he said with a careless shrug, âjust so long as it belongs to someone else.â
Jessica didnât answer. She tossed some pasta into the boiling water and then remained where she was with the glass in her hand, leaning against the kitchen counter.
She could understand what he was saying. The companionship of married life was never something that had beckoned. Her friends had taken to making dark comments about shelf-life, and intimating that they would arrange a love life for her if she didnât want to do it herself, and she always laughed at their underhand persistence. She simply could not conceive what it would be like to be tied to the cooker, waiting on a man hand and foot. As her mother had done for so many years.
âHow do you feel about the lawsuit?â she asked, changing the subject abruptly. She didnât like it when her mind started wandering down the road of men and marriage and families, even if her response was to deny their importance in her life.
âIsnât that a question I should be asking you ?â he returned, helping himself to more wine and watching her lazily as she began moving around the kitchen, opening drawers, pulling out crockery and cutlery.
She could feel his blue eyes on her and it made her skin tingle. It was a new experience for her. Normally, she had no difficulty in treating men as her equals but now, for some reason, she was acutely aware of her body, her movements, her hair dangling against her back. Her tee shirt was baggy and unrevealing, but she could feel the weight of her breasts beneath it, she could feel her nipples pushing against the thin, silky bra. A thin film of perspiration broke out over her body and when she began setting the table she found that she was purposefully avoiding his gaze.
âI donât think we have a problem,â she said, draining the pasta and tipping the contents of the frying pan into a casserole dish. âWhen do you think Iâll be able to have a look at those drawings?â She put the pasta and the tuna on the table and indicated for him to help himself.
âOh, havenât I mentioned? Ralph Jennings delivered them to me this afternoon. Iâve got them in my briefcase, as a matter of fact.â
âYou have?â She paused and looked at him with surprise. âYou should have mentioned that sooner. We could have gone over them at work.â
âYou can have a look after weâve eaten.â He began helping himself and she looked at him with sudden dismay.
Inexplicably, she didnât want him hanging around after dinner. She had anticipated feeding him and sending him on his way in the minimum amount of time.
âYou havenât got a problem with that, have you?â he asked, glancing up to catch her eye, and she shook her head hurriedly.
âNo. I just feel a little...tired... Iâm not sure Iâll be able to concentrate fully...â
âItâs a drawing,â he - pointed out dryly. âFairly self-explanatory. Itâll take ten minutes for me to run through it with you.â
âYes. Fine,â she said dubiously, sitting down.
âGood. And donât worry about the concentration aspect. Even at half tilt, your brain is better than a lot of menâs Iâve come across in my business dealings.â
âThank you very much for the compliment.â She was certain that there had been a time when she would have been thrilled at what he had just said, but now she had a hollow feeling of disappointment. She supposed that it was akin to being described as âone of the ladsâ. Was that ever a compliment for a woman? Who wanted to be âone of the ladsâ?
For the first time ever, she wondered what it would be like to be remarked upon for her looks as opposed to her brains. Her boyfriends had always appreciated her intelligence, had warmed to the fact that she had definite opinions on most things, and she had never found
Jessica didnât answer. She tossed some pasta into the boiling water and then remained where she was with the glass in her hand, leaning against the kitchen counter.
She could understand what he was saying. The companionship of married life was never something that had beckoned. Her friends had taken to making dark comments about shelf-life, and intimating that they would arrange a love life for her if she didnât want to do it herself, and she always laughed at their underhand persistence. She simply could not conceive what it would be like to be tied to the cooker, waiting on a man hand and foot. As her mother had done for so many years.
âHow do you feel about the lawsuit?â she asked, changing the subject abruptly. She didnât like it when her mind started wandering down the road of men and marriage and families, even if her response was to deny their importance in her life.
âIsnât that a question I should be asking you ?â he returned, helping himself to more wine and watching her lazily as she began moving around the kitchen, opening drawers, pulling out crockery and cutlery.
She could feel his blue eyes on her and it made her skin tingle. It was a new experience for her. Normally, she had no difficulty in treating men as her equals but now, for some reason, she was acutely aware of her body, her movements, her hair dangling against her back. Her tee shirt was baggy and unrevealing, but she could feel the weight of her breasts beneath it, she could feel her nipples pushing against the thin, silky bra. A thin film of perspiration broke out over her body and when she began setting the table she found that she was purposefully avoiding his gaze.
âI donât think we have a problem,â she said, draining the pasta and tipping the contents of the frying pan into a casserole dish. âWhen do you think Iâll be able to have a look at those drawings?â She put the pasta and the tuna on the table and indicated for him to help himself.
âOh, havenât I mentioned? Ralph Jennings delivered them to me this afternoon. Iâve got them in my briefcase, as a matter of fact.â
âYou have?â She paused and looked at him with surprise. âYou should have mentioned that sooner. We could have gone over them at work.â
âYou can have a look after weâve eaten.â He began helping himself and she looked at him with sudden dismay.
Inexplicably, she didnât want him hanging around after dinner. She had anticipated feeding him and sending him on his way in the minimum amount of time.
âYou havenât got a problem with that, have you?â he asked, glancing up to catch her eye, and she shook her head hurriedly.
âNo. I just feel a little...tired... Iâm not sure Iâll be able to concentrate fully...â
âItâs a drawing,â he - pointed out dryly. âFairly self-explanatory. Itâll take ten minutes for me to run through it with you.â
âYes. Fine,â she said dubiously, sitting down.
âGood. And donât worry about the concentration aspect. Even at half tilt, your brain is better than a lot of menâs Iâve come across in my business dealings.â
âThank you very much for the compliment.â She was certain that there had been a time when she would have been thrilled at what he had just said, but now she had a hollow feeling of disappointment. She supposed that it was akin to being described as âone of the ladsâ. Was that ever a compliment for a woman? Who wanted to be âone of the ladsâ?
For the first time ever, she wondered what it would be like to be remarked upon for her looks as opposed to her brains. Her boyfriends had always appreciated her intelligence, had warmed to the fact that she had definite opinions on most things, and she had never found
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