Eve sipped her drink. "I don't know. Maybe it's partly that—I really haven't had time to think about it yet. I want to be good, I don't want to fail, and still—sometimes I feel like two different people. The outside me and the inside me. Will I have time for a personal life?" You really screwed that life up good, didn't you? her mind laughed back at her.
Randall laughed shortly. "Sure, when you're not being a public person! But you ought to know by now that doesn't leave too much time for yourself. It's part of the package. You going to accept the job?"
His sudden question took her by surprise. Of course she was. She had to, to prove— And then he answered his own question.
"Of course you are. You'd be stupid not to, and you're not a stupid woman. You're going to be great. And you're going to have plenty of offers to fill up the times when you're not busy working." He lifted his glass to her. "You're a beautiful woman, and you'll have every guy in town chasing after you, especially since you're not taken yet. You're not, are you?"
Eve was booked on the noon flight back to San Francisco the next day, which was Saturday. They'd given her two weeks to make up her mind, although she, along with everyone else, took it as a foregone conclusion that she'd be joining the "Going On" show by the beginning of the following month. Just a matter of going over her contracts with her agent and an attorney.
This was her last night in New York for a while, and shod really begun to like Randall. So why not? Why lie in that big bed alone again with her old dreams and new nightmares?
Randall as a lover was unexpected. Very different from the polite, friendly man she'd found so easy to talk to. He was—he was almost businesslike, she thought with vague surprise, after he'd first surprised her by carrying her to bed soon after he'd locked the door behind them.
"I lift weights at the gym," he explained to her almost proudly. "Only way to keep in shape, with all that sitting around." But after that, he didn't talk much.
He didn't try to undress her but started quickly to take his clothes off, obviously expecting her to do the same. She was slower than he, and he stood and watched her as if fascinated by her body.
She thought, Thank God all the bruises have gone; I wonder what he'd have thought— And then she lay back on the bed and watched him come toward her.
To her surprise he started to go down on her very efficiently and expertly. Eve made protesting murmurs at first, but her protests were only halfhearted and he ignored them, concentrating on what he was doing. She began to breathe faster, to move her hips involuntarily, and tried to stifle tiny whimpers with the back of her hand.
"Do you like that?" His tongue stabbed at her clitoris. "Tell me what else you like," he asked her politely.
"I—I don't know—don't stop now. Do whatever you want."
"Did you come yet?"
"Not—not yet..."
His mouth attacked her again, his tongue digging deeply into her, his fingers pressing down, down until she climaxed shudderingly and satisfyingly. And then he climbed on top of her and screwed her as efficiently as he had gone down on her a few moments before.
"You're so beautiful, so natural in the way you let go," he whispered to her. "You're quite a woman, Eve."
He put one hand under her, and she felt his finger pressing up, probing into her— She cried out, jerking up against him.
>
"Do you like that, then?"
"No—yes—I'm not sure!"
She hadn't had this happen to her before; against her will, she heard herself cry out again, felt her excitement rising to meet his.
Suddenly he withdrew himself, pulling and lifting her body so that she lay with her own thighs pressed against her breasts, her legs over his heavily muscled shoulders. And now that he had her helpless, he began to fuck her in tire ass, and there was nothing she could do about it except drum her legs ineffectually against his back.
After the initial shock of his entrance and the pain, however, she suddenly found the new sensation was wildly pleasurable, especially when he put two fingers into her vagina at the same time.
He kept watching her while she moaned and thrashed about, waiting for her orgasm; and when it came, he pumped himself into her at last, moving very fast and hard, then leaning on her so heavily that her doubled-up legs hurt her breasts and she cried out with pain. With a grunt of apology he pulled himself out of her, hurting her again—leaving her sore and throbbing but satisfied all the same.
Randall left at seven in the morning, considerately waking her up with the warning that she mustn't miss her flight. He kissed her, patting her face, and told her again that she was really a wonderful woman, she mustn't ever change, and he looked forward to seeing her again as soon as she got back.
Eve soaked in the bathtub afterward, wondering how it had happened. My God, she thought crazily, my mother watches him every morning—I wonder how she'd react if she knew. . .. Eve started to giggle. After all, she had enjoyed it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Eve barely made it to Kennedy in time for her flight. The traffic was murder all the way—there was a four-car pileup that slowed them down even worse. She supposed she was fortunate that the man at the ticket counter recognized her (all the recent publicity paying off when she needed it most!) and rushed her through, with a conspiratorial smile. They were boarding when she reached the gate, breathless from running.
She'd made it with five minutes to spare. Eve glanced at her watch, fastened her seatbelt, and leaned back with a sigh. She turned down the flight attendant's offer of champagne, closing her eyes. Suddenly, all the tiredness of the past week seemed to catch up with her, and she was unutterably weary, needing only to sleep all the way back to San Francisco. Five hours. She hadn't been able to reach Marti before she'd left, so she'd sent a telegram. But if Marti wasn't at the airport, she'd get a taxi—she thought wryly that it was a come-down after the limousine treatment she'd become used to without even thinking about it. Back to reality for a couple of weeks, and she needed it. Cinderella Girl—she forgot which columnist had called her that.