dropped a pair of wool socks in his lap.
“Thanks,” he said. “Okay, let’s run the list.”
She sat down across from him and flipped open her book. But he was not listening. He was engrossed in Naomi.
There were times, and this was one of them, when Vail wanted to just sweep Naomi off her feet and carry her up the stairs, Rhett Butler style. But they had a deal, Naomi Chance and Martin Vail. Business, not pleasure. The sexual attraction had been there from the beginning, from the day she answered his ad in the local weekly. There had been one night, two months after she came to work for him, when the barrier had fallen. And what a night it was.
They had been working late on a brief that was due in the morning, finishing at midnight. The office floor was piled with books and notes, scraps of papers. A mess. Naomi was stretched out on the couch in front of the fire.
“We deserve a little party,” Vail said. He went into the kitchen and came back with a bottle of Dom Perignon and two glasses.
“I’ve been saving this for a year,” he said. “And I’ve been wanting to drink it for two months.”
He popped the cork, filled both glasses and leaned over the sofa. They tapped glasses.
“Here’s to us,” he said. “A pretty good team.”
“I’ll drink to that,” she said.
By the third glass, Vail was seated on the sofa, rubbing her feet. The sexual tension in the room was electric, both of them trying to avoid the inevitable. His hands moved up to her calves, then her thighs.
“Marty,” she said slowly.
“Just relax.”
His hand moved up higher, caressed the smooth sheen of her panty hose, his fingers barely touching her.
“Oh my God,” she sighed. She rose to meet his exploring fingertips, pressed against his hand. Stroking her, he lay down beside her, kissing her mouth, then her ears, the small place in her throat, and she responded by putting her hand behind his head and moving it ever so diplomatically down to her breasts. Months of pent-up denial exploded and they began frantically undressing each other without ever losing the cadence of the mutual seduction. Undressed, she loomed above him in the light from the fire, straddled him, settled down on him, moving in soft, wet circles while he touched every pore of her. Finally she rose slightly and guided him into her, leaning forward, trapping his cries with her mouth.
Hypnotized, they made love, stopped, held back, trembling, until they could not resist the demand of their senses and so started again, until the tension was no longer bearable and it ended in mutual release.
“Oh God!” she had cried, falling down across him and stretching out her long legs, tightening them and keeping him trapped while they kissed until, finally, it passed. He lay under her, arms enfolding her, lightly scratching her back as they regained their breath, napped, awoke, and then in frenzied reprise, made love again.
It was four A.M. when she suddenly lifted herself off him and jumped off the sofa.
“Oh my God,” she stammered as she began dressing.
“What are you doing?” Vail asked.
“What does it look like? I’m getting dressed.”
“Just stay here for the night. Why’re you going home now, for Christ sakes? It’s four in the morning.”
“You crazy? Everybody in the neighborhood’ll know I stayed here. Besides, I’ve got to go home and change my clothes. And I don’t have my toothbrush. This was very … unexpected.”
“Fuck everybody in the neighborhood. Hell, I don’t even
know
everybody in the neighborhood.”
“It’s the principle of the thing.”
Vail said, “Shit.” He lit a cigarette, propped some pillows on the back of the sofa and sat up smoking and watching her as she finished dressing. “Why don’t you take a cab over to your place, pick up some clothes and a toothbrush—”
“Martin! Just stop it.” She pulled on her jacket, kissed him on the cheek and started out, but turned at the door with a deep