Hendley mumbled directions. He felt better now that he was back on his feet and moving. When he reached his room he was prepared to thank the plump-bosomed stranger, but she gave him no chance to speak. "I'm not going to leave you alone until you're safe in bed!" she admonished him firmly, as if talking to a child.
He made no protest. Though he wanted only to be left alone, he was grateful for her help. He wasn't sure that he could have made it to his room on his own.
The woman led him to his bed. "What a pleasant room!" she murmured. "Just lie down now. No, don't fight me, relax."
Deftly, efficiently, it seemed impersonally, she stripped him of his uniform. Hendley was too absorbed in the problem of remaining in place to feel more than mild surprise at her attentions. Then, without his realizing how it had happened, the woman was beside him on the bed, her uniform gone, her warm body an unexpected abundance of sweetly scented, swelling hills and dipping valleys.
"He tried to pick you up, didn't he?" she whispered huskily. "I saw him."
"What? Oh." Hendley realized obscurely that she was referring to the tall blond Freeman with the red face.
"You didn't like him, did you?"
"No. Listen, I didn't mean for you to...." His feeble protest trailed off. There was no resistance left in him.
"He's always following me," the woman said resentfully. "Trying to take men away from me. But you like me better, don't you?"
"You—you know him?"