A Fashionable Affair (13 page)

“You can use the closet in the spare room,” Patsy
said. “And there should be a few empty drawers in
the dresser.” She stood up. “Bring your suitcase
and I’ll see what’s available.”

She had some coats stored in the spare-room
closet, but there was still plenty of room. And two drawers in the dresser were indeed empty. Michael
put his suitcase on one of the twin beds and turned
to her.

Patsy was standing between him and the door,
and in the muted glow from the bedside lamp, her
face looked incredibly beautiful. The soft light cast
shadows in the hollows of her cheeks and accented
the high cheekbones and huge, dark eyes. Her
blouse was open at the neck and the line of her
throat was exquisite. “You can sleep in here if you
like,” she said softly, “but you might feel less lonely
with me.”

An odd silence fell between them. He looked taut
as a drawn bow, she thought. All his usual easy repose was gone. She crossed the room and stood
before him. “Michael?” she said cautiously and she
tentatively reached out and put her hand on his
arm.

His reaction was instant, automatic, inevitable.
With his other hand he pulled her to him and his
mouth came down to cover hers. His kiss was hard and hungry, and Patsy melted into him, giving her
self up to it completely. Finally he raised his head,
and she looked through her lashes at the face that
was so close to her own. What she saw there set the
blood racing through her veins. “Darling,” she
breathed, “come inside.”

He didn’t answer but followed her into her bed
room. The lamp on the desk was lit, and the room
looked warm, honey-colored, and very feminine in the soft light. Patsy kicked off her shoes and let her feet sink into the deep carpet. Lifting her big brown
eyes to his, she raised her hands and began to
unbutton her blouse. It slipped off her shoulders
and onto the floor, followed by her lacy white bra.
Her golden-red hair hung loose on the pearl-like
skin of her bare shoulders. Her breasts were pink-
tipped and perfect, her eyes very dark, her cheeks
exquisitely flushed. She reached out and began to
unbutton his shirt.

He was standing very still, but when she touched
him, she felt him tremble. He wanted her; that
much was certainly clear. So why did she sense this
mysterious resistance in him? It was another
woman, she thought, the woman he loved, trying to
come between them. I won’t let her, Patsy thought
fiercely. I’ll make him forget her. She finished unbuttoning his shirt and slid her arms under it,
around his waist, so that her breasts pressed against
his bare chest.

“Love me, Michael,” she whispered, a seductive,
impossibly beautiful enchantress, and under her
hands he shuddered. “Love me,” she repeated, and
his hands caressed her bare back, drawing her
closer. She felt the hard muscles of his body under
her fingers, felt the aching, drowning passion of his
kiss. Then she was lying on the bed and he was kissing her throat and her breasts. His beard stub
ble scratched her sensitive skin. He put his mouth on one pink nipple and the breath caught raggedly
in Patsy’s throat. He unbuttoned her slacks and she
raised her hips so he could draw them off unim
peded. She was on fire, and when he paused
momentarily to rid himself of the last of his clothes,
she lay, helpless and quivering, aching for him to
return to her. And when he did, he continued his
erotic exploration of her body until they both knew,
at the very same second, that it was
now.

For a moment, as Michael was poised above her,
Patsy was aware of the smooth sheet under her
back, of the little hiss of the radiator as heat came up to take the chill off the spring evening. Then he was in her, and her body opened to him, moved to
him, as the shocks of pleasure ripped through her again and again.

When finally he lifted his weight off her, she
slowly and reluctantly opened her eyes. She was
afraid. She heard the ticking of her old-fashioned
clock in the silence of the room. There was never
again going to be anything like this in her life and
she knew it. But did he? What could she expect
from him, who loved someone else?

Next to her Michael very softly said her name,
and she turned and buried her face in his shoulder.
His arms encircled her, holding her, cradling her
with infinite gentleness, infinite tenderness. And
Patsy felt safe and comforted, and her fear was
gone.

* * * *

When she awoke early the following morning, he
wasn’t there. She sat up abruptly, then heard the
sound of the shower. Slowly she slid back down and
gazed dreamily at the ceiling. The shower was turned off and she heard movement in the spare
room. Drawers were being opened and closed. He was getting dressed. She looked at the clock on her
night table; it was six.

When finally he came into her room, he was
dressed in a blue pin-striped suit. “You’re certainly
an early bird,” she said, she hoped with composure.
His thin, serious face lit with its wonderful smile.
“I have a gigantic mess to deal with at work,
remember?” He was crossing the room toward her bed. “And a stack of clients whom I’ve been neg
lecting in the cause of one Patricia Clark.”

“I’m afraid I can’t say I’m sorry,” she whispered.
She could drown just looking into his eyes, she
thought.

He bent over and kissed her, gently, lingeringly.
“Would you like to get up and make me breakfast?”
he murmured against her mouth.

“Darling,” she breathed, “I’d love to.”

He straightened up and watched her get out of
bed and walk to the closet. She pulled out a green
silk robe and slipped it over her nakedness. She tied
it firmly at the waist, then turned, her hair tum
bling about her face and shoulders. The green silk
hung softly about her tall slenderness and the smile she gave him was both sleepy and sensuous.

“Do you know,” he said softly, “that you are enough to drive a man mad?”

Patsy looked at him, feeling the power of him,
the force, all the way across the room. She smiled
again, this time with mischief. “Would you like to
show me?”

“I’d love to.” A faint, answering glimmer danced
in his hazel eyes. “But I can’t. Not now, at any rate. I
have to get to work.”

Patsy sighed. “All right. Come out to the kitchen
and I’ll feed you.”

The early-morning sun was pouring into the
kitchen, and as Patsy made bacon, eggs, and coffee,
she felt perfectly happy. He was sitting at her table,
eating her cooking, and tonight he would be com
ing home to her. She put some toast in front of him, kissed the still-damp top of his head, and sat across
the table from him.

“What are you planning to do today?” he asked.

“They’re doing some new layouts on the sports
wear I endorse, so I have a modeling session at
eight-thirty.”

He put his coffee cup down. “Where are these
clothes advertised?”

“They do circulars, Michael.”

“Who is ‘they’?”

“The manufacturing company.”

“Mmmm. Do you have any of these circulars?”

“I’m sure there are some around here some
where,” she replied vaguely.

He looked mildly exasperated. “Red, you are the
worst businesswoman I have ever met.”

She looked gloomy. “I know, I know. Brains are
not my forte.”

“I didn’t say that. I said business was not your
forte.” She looked at him a little doubtfully. “You
used to write some damn good poetry, if I remem
ber correctly,” he continued.

She flushed. “That was high-school stuff.”

“I remember it as being very good.” He finished his eggs. “I always thought you had a very good brain,” he said, and astonished, Patsy stared at him.
He grinned. “It just doesn’t work logically.”

“Wretch,” she replied good-humoredly.

He stood up. “Find me those circulars, sweet
heart. And I need your car.”

“I know. You have the keys anyway.” She fol
lowed him to the door. “When will you be home?”
she asked, and thought, What a nice ring that has.
Home.

“I don’t know. Probably not until late. I’ll call
you.”

“Okay. And, Michael
...
be careful.”

“Yes, Miss Kitty,” he drawled, and she laughed.
He kissed her briefly and then was gone.

Patsy heaved a huge, tremulous sigh and went to
take a shower.

* * * *

Most of the shooting crew was at the studio when
Patsy arrived. The morning session went smoothly,
and it was only when they broke for lunch that
Patsy noticed the man standing behind the lights.
He came over to her. “Hi, Patsy,” he said amiably. It
was Frank Carbone, co-owner of Ebony Lad.
Patsy’s heart dropped into her stomach.

“Hi, Frank,” she answered in natural surprise.
“What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you. Look, Patsy, I have to talk to
you.”

She smiled sunnily. “Great. You can buy me
lunch.”

He smiled back and Patsy thought with unchar
acteristic cattiness that he looked like a movie star in
a B film. “I’d love to,” he replied, and she left the
studio with him, hoping her shaking knees were not
obvious.

They went to a restaurant on the next block. “A drink?” he asked as they sat.

Patsy never drank while she was on a job, but she
thought she could use something at the moment.
“I’ll have a glass of white wine,” she answered. She
looked around idly, and behind the beautiful mask
of her face, her brain was working furiously. How
had Frank known where to find her? Her agent
never gave out her whereabouts.

The drinks were served, and Patsy took a long sip
of hers. “So, Frank,” she said gaily, “how did you
find me?”

“I called your agent,” he replied absently, and
Patsy’s heart thumped. “I have to talk to you, Patsy, about Michael Melville.”

“About Michael?” She put her drink down to
hide her trembling hands.

“Yeah. He’s not a good guy for you to get mixed
up with.”

Patsy managed a very credible laugh. “Good
heavens, Frank,” she said lightly. “Michael and I
grew up together. I’ve known him almost since I
was born. Whatever can you mean?”

His handsome face looked suddenly heavy. “I
mean you should dump him off your account,
Patsy.”

She let her eyes widen in indignation. “I most
certainly will not! And I don’t see what business it is
of yours anyway.”

“It’s my business because I like you, Patsy.” This
time there was no mistaking the menace in his
voice. “I’d hate to see that pretty face get ruined.”

He looked like a snake, Patsy thought. A nasty,
creepy, cold-eyed snake. She could feel herself
grow white under his stare. “Are you threatening
me, Frank?” she asked a little shakily.

“Not threatening, beautiful, advising.” He
smiled. “Like I said before, Patsy, I like you.”

“I’m honored.” She stood up. “Good-bye, Frank,”
she said coldly, and turned to leave.

He stood up quickly and grabbed her arm. She
stayed perfectly still, restraining with difficulty a
strong urge to scream. “Have you listened to what
I’ve been saying?” he asked.

“Yes.” Her face was stony.

“And?”

“And I like Michael much more than I like you,
Frank. You or your business associates.” She jerked
her arm out of his hold and walked swiftly across
the restaurant and out the door.

* * * *

The afternoon session did not go smoothly. Patsy
was distracted and tense and ended up claiming she
was not feeling well. They canceled the session until
the following day.

She went home, searched the apartment for one
of the sportswear circulars; and finally found the
last one buried under a stack of magazine pictures
in her desk drawer. She was looking through it
when the phone rang. It was Michael.