Naked Came the Stranger - By Penelope Ashe Page 0,58

seemed nice."

"Thanks," Taylor said.

"Yes, I remember all of it now," Gillian said.

"Somebody… a woman… she'd been drinking an awful lot… said the Baron just adores Sarah and that you wouldn't be where you are unless…."

"Well, that's a bunch of…", Taylor cut himself off. "I… ah, the hell with those bitches."

"Why, it made you mad," Gillian said. "I'm sorry. I thought it was funny."

"Yeah," Taylor said. "Funny."

Gillian stood up and walked around Taylor's desk. Her arm coming up slowly, her fingertips brushing across Taylor's jaw.

"I am sorry," she said. "It did make you mad." She stepped back and looked at him. "Well, I've done enough. I won't bother anyone about this smart-assed critic. Call me."

"No," Taylor said. "I mean, no, don't go. We'll talk about it." He stood, fumbling for a cigarette, trying to think of something. "Gillian, could we… Gillian… walk down to the Baron's office?" He indicated his own three walls of glass. "Quieter there. Great pictures, too. The Baron in the Spanish-American War and World War I and playing polo. And some of his most successful campaigns."

"Fine," Gillian said. "Only I have the strangest feeling you're going to show me those computers before we're finished."

They walked through the door of Taylor's office. Taylor paused at Emily's desk.

"I'm not expecting any calls, Emily," he said.

"Yes, Mr. Hawkes" – she always called him Mr. Hawkes in front of outsiders.

Not a way in the damn world except to go right through the middle of the room, Taylor thought. Together they started. Pointing to the adding machines, Taylor said, "The adding machines." And, further on, "Account executives' offices." Trying to walk not fast, but not slow, and make it casual. Feeling eyes fixed on his back as they passed girl after girl, and seeing the ones still in front of them and knowing that they were waiting for him to pass with Gillian Blake so they could stare, too. And the account executives peering out of their cubbyholes. Those eyes must be eating up the backs of Gillian's calves and eating up those good muscles of hers under the sand-colored skirt, rolling a little, flexing gently, as Taylor knew those muscles would be.

"Lots of various campaigns being mapped out here," Taylor said. "Lots of various campaigns." He motioned.

"This way." They were out of the room and into the hallway and now were standing, together, in front of the locked doors to the Baron's office.

Reaching into his pocket, Taylor brought out a chain and fumbled through the keys to every part of his life: front door of home, ignition key of station wagon, office key, trunk key of Buick, garage door, office desk, safe deposit box, ignition key of Buick…. Somehow, he was afraid that Gillian Blake was going to say, Ah, the hell with it, Taylor, don't bother… and then he found, and inserted into the lock, the key to the Baron's office.

"There you go," he said, opening the door, stepping aside, then quickly shutting the door behind them. He pointed. "Those are the pictures I told you about."

"Yes," Gillian Blake said. "And that's a wall and that's a chair and that's a rug." She looked at him. "My, you're nervous, Taylor."

"Well, I wanted you to see the pictures," Taylor said.

"There's the Baron in the Spanish-American War… and there he is on his hundredth birthday, when we shot off a cannon on the front lawn… and there's… well, there're lots of them. And the big campaigns."

He reached over her, pointing, his arm across her shoulders.

"My, God, you're a countryman," Gillian said, turning, facing him, standing so close that her breasts touched his chest. "Isn't there anything else you wanted to show me, Taylor?"

He pulled her against him, feeling her stomach and thighs press into him. His right hand was on her back, his left at the curve of her waist-buttocks, and his mouth was starting at her neck.

"You'll rumple my dress, Taylor."

"Sweet Jesus, Gillian, I've got…"

"But I'll take it off," she said.

With her right hand she ran down the zipper and in one motion, it seemed, she pulled the dress over her head. She stood before him in a half slip and a bra. Now, looking at him she unhooked the bra, bringing it free in her hand, standing erect, her breasts not large, but firm and white and straight out.

"Why don't you loosen your tie, Taylor?"

Taylor stopped staring and pulled at his tie as she walked across the room. She stopped beside the Baron's glass-topped desk, and on the desk she