Part 197 (1/2)

it was like. Drew would come in. He would look at her, those tawny

eyes going dark. He would be gentle, sweet, patient. She could almost

feel his long, clever fingers skimming over her skin. He would tell her

how much he loved her, how much he wanted her. Then he would carry her

into the bedroom, and show her.

Patiently. Tenderly. Pa.s.sionately.

By ten o'clock she was anxious. By eleven, uneasy. By midnight, she

was frantic. Her calls to the studio only told her that he had left

hours before.

She imagined a terrible accident. He would have been in a hurry to get

back to her, as anxious as she to begin their life together in the big

soft bed. He might have been careless, and his car ... They

wouldn't know where to reach her-the doctors, the police. Even now Drew

could be lying in some hospital bed, bleeding, calling for her.

She was working her way down the lists of hospitals ivhen she heard the

key in the lock. Before he could open the door, she was there, swinging

it open and failing into his arms.

”Oh, Drew, I was terrified.”

”Easy, easy does it.” He gave her b.u.t.tocks a quick squeeze. ”Anxious,

are we?”

Drunk. Part of her mind tried to deny it, but it was there in the

slurred words, the sway of his body, the smell. She stepped back to

stare at him. ”You've been drinking.”

”Just a little celebration with the lads. Not every day a man gets

married, is it?”

”But you ... You said you'd be here by ten.”