Her face was close to his. “He’s got a lot of dough in there as well. We gotta do it, Nick, can’t you see? We won’t get anywhere unless we do.”
Gurney walked round her and sat on the bed. “I tell you it can’t be done,” he said, slamming his fist down on his knee. “What you thinking about? I tell you that guy’s got three rods, and he’ll just fall over himself to put some slugs into both of us.”
Myra came over to him and sat close. She put her arms round his neck. He could feel the warmth of her body pressing against him. He could feel the curve of her breast against his arm. He turned, dragging her over his knees, gripping her tight, his blood singing in his ears. She let him kiss her, then she broke away from him and stood up.
He sat there, shaken with desire for her. He said fiercely, “I gotta have you, Myra.” He reached out for her. “I can’t wait… damn you… I gotta have you.”
Myra’s voice came like a cold douche. “Get a grip on yourself, Nick… Dillon first… you’ll never have me if you don’t get that bastard… and you’ve got to get him now.”
Gurney got to his feet. He leant forward. “Do you mean it?” he said, his voice harsh.
She stood there looking at him. “I mean it all right,” she said.
“What’ve I gotta do?” He relied on her.
Myra moved round the room, thinking. Gurney could only watch her. His brain refused to work. He had only eyes for her, raking her from head to foot.
She said at last, “We mustn’t slip up on this, Nick.”