Page 38 of Prime Time

“Why?” he asked softly.

“Because I want to talk to you.” The immediate suspicious lowering of his brows confirmed her anxiety that she might still be suspect. Taking his hand, she led him to the bed and sat down. She sat with her knees together, her head bowed, looking down at her hands as she pleated the hem of the towel between her fingers. “You’re mistaken.”

“About what?” He sat at the end of the bed, his back braced against the bedpost.

“About what you think of me. I know you heard Jeff this afternoon.”

“You mean the part about getting chummy with me in order to pump me for information?”

“Yes. That’s not the case.”

“Les didn’t ask you to do that?”

She swallowed and looked at him, then quickly away. “Yes. He did. But I don’t always listen to him. Not even as frequently as before,” she added almost to herself.

Now she looked straight at Lyon, turning slightly to face him. “I’ve never had to prostitute myself for a story. In the first place I have a higher regard for myself than that. I was brought up to respect my body. I never considered it as something to barter with.

“But even disregarding the morality of it, I’ve never had to resort to so desperate a measure. I’m a professional. Some have been reluctant to bare their souls in front of a camera, but usually I’ve been able to persuade them to do so without coercion of any kind.

“I’m good at my work. I’m ambitious, though now … never mind. Anyway I like getting a story or an incisive interview that no one else has been able to get, but I don’t have the ruthlessness, the go-for-the-jugular instinct that Les does. It’s corny, but I’ve always advocated the saying about vinegar and honey. To my knowledge I’ve never seriously harmed anyone with one of my interviews, nor have I ever abused the privilege of confidentiality.”

She sat still and waited. Before her monologue was finished, he had stood up and begun pacing at the foot of the bed. Now he stopped and sat down again. “You have to admit that the evidence is pretty incriminating. Not long after your conversation with Les, you warmed up to me considerably.”

“I know. That had nothing to do with Les. The only time I’ve even thought of Les when I was with you was when you asked me who he was. Up to that point he was the furthest thing from my mind.” She looked at him earnestly. “Lyon, do you really think I would try to exploit what happened a while ago? Do you think it meant no more to me than that?”

She felt tears shimmering in her eyes. “I know you’re wary of women after what Jerri did, but don’t condemn me unfairly. I pulled a childish stunt to get into this house. I’ll admit that. But I haven’t been playing games with you.”

He watched one tear as it lost its precarious grip on her lower lid and began to roll down her cheek. He lifted it off with his fingertip and then brought it to his lips and sucked it into his mouth. “Will you take off that towel now?”

She cried out in relief and, still vacillating between laughter and tears, fell against him. They managed to get rid of the towels, pull down the bedspread and blankets, and slide between the sheets without breaking

the kiss.

His strong arms encompassed her. The quickening pulse and shortness of breath that were now becoming familiar seized her again. She and Lyon fell on each other like starving beasts of prey. He rolled them both over to one side of the bed, then to the other, their mouths and bodies glued together.

When at last they drew apart, he was content to lie docilely and let her be the aggressor. Her mouth impressed fervent kisses into his throat. Seductively she lowered herself along his body until she reached his chest. Moving her head from side to side, she let the warm chest hair caress her features. She kissed his breastbone. Lifting her head slightly, she studied his nipple as her finger touched it. Then she followed suit with her tongue, delicately at first before a newfound courage dictated that she apply more pressure.

“Andy,” he rasped and closed his arms around her, pulling her on top of him. He scorched a trail of avid kisses along the top curve of her breasts, working his way up to her mouth. “You’re creating a monster, Andy Malone,” he said into her mouth as his lips teasingly avoided hers. “A sex-crazed monster.”

“What do sex-crazed monsters do?” She leaned forward to provide him access to her straining nipples.

“Ravish gorgeous women.” His hands smoothed over her hips to curve around the backs of her thighs.

“Am I gorgeous?”

“Yes.”

“Well, then?”

They slept for a while, the deep, dreamless sleep of satisfaction. He nudged her awake only a few hours later when an arc of sunlight spread across the wide bed.

“You’d better go to your room. We need to keep up the pretense of propriety.”

“I don’t want to,” she said, snuggling against him and pressing her breasts against his side.

He moaned. “Andy stop that, dammit.”

She giggled and struggled to separate her tangled limbs from his. “You old fuddy-duddy.”

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