By the time he took her home and agreed to come in for a nightcap, she was certain they would go to bed together. She wanted him very much; the thought of it made her warm and tingly. She knew he wanted her. She could see the desire in his eyes. They needed to let dinner settle a bit, and with that in mind, she poured white crème de menthe on the rocks for both of them.
They were just sitting down when the telephone rang.
“Oh, no,” she said.
“Did he bother you after I left last night?”
“No.”
“This morning?”
“No.”
“Maybe that’s not him.”
They both went to the phone.
She hesitated, then picked it up. “Hello?”
Silence.
“Damn you!” she said, and she slammed the receiver down so hard that she wondered if she’d cracked it.
“Don’t let him rattle you.”
“I can’t help it,” she said.
“He’s just a slimy little creep who doesn’t know how to deal with women. I’ve seen others like him. If he ever got a chance to make it with a woman, if a woman offered herself to him on a silver platter, he’d run away screaming in terror.”
“He still scares me.”
“He’s no threat. Come back to the couch. Sit down. Try to forget about him.”
They returned to the sofa and sipped their crème de menthe in silence for a minute or two.
At last, she softly said, “Damn.”
“You’ll have an unlisted number by tomorrow afternoon. Then he won’t be able to bother you any more.”
“But he sure spoiled this evening. I was so mellow.”
“I’m still enjoying myself.”
“It’s just that … I’d figured on more than just drinks in front of the fireplace.”
He stared at her. “Had you?”
“Hadn’t you?”
His smile was special because it was not merely a configuration of the mouth; it involved his whole face and his expressive dark eyes; it was the most genuine and by far the most appealing smile that she had ever seen. He said, “I’ve got to admit I had hopes of tasting more than the crème de menthe.”
“Damn the phone.”
He leaned over and kissed her. She opened her mouth to him, and for a brief sweet moment their tongues met. He pulled back and looked at her, put his hand against her face as if he was touching delicate porcelain. “I think we’re still in the mood.”
“If the phone rings again–”
“It won’t.”
He kissed her on the eyes, then on the lips, and he put one hand gently on her breast.
She leaned back, and he leaned into her. She put her hand on his arm and felt the muscles bunched beneath his shirt.
Still kissing her, he stroked her soft throat with his fingertips, then began to unbutton her blouse.
Hilary put her hand on his thigh, where the muscles were also tense beneath his slacks. Such a lean hard man. She slid her hand up to his groin and felt the huge steeliness and fierce heat of his erection. She thought of him entering her and moving hotly within her, and a thrill of anticipation made her shiver.
He sensed her excitement and paused in the unbuttoning of her blouse to lightly trace the swell of her breasts where they rose above the cups of her bra. His fingers seemed to leave cool trails on her warm skin; she could feel the lingering ghost of his touch as clearly as she could feel the touch itself.
The telephone rang.
“Ignore it,” he said.
She tried to do as he said. She put her arms around him and slid down on the couch and pulled him on top of her. She kissed him hard, crushing her lips against his, licking, sucking.
The phone rang and rang.
“Damn!”
They sat up.
It rang, rang, rang.
Hilary stood.
“Don’t,” Tony said. “Talking to him hasn’t helped. Let me handle it another way and see what happens.”
He got up from the couch and went to the corner desk. He lifted the receiver, but he didn’t say anything. He just listened.
Hilary could tell from his expression that the caller had not spoken.