Fortune Is a Woman - Elizabeth Adler [193]
“Exactly what do you mean by that?” She put down her glass, watching him warily.
“Maryanne, we are such good friends, there are no secrets between us, are there? I must say I can’t understand Buck, neglecting a beautiful woman like you. But then he’s always been dedicated to his career—apart from the little ‘episode’ with my dear sister of course. We both remember that vividly, don’t we, Maryanne? And naturally I have been most grateful for your help.”
“You want more money,” Maryanne said flatly.
He nodded. “That—as well.” He put down his glass and came to stand in front of her and she looked warily up at him. “You know I’ve always admired you, Maryanne,” he said, reaching down and taking her hand. “You are a beautiful woman; you’re wasted on a man like Buck, you need someone to teach you what life is all about, someone to melt the ice around your heart and unlock your secret juices—”
“Don’t be a fool, Harry,” she said shortly. Her face burned with disgust. She stood up and attempted to step past him, but he grabbed her arm and pulled her roughly to him. Her eyes opened wide with horror as he pressed his lips on hers, running his hand down her spine, across her buttocks, caressing her, the other hand holding her closer with a viselike grip.
For the first time in her life things were out of her control and Maryanne was frightened. When he finally took his mouth from hers she screamed at him, “Let go of me, you bastard, I’ll have you arrested, I’ll have you thrown in jail for this.”
“Of course you won’t,” he said easily. “Think of the scandal. I need hardly describe the headlines.” He scooped her up into his arms and carried her, kicking, across to the sofa. “Don’t you dare touch me, Harry Harrison,” she warned as he lay her down and knelt beside her, “If you do I shall scream.”
“Scream away,” he said confidently, “there’s no one to hear you. And besides, it adds to the excitement. Maybe that’s what it takes to get to you, Maryanne? A bit of rough-and-tumble.” He slapped her suddenly across the face and she gasped, staring terrified at him. He ran his hand the length of her body and she watched in horrified fascination, as though it were an insect crawling over her.
She shuddered as he began to unfasten the row of tiny satin-covered buttons at the neck of her dress. “Don’t touch me,” she warned him. “I’ll give you as much money as you want—”
“Of course you will,” he muttered, opening her dress and exposing her small, silk-covered breasts. And then his head sank to her bosom.
Maryanne knew he was mad, crazier even than his sister. She looked wildly around for a weapon; the heavy cut-crystal brandy decanter was on the sofa table just above her head. She stretched her arm upward, her fingers searching for a grip. Suddenly she had it and as Harry lifted his face from her breast she smashed the decanter down as hard as she could on the back of his head.
The decanter was tougher than Harry’s head; it didn’t break. Brandy flowed pungently into the cut and Harry groaned and staggered to his feet.
He put his hands to his head. Blood poured from the wound and he stared murderously at her. She stared back, too terrified to move. He reeled to the fireplace, clutching the mantel, still looking speechlessly at her, then his knees buckled and he fell heavily onto the stone hearth.
Maryanne looked at him, stunned. The big longcase clock in the corner ticked on and the logs on the fire crackled and spit, but Harry did not make a sound. She quickly pulled her dress over her naked breasts, wrinkling her nose at the smell of brandy, then she stood up and stepped cautiously toward him. He was lying on his side, the back of his head was a splintered mass of blood and bone and she made a little face, sickened. Taking courage, she felt his pulse. She breathed a sigh of relief, it was fast but Harry was still alive.
“Oh my God,” she said, frantically buttoning her dress. “Oh my God, I’d better call