Anything You Can Do - By Sally Berneathy Page 0,33

throat, shifted Samantha to her shoulder, needing the comfort of the soft little body. Samantha gave her a sleepy lick then settled comfortably against Bailey's neck. "Paula, I—Austin and I—we sort of made love." The last words came out in a rush, and she raised her eyes from her lap only long enough to see how Paula was taking it.

Paula gaped at her in open-mouthed astonishment.

"What do you mean, you sort of made love? Did you or didn't you?"

"We did," Bailey admitted miserably. "In Gordon's yard."

"You don't mean for real. You're being metaphorical, right?"

"I'm sorry. We just got carried away by the race, I guess. It all sort of flowed from one thing to the other. I'm so sorry." She forced herself to meet Paula's eyes. To her relief, there were no tears.

"Wait a minute. You mean you and Austin got it on in Gordon's yard, tonight, while the band played on?" Paula actually seemed to be enjoying this.

"Something like that."

"I don't believe it."

"I'm afraid it's true."

"Why are you so upset? Was it terrible? Come on, tell me all the details!" Paula leaned closer, grinning impishly.

"I will not!" Bailey exclaimed. "How can you possibly want to know about your lover making love with another woman? That's sick, Paula, very sick."

"My lover? Wait a minute. You're not saying you think Austin is Prince Charming?" She collapsed back onto the sofa in gales of laughter.

"I saw him put those flowers in your car! And when I told you, you said you already knew he was Prince Charming!" Bailey defended herself.

"I did no such thing! Maybe he put the flowers in my car, but Gordon bought them, believe me. I saw the receipt in his car. Prince Charming is Gordon, the wonderful man who fought for me tonight. Have you ever had a man fight for you? It's really an incredible feeling. Probably every bit as great as that runner's high you keep babbling about."

Bailey's head was spinning, trying to assimilate all the ramifications of this new information. "You're not in love with Austin? He's not in love with you?" He's not using me to get close to you?

"Of course not. Austin? Are you kidding?"

"Why not Austin? What's wrong with him?" The words came out of her mouth before she could stop them. With a start, she realized she was defending the wretched man.

"I don't know. You tell me. You're the one who's all upset after making love with him. You and Austin, splendor in the grass." She rolled her eyes and laughed. "I love it!"

"Paula, I have to go to bed now. I'm really tired."

"You got it, kid," Paula agreed, grinning broadly. "Wait till I tell Gordon," she said as she headed for her bedroom door.

"I'll kill you if you tell," Bailey said.

Paula laughed, shook her head, and muttered, "Incredible," before closing her door behind her.

Bailey sat on the sofa stroking Samantha. She had to think about this new development. Austin had apparently made love to her because he wanted to. She had participated wholeheartedly then refused to speak to him. He'd probably hate her for the rest of his life, and that was likely all for the best since they couldn't get along anyway.

But it didn't feel like it was for the best.

"Oh, Samantha," she murmured, holding the little face against her cheek. "I think we've got problems."

CHAPTER 7

"Power suits!" Bailey exclaimed as she threw the third one onto her bed.

She'd never noticed until she started dressing that Monday morning how austere most of her wardrobe was. Other than the suits, several pairs of blue jeans, and a rack of T-shirts from competitive runs, all she had was the dress her mother had given her for her last birthday, the one she'd worn to Gordon's on Saturday night.

Samantha vaulted onto the bed and sniffed the pile. "However, severe colors and somber lines are necessary for the old career, and that's what's important. Right?"

Samantha pawed daintily at a navy blue pinstripe lapel, tilted her nose into the air then curled into a ball on the jacket.

"Nobody likes a know-it-all." Bailey pulled out an old faithful black suit. If she left the top button on her blouse open, maybe it would lessen the severity.

She donned the outfit and studied her image in the dresser mirror. Eyes and hair sitting atop a black tube. Lips and face so pale as to be almost invisible.

Except—she peered closer—for a couple of freckles on her nose. Damn! The sun made her hair redder, but did it give