“Yes, but it’s early yet, isn’t it?”
Duffy took two glasses and poured out the rum. He went over to her and put the glass in her hand. “To you and to me and to dough,” he said.
The Bacardi went down smooth, leaving a hot ball of fire burning inside them.
“Take your hat off, honey,” he said, “this is your home now.”
She said, “Is that the bedroom over there?”
“That’s it. Go ahead and have a look.” He was surprised to find his hands were trembling. He watched her walk slowly across the room and into the bedroom. Her long legs and flat hips had a lazy movement, but there was an electric tension that radiated from her.
He followed her and stood just behind her, looking at her in the mirror. She raised her eyes, studied his face, then she turned quickly.
He put his hands on her hips and drew her to him. “You’re swell,” he said. “I’ve known you twenty-four hours, but it seems a lifetime. I bet you’re bad. I bet you’ve loved, but I don’t care.”
She said, “I’ve been all that and more.” She took his hands in hers, held them for a moment, then pushed them away from her. She went over to the bed and sat down.
Duffy shifted away from the mirror and leant over the back of the bed. “We’ve got to get together,” he said. “Tell me about yourself.”