"Honey Bare" - читать интересную книгу автора (Coral King)

Chapter Two

“I will not!” She was standing in front of me, her feet spread and her hands on her hips again. But this time there wasn’t hunger in her glance – her eyes were blazing.

Angrily she said. “Explain what you meant by that last remark!”

And so I did. Very quickly and without-demotion I told her that I intended to make it on my own. I didn’t want her or any other woman to tell me how to do it.

Of course, after that there were more words, many of them spoken heatedly and cruel. And that’s the way her visit ended. When Suzy stomped out the door she was no longer my girl.

While I was toweling dry after my shower I heard the phone ringing. I didn’t answer it. I was positive it was Suzy, calling either to get in her last stinging retort, or to apologize.

It rang again about ten minutes later. I tried to drown ‘out the sound by flinging a handful of ice cubes into a glass. But while I was standing at the window, sipping scotch and staring out at the rain swept world, the phone rang again. Suddenly I realized that it couldn’t be Suzy calling. Her plane had taken off a half hour ago. I scooped up the phone.

“Attorney Ice?” a woman’s voice asked.

“It is.”

“This is Sarah Leighton. We’ve never met but I need your help immediately.”

“Of course,” I said. “Would you like to make an appointment?”

“Can you come to my apartment right away?”

While she paused, waiting for my answer, I could hear the sound of music playing softly in the background.

“Yes.”

“Oh, thank you.” I caught the quick sigh of relief. “You’ll understand why I’m making the request when you arrive. Here’s my address.”

It was on Melrose Avenue, out in West Los Angeles, Apartment Seven. I scribbled in onto a pad and promised her I’d be there in about forty minutes.

It was almost an hour later when I pulled up at the curb near her apartment house. There had been an auto accident at the intersection of Melrose and La Cienega; and with the downpour and the evening traffic, it had been a mess getting through.

With my hands in my trench coat to keep it wrapped around my legs, I ducked my head and ran from my car up to the apartment house entrance. It had about two dozen units but it was a new building, and it had a lot of class. Apartment Seven was on the second floor, up the stairway, outside entrance.

The sound of music inside was audible as I punched the door bell and waited. I stood close to the door so that I was sheltered by the eaves. Then the door opened.

She was a strawberry blonde with green eyes and she was wearing a pale yellow minishift. Her arms were bare, her feet and legs were bare. And with the lamp on one of the end tables directly behind her, I could tell that the rest of her was bare too underneath the shift.

“Thank goodness you’ve arrived,” she said.

“Please come in.”

As I stepped inside I saw her stick her head out the doorway and glance about.

Then she closed the door and locked it with the chain.

“May I take your coat?”

I peeled if off and handed it to her and she took it over to a closet and hung it inside. “Would you like a drink?”

“Scotch, if you have it.”

“You’re in luck, Mr. Ice.” She threw me a dazzling smile. “Would you like to help?”

I followed her down the short hallway, enjoying the quick movements of her legs. They were pretty good. Almost as good as Suzy’s. And then I remembered our fight, and decided her legs were better than Suzy’s.

As I passed an open doorway I saw that it was a bedroom. There were a couple of bags sitting on the floor, half packed, and stack of clothing was on the bed.

Apparently the rain was drying everyone out of Los Angeles.

And then we were in a kitchen. It was rather disorderly. With lots of soiled dishes in the sink. “Isn’t this a mess?” she asked, as she brought out the ice tray.

“I don’t mind,” I said, not wanting to agree with her and perhaps blow the first client I ever had. Obviously it was going to be a divorce action.

She dropped the ice tray onto the sideboard and then her right hand moved an unruly strand of hair away from the side of her face. “So am I,” she said. The palms of her hands slid down the front of her, pressing the shift against her.

“I’m a terrible mess.”

She was trying to convince herself that the shift was soiled. It wasn’t really.

I couldn’t see any spots except the two little spots where her nipples were digging into the cloth.

I had to get my glance and mind off her immediately. I picked up the ice tray and broke the cubes loose. “You are Sarah Leighton, aren’t you?”

“Darling!” she squealed, “how rude of me. Yes I am. May I call you Lincoln?

Please call me Sarah.” As she handed me two glasses she smiled up at me. “After all, we’re going to become very informal before the night’s over.”

She was standing close to me and as I looked down at her I saw that the neck of her shift had dipped forward a bit. Without any effort on my part I was staring down at her jutting pink breasts. They were set wide apart and the valley was prominent. That gave me an unobstructed view right down the pink and bare front of her.

“Oh fine,” I said, and then I concentrated on getting the ice cubes into the glasses. How in the hell would I be able to handle a client like this in court?

But it wasn’t that at all. She gave it to me quickly while I was making the drinks.

Sarah Leighton was convinced that someone was trying to kill her. A couple of nights ago, while going across the street to pick up some things at a drugstore, a speeding car had almost picked her off in the crosswalk. Last night, as she was walking in a small part nearby, someone had shot at her. The bullet had barely missed her, striking a tree.

Sarah was an actress and tomorrow morning she was leaving for Europe where she was going to do a couple of segments in a TV series. She wanted me to stay with her that night and protect her from whomever was trying to kill her. I handed her one of the scotches, staring at her.

She’d mentioned nothing about wanting legal advice.

“Oh, thank you,” she said. “Come into the front room where we can sit down and relax.”

We sat down but I couldn’t relax. I took the easy chair and she curled up on the couch. Somehow the hem of her shift had slid up her thighs and somehow those thighs fidgeted around a lot to give an occasional and fleeting glimpse of the Y. First from the top, and now from the bottom I’d had unobstructed views.

I liked it. And yet I didn’t. Something didn’t make sense – even though I wanted to think that the sight of me had brought it all on. We all dream at times! “Sidney Griffin, the producer, suggested I call you, Lincoln. You won’t recall, but I saw you on the set-the time you were doing a job for Sid.”

So that was it. Almost a year ago I’d done a job for Sid. His wife was being unfaithful and he wanted proof so that he could divorce her. At the time I’d been a private eye. Working just enough to pay for beans and board while I was studying for my law degree. I’d gotten the pro for Sid and he was very grateful. He’d promised to flood me with clients.

“I’ve got five hundred saved up,” Sarah was saying now. “I know it isn’t much but I’d it if you’d take it for the night’s work.” She moved aside the big ash tray. There were five one hundred dollar bills underneath. “Help yourself.”

I was ready to turn her down because the moment I’d passed the Bar I’d promised myself that my private-eye days were no more. Never again. Stuff like that.

But at that time, while I was making the solemn promise to myself, the setting hadn’t been the same. First of all there hadn’t been a Sarah nearby. Secondly, she hadn’t been sitting across the coffee table from me. And thirdly, she hadn’t been leaning forward, her hand outstretched and shoving the bills towards me.

And I hadn’t been looking at the front of her shift, with the neck part dropped forward by gravity, and within, the two luscious pink breasts, defying the force of gravity because they were firm jutting cones.

I had to make the usual excuses. Get the police to protect you. It was too complicated, she didn’t want to get involved, and she wouldn’t feel safe. Why not hire a private guard that would be stationed all night at her door? Too obvious, and she didn’t want any bad publicity at this time.

Now she’d suddenly straightened up again, her glance locked with mine as the rim of her glass massaged her lower lip. “Besides,” she said softly, “ever since I saw you on the set, I’ve been waiting for an excuse to get you into my pad.”

I believed her and I had my answer. I picked up the five bills and shoved them into my coat pocket. There wasn’t anybody trying to kill her. It was an excuse.

Apparently she wanted to lay in a supply before she took off for Europe. Like Suzy, before she took off on her vacation. But Suzy, at least, had been honest about it.

Sarah didn’t want to come right out and say what she was buying with five bills. Maybe she was coy. Maybe she got her kicks doing it this way. It didn’t make any difference to me.

After all what else is there to do when it’s raining in Los Angeles? On a Friday evening.

I said, “Do whatever you planned to do. I’ll check the doors and the windows.”

“They’re all locked.”

A man had to keep up his strength. I said, “How about going out and having dinner?”

She hoped to her feet and her face was radiant. “I’d love that! Do you know I haven’t eaten all day? I’m starved! Fix yourself another drink while I dress.

Okay?”

“It’s a deal.”

She disappeared in one of the rooms and I went into the kitchen again. I poured myself some more scotch,’ added an ice cube and then stared out the kitchen window. It was dark now and it was raining harder.

It was an ideal night for a murder, I thought. Just like you read in every crime thriller. Oh, that Sarah. That strawberry blonde had planned it perfectly; But why fight it?

Fight it? I wanted to love it the moment she stepped into the kitchen. She’d done something to her hair and her face was radiant, her green eyes sparkling.

She was some package!

She’d slipped into a knit dress the color of heavy cream that hugged her figure, outlining the lush curves of her hips and the gravity-defying breasts that were a solid ledge. The pumps made her legs look even better.

“I believe I have a date for the evening,” she said softly.

Through the downpour I drove to La Cienega. Because it was one of the best restaurants we had to wait more than a half hour for a table. We had a couple of drinks while waiting.

Sarah was witty, she was vibrant and I had the feeling that she was getting a bit tight. She told me about coming to Hollywood, living at the Studio Club while she tried to break into TV and bunch of funny incidents that had happened on the TV stages. She had so much first-hand knowledge about the sex life of the men and women involved in the entertainment industry that she should have written a book. I told her that.

Her laugh was delightful. “And get sued?”

“The better to represent you, my dear.”

“You’re wonderful. Lincoln.” Her hand came up and covered mine, her touch warm and exciting.

“Sarah!” a woman’s voice suddenly interrupted.

I felt Sarah’s hand leave mine and then I forgot that she was sitting next to me and that a moment before she’d given me a great compliment.

The brunette standing at our table was stunning. She was tall and slender with a mass of dark hair piled on top of her head. Her make up and long lashes made her eyes look like those of a jungle cat. She appeared to be the regal Madame of lust.

As I got to my feet I heard Sarah speaking to her.

“How nice to see you again, Nora. Lincoln, this is Nora.”

“How do you do,” Nora said. Her words were coated with honey and when her hand slipped into mine I felt the quick pressure of her fingers. “How long has Sarah been hiding you from me?”

Sarah supplied the answer. “Long enough, don’t you think?”

“Much too long, if you ask me.” Nora’s glance moved leisurely over me, and then she pulled her hand from mine. “Please sit down, Lincoln. I must be leaving, really.”

I said, “What a shame. I’d hoped you could join us.”

“Yes, do,” Sarah added.

“Oh no, I couldn’t. Although I’d – like to, I just couldn’t. But enjoy yourselves, won’t you?”

And then she was leaving our table. She walked up the aisle, her hips swaying provocatively. She didn’t look back she didn’t need to. Every man in the restaurant, including me, was watching her leave.

As I settled down beside Sarah again I said, “Did you notice how I protected us from Nora’s advances?”

“Yes,” Sarah answered a bit vaguely and then she finished up the rest of the wine in her glass.

Obviously Sarah didn’t appreciate my humor. In fact, after that she was rather quiet. I paid the check and we left the restaurant.

While we drove to her apartment, she sat close to me with her hand resting warmly on my thigh. Since she didn’t mention Nora again, neither did I. I decided that – although they appeared to be old friends, something must have happened to make Sarah give her the chilly reception. Probably a woman-to-woman thing. Like both showing up at the same affair, wearing the same gown.

“I believe it’s stopped raining,” Sarah suddenly said.

I still had the wipers going but they were beginning to squeak now because the glass was completely dry. I turned them off. “The newscasters said it would last all weekend. I guess they blew the report again.”

When I pulled up at the curb near her apartment house, the gutters were scarcely running. We piled out of the car, I with my trench coat and Sarah’s under my arm. Halfway to the entrance the rain began again. It seemed as though the skies had opened up and the entire world was a shower stall. Instead of putting on my trench coat, I grabbed Sarah’s arms and we ran towards the stairway that led to her apartment.

We were both drenched to the skin by the time I’d gotten the key from Sarah and unlocked the door. It was she who fitted the chain lock into place again the moment we were inside her apartment. I just stood there, feeling the water trickling down my face and legs, watching it wet her rug at my feet.

“Oh, darling,” Sarah said, “let’s get you out of your wet clothes immediately.”

That was the last thing that entered my mind. Even though I felt chilled and damp and the rivulets of water were tickling my chest. Sarah’s knit dress had been molded to her before but now with the rain, it was glued to her. It was plastered against her hips and stomach and thighs, every line and crease clearly outlined. So tightly was it stretched over her breasts that the pink hue of her nipples was showing through the material and they were now about twice the size they’d been in the shift. Their dark tints were visible through the fabric, as though they were about to break the threads.

The only thought in my mind was to get her out of her wet dress immediately. As my arms went around her and my fingers found the zipper at the back of her neck, I said, “Ladies first. And right here, so we don’t get the rest of your rug wet.”