“They’re fuller, more womanly.” He didn’t touch her, but his heart was thumping as he captured her gaze. “If I wanted a seventeen-year-old now, I’d have one. But I don’t want that, Marni. I want a mature woman. I want you.” Very gently he pulled her forward and pressed a warm kiss to each of her breasts in turn. She sucked in a sharp breath, and her nipples puckered instantly. “And if you don’t get out of here this minute, mature woman,” he growled only half in jest, “I’m going to have you.” He shot a disparaging glance at the front of his jeans, then a more sheepish one back at her.
“Oh, Web,” Marni breathed. She threw herself forward and gave him a final hug. “You always know the right thing to say.”
He wanted to say that he didn’t, but the words wouldn’t come out because he’d closed his eyes and was caught up enjoying the silken feel of her against him. Only when the pressure in his loins increased uncomfortably did he force a hoarse warning. “Marni … that coffee?”
“Right away,” she whispered, jumping up and running for the door, then returning, cheeks ablaze, for her bra and blouse before dashing for the kitchen.
Not only did she brew a pot of rich coffee, but by the time Web joined her she’d scrambled eggs, toasted English muffins and sliced fresh oranges for their breakfast.
“So you can cook,” he teased. He remembered her telling him, during those days in Camden, that Cook had allowed no interference in the kitchen.
Marni put milk in his coffee, just as he’d had it that night when they’d been at the restaurant, and set the mug beside him. Then she joined him at the island counter. “I may not be a threat to Julia Child, but I’ve learned something. Post-graduate work, if you will.”
He sipped the strong brew and smiled in appreciation. “An A for coffee.” He took a forkful of the eggs, chewed appreciatively, then smacked his lips together. “An A for scrambled eggs. Very moist and light.”
She laughed. “Don’t grade the muffins or the orange. I really can’t take much credit for either.”
“Still, you didn’t burn the muffins.”
“You have a good toaster.”
“And the orange is sliced with precision.”
“You have a sharp knife, and I have a tidy personality.” Amused, she was watching him eat. “You’ll choke if you don’t slow down.”
“I’m suddenly starved. You should be, too. We didn’t get around to having dinner last night.”
Marni ate half of her eggs, then offered the rest to Web, who devoured them and one of her muffins as though his last meal had been days ago. When he was done, he sat back and studied her. “What now?” he asked softly.
“You’re still hungry?”
“What now … for us? Will you stay a while?”
She’d been debating that one the whole time she’d been making breakfast. “I … think I’d better head home. A lot has happened. Too quickly. I need a little time.”
He nodded. More than anything he wished she’d stay, but he understood her need for time alone to think. He could only hope it would be to his benefit.
She began to clean up the kitchen. “Will you be okay … your hand, and all?”
“I’ll be fine…. Marni, what say we try for that picture again on Tuesday? If you can manage it with your schedule, I can make all the other arrangements.”
She finished rinsing the frying pan, then reached for the dish towel. “Do you really think you’ll be up for it?”
“I’ve got another shoot set for Monday. It has to go on, no matter what. I’ll be up for it…. But that’s not the real question here.” Not wanting to put undue pressure on her, he remained where he was at the island. “Are you willing to give it another try?”
Her head was bowed. “You really think it’s the cover we need?”
“I do. But more than that, Iwantto do it. You have no idea how much it means to me to photograph you and put your face out there for the world to see. I’m proud of you, Marni. Some men might want to keep you all to themselves, and I do in a lot of respects, but I’m a photographer, and you happen to mean more to me than any other subject I’ve ever photographed. I want you to be on the premier cover ofClassbecause I feel you belong there, and because I feel that I’m the only one who can see and capture on film the beauty you are, inside and out.” When she simply stood with her back to him, saying nothing, he grew more beseechful. “I know that may sound arrogant, but it’s the way I feel. Give me a chance, Marni. Don’t deny me this one pleasure.”
“It’s not only your eyes that get to me, Brian Webster,” she muttered under her breath, “it’s your tone of voice. How can you prey on myvulnerabilitythis way?”
He knew then that he’d won. Rising, he crossed to the sink and gave her waist a warm squeeze. “Because I know that it’s right, Marni. It’s right all the way.”
Marni still had her doubts. She left him soon after that and returned to her apartment. She had errands to run that afternoon—food shopping, a manicure, stockings to buy—and she would have put them all off in a minute if she’d felt it wise to stay longer with Web. But she did need to be alone, and she did need to think. At least, that was what she told herself. Then she did everything possible to avoid being alone, to avoid thinking.
She dallied in the supermarket, spent an extra hour talking with the woman whose manicure followed hers, and whom she’d come to know for that reason, then browsed through every department of Bloomingdale’s before reaching the hosiery counter. When she finished her shopping, she returned home in time to put her purchases away, then shower and dress for the cocktail party she’d been invited to. It was a business-related affair, and when she got there she threw herself into it, so much so that when she finally got home she was exhausted and went right to bed.
When she woke up the next morning, though, Web was first and foremost on her mind. She thought back to the same hour the day before, remembering being on his bed, on the verge of making love with him. Her body throbbed at the memory. She took a long shower, but it didn’t seem to help. Without considering the whys and wherefores, she picked up the phone and dialed his number.
