They moved on again. He kept just one step ahead of her. She could feel the heat from his body, and she could hear his breath coming jerkily.
In the apartment he flicked on the light. She could see his face glistening, and a wild look she had not seen before in his eyes. She leant against the wall, her mouth a little slack, looking at him through half-closed eyes.
They stood facing each other, then without moving she said, “Now…”
Dillon passed his tongue over his lips. She could see the urge in him struggling with his caution. Moving forward, she passed close to him and sat on the bed. She put her hands behind her and leant back.
The blood slowly mounted to his face until it was congested. She saw his mouth twist and she dropped back, flat across the bed. He came towards her and, reaching out, he gripped the neckband of her dress, savagely ripping the flimsy stuff from her.
Triumphantly she received him, and gave herself to his ruthless and urgent possession.
PART THREE
Outside, the rain beat on the windows. Below, the streets were empty and glistening in the yellow lights of the street lamps.
Myra paced the room restlessly, a cigarette in her mouth. No word from Dillon. She looked impatiently at the clock. Then she turned and, pulling back the curtain, looked into the empty street.
Her mind was alive with doubts. She went over to the telephone, lifted the receiver, hesitated, then put it back on its cradle. Where the hell was Dillon? she kept asking herself. He said he’d be there at nine o’clock; it was just after eleven.