Naked Came the Stranger - By Penelope Ashe Page 0,51

stiffened into chunks and he unconsciously drew in his stomach, drew up his buttocks and inhaled. Mentally, he whomped a left hook into a body bag.

"Don't overdo it, honey," Gillian said. "Don't waste all that muscle until I get there, will you?"

She settled then on the direct approach. Subtlety, she knew, would be a waste. She scampered to the fence, and, hurtling it, tripped. It was a sprawling fall and it carried her to Paddy's feet. He looked down at her numbly and didn't move.

"For Christ's sake!" she exploded – then changed the snarl to smiling Arpège. "Please, hon, give me your hand."

Paddy, at that moment, would have given her the loving cup from the mantel, the one that the President of Argentina handed to him when he won his division championship in the Pan-American Games. That was just before Paddy was old enough to vote. He gave her his hand and she took it. As he pulled Gillian to her feet, her free hand traveled lazily up his forearm and the skin there exploded in goosebumps.

"Are you hurt, missus?"

There was pain in Paddy's voice as he asked the question. When she didn't answer – when all she did was stroke his arm and smile, he asked the question again – the same words with precisely the same intonation.

"Good God, you're strong," she said. "Touching you gives me shocks."

Her palms rubbed up his arms and over his shoulders and down his chest. Paddy looked over his shoulder at the house. He reminded himself that Agnes was at the hairdresser's. Gillian was talking some more about Paddy's muscles, but he couldn't hear a word she said. What he heard was a gentle purring sound and the sound stirred him. He reached both hands behind Gillian, caught her by the globes of her rump and pulled her a foot off the ground. Then he kissed her hurriedly, catching only the last quarter of an inch of her lips on the right side. Gillian clenched her teeth and then, before opening her eyes, managed a smile.

"You certainly sweep a girl right off her feet," she said.

"Oh, missus…."

Paddy was gulping again. He wanted to tell her he was sorry but the words wouldn't come. He stammered. And she cut off his misery with another smile and a light lingering touch that brushed over his chest and made a wide circular movement just above his belt buckle.

"Maybe it's not right," Gillian said – she tried spacing the words neatly between manufactured heavy breaths.

"Maybe it's not right but I could keep my hands on you all day."

Oh you sexpot, she thought, you incorrigible sexpot. Her eyes closed and her head rolled against Paddy's chest. Paddy was gulping hard when Gillian slumped and cried out a feeble "Oh!" Paddy grabbed her.

"Whatsamatta, missus?" he choked. "I do somethin' to you?"

"My ankle" – Gillian tried her best Bette Davis look – "I think I'm going to faint. Maybe you had better take me inside."

Paddy hadn't seen the movie. He tenderly gathered her up to him and minced his steps across the yard, up the back steps, through the kitchen and into the living room. He held her out in his arms and looked at her. She seemed in pain and there were tears in Paddy's eyes. Then he knelt in front of the couch and deposited her carefully among Agnes's doilies and antimacassars.

"Jesus, you're strong," Gillian said.

For the moment Bette Davis was forgotten. Paddy was squatting in front of her, and her hand roamed up his thigh. She hoped her eyes were properly glassy.

"I didn't know you were so strong," she said – trying to get a grip on his thigh. "I didn't know."

Paddy wanted to look at her and he fought against it. His eyes roamed over the room. There were the lamps that Agnes had bought when they were first married; the bookends her brother had given them at the same time; the prints, The Ruins of Pompeii and Blue Boy; the wallpaper with the violets on it – Paddy had found that wallpaper difficult to live with but Agnes told him it was "refined." And on the opposite wall was the crucifix, four feet high, that Agnes had bought from the Sisters of the Poor. Behind him – he knew without looking – was the tinted picture of Agnes that she had been sold years ago in Kresge's.

Paddy's inattention annoyed Gillian. What was his hangup? She squirmed and went into her kitten stretch.

– When even this