, Annie-love ..." She made one last-ditch attempt to save herself from complete capitulation.
"Why me? There's Carol-and Tanya ..."
"Shut up, Annie. There's you. And are you coming with me or not?"
He wouldn't ask her again. She knew that, and she went with him, her fingers laced with his; feeling herself taken over and not even caring any longer. The half-hearted protests she Continued to make were the merest token, a salve for her pride.
"Harris-I promised him I'd wait ..."
She caught a glimpse of sheened gold as Webb slanted dangerously lazy eyes at her. "You supposed to be Harris Phelps's date tonight?"
"No-but I-I really should thank Carol, too, I can't just walk off without ..." Why couldn't she finish her sentences? She stammered like an awkward teen-ager and hated herself for showing her weakness so obviously.
She felt Webb's fingers tighten over hers for an instant and wondered wildly whether he would leave her now-standing there in the middle of the still-crowded room. But instead, surprising her, he gave a short laugh. "You're a well-brought-up kid, aren't you, Annie? So okay-let's go say good-night to Caro and good old Harris."
Lengthening his stride, he pulled her through the room of staring faces, and Anne became miserably aware of half-finished conversations and speculative whispers that followed
It must be getting very late. She ought to go back home and get some sleep-or at least call and leave a message with the electronic voice ... Anne didn't know whether she felt sick or wanted to giggle. Imagine Mrs. Preakness's cold-sober New England face if she came back like this! Oh dear-I think I'm getting quite drunk. Maybe Harris will have to rescue me next. Or will he take advantage of me instead?
Thank God Craig wasn't here to look disapproving and disgusted. Why was it that whenever she had too much to drink she always felt sick instead of happy or sexy like everyone else? Defiantly, Anne finished her latest martini, frowning down into the empty glass while she wondered if she should ask for another.
The glass was taken away from her. She looked up to protest, her head moving in slow motion, and was almost sober again with the shock of meeting Webb's eyes.
When had he come up behind her? Why couldn't she react normally and tell him to go to hell, that she was only waiting here for Harris to finish rescuing Carol ... ?
"You look like you've had enough, Annie. Why didn't you stick to something safe like ginger ale?"
He had no right to sound so sarcastic. Nor to pull her off her safe perch on the bar stool as if he owned her, so that she fen against him. He shouldn't be here at all-she had just blotted him out of her mind. Angrily, she struggled against the pressure of his arm, thwarted by her own treacherous senses as much as by his strength. "What do you think you're doing, anyhow? You can't just .. ." She finished on a note of desperation: "You haven't even asked me if I want to go with you, damn you!"
Abruptly, he swung her around so she was facing him, his hands rough on her arms, his voice hard and full of tamped-down fury that she didn't understand. There was a long scratch down the side of his face that she didn't remember How.
"All right, damn you, Annie! Why do you think I'm here? I'm not used to asking, but I will, if that's what you must have. Come back with me to my room. I want to make love to you again. I want more time with you, Annie, so I can try to figure you out, and maybe try to understand at the same time what the hen kind of hex you've put on me
.. ."
His voice, softening, roughening, made Anne suddenly oblivious of who might be watching them. Her whole body started to shake when he held her against him and kissed her.
"You can't pretend it isn't there for you too, Annie-love ..." She made one last-ditch attempt to save herself from complete capitulation.
"Why me? There's Carol-and Tanya ..."
"Shut up, Annie. There's you. And are you coming with me or not?"
He wouldn't ask her again. She knew that, and she went with him, her fingers laced with his; feeling herself taken over and not even caring any longer. The half-hearted protests she Continued to make were the merest token, a salve for her pride.
"Harris-I promised him I'd wait ..."
She caught a glimpse of sheened gold as Webb slanted dangerously lazy eyes at her. "You supposed to be Harris Phelps's date tonight?"
"No-but I-I really should thank Carol, too, I can't just walk off without ..." Why couldn't she finish her sentences? She stammered like an awkward teen-ager and hated herself for showing her weakness so obviously.
She felt Webb's fingers tighten over hers for an instant and wondered wildly whether he would leave her now-standing there in the middle of the still-crowded room. But instead, surprising her, he gave a short laugh. "You're a well-brought-up kid, aren't you, Annie? So okay-let's go say good-night to Caro and good old Harris."
Lengthening his stride, he pulled her through the room of staring faces, and Anne became miserably aware of half-finished conversations and speculative whispers that followed
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