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"So stay speechless, my sweet. Finish your drink. Go back to sleep if you want to. Just think about it. I have a car waiting at the airport, and when we land, I'm going to take your arm and lead you off the plane. I'll drop you off wherever you decide to go—your choice."
He released her hand, smiling almost mockingly at her before he leaned back in the seat And that was when, for the first time, Eve realized that he really meant it—all the crazy, incredible things he'd said to her, making her listen against her will.
What was even more incredible, and positively infuriating, was that right afterward Brant had the added effrontery to plug in his headset adjusting the earphones with careful concentration, while she sat there literally dumbstruck and seething inside; and then he pretended he was trying to sleep while she was still searching for words that were scathing enough.
Eve had to fight the impulse to snatch the headset away and slap him as hard as she could, or to get up and demand that her seat be changed. She glared at him —his bronze-and-gold Greek god profile, his tanned, well-kept hands. And wanted to scream from sheer frustration. How dare he? Just because he'd stunned her into listening to his ridiculous, unbelievable proposition, he had no damned right at all to assume that she'd let him lead her off the plane or even consider for a moment—
She noticed suddenly she was being stared at— enviously—by two women across the aisle from her. They looked away quickly, whispering to each other, and Eve's hands clenched themselves on her lap. Damn Brant Newcomb, anyhow! How had he known she was going to be on this flight? How had he arranged to have the seat next to hers? And what had he meant by that crack about Randall Thomas?
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Afterward Eve couldn't remember how it happened that she did let Brant lead her off that plane. She had sat there looking out of the window, still seething. And then when the cabin was darkened and they started showing the movie, she must have let herself fall asleep. The next thing she knew, Brant was shaking her awake.
"Come on, we've landed. You looked like you needed the sleep, so I told Marcia here not to wake you up for lunch. If you're hungry, I'll buy you dinner on the way back."
The prettiest of the flight attendants stood there smiling. She had Eve's carry-on baggage, and Brant took it from her with a casual "Thanks, honey."
He'd taken advantage of her drowsiness. Before Eve had time to come back to awareness, he already had her arm and was leading her outside, down the carpeted corridor, and through it to the crowded gate area where everyone was greeting everyone else. Eve would have pulled away from him then—if she hadn't seen David.
David? She couldn't help the way her heart lurched, and she would have stumbled on her too-high heels if Brant hadn't tightened his hold on her arm. She was watching David's hurtingly familiar face, seeing the expression of shock chased away, to be replaced by a tight smile. She thought, Oh, God, no—now he'll think —he'll be sure I—
She heard Brant say, "Hi, Zimmer. You Eve's welcome-home committee?" And he moved her forward inexorably so that she noticed for the first time die girl who was standing too close to David. Short, dark-haired, rather pretty. She was looking awed, and her hand rested on David's arm.
"Well, I heard from Stella Gervin—my secretary— that Marti Meredith had to leave for Los Angeles, and since Wanda here has been wanting to meet Eve, we thought—"
Wanda turned out to be Mr. Bernstein's niece, fresh from Smith College. And David had actually brought her along with him—to prove that he and Eve were just friends?
Eve forgot what else was said—she knew that she managed to smile and give quite a creditable imitation of coolness. She was extra nice to Wanda, and she even managed to force herself to take David's hand. Head up, Eve! And let him see you don't give a damn. Let him think anything he pleases....
She heard her own voice, the voice of a poised, self-possessed stranger, saying:
"David, it was really nice of you to drive out here to meet me! And I'm sorry I hadn't the time to call Marti back and tell her of the change in my plans. But when I ran into Brant and he offered to give me a ride back...
More polite murmurs. They all walked down toward the baggage claim area together, and all the time Eve knew that he was furious. She could feel him vibrate with rage, even while he asked the obvious questions about New York and her new job and Wanda giggled at something Brant said. She was a somnambulist. Eve went on feeling that way, even when she was sitting beside Brant in his car—a white Mercedes SL450 this time—top down, her hair blowing in the wind.
Let the wind blow her thoughts away, too. Brant was silent and she was silent until they had taken the on-ramp and were on the freeway, headed toward the city. Eve wondered crazily if he had known that David was going to be there—whether he had arranged that, too. But at this point, she felt she didn't care. She f
elt numb. She might have been sitting between David and Wanda, still trying to smile, keeping it light Damn you, David! How could you do this to me? Why come at all? Why with another girl? It had been obvious that Wanda had a crush on David—had they been to bed together yet? She tried to excuse him in her mind the next instant, despising herself for it. Maybe he'd been uncertain of her reactions. Maybe he'd thought that if he came alone, she'd turn away from him and refuse to accept his offer of a ride. He'd have called her after he'd dropped Wanda off—she knew he would have! And then...
God, how could I be thinking this way? Prideless, spineless, crawling... Yes, she'd been all of those things with David. She'd let him turn her into a masochist, anxious for crumbs; and he'd shown her exactly how he felt about her the last time they'd been together....
"Would you like to stop off somewhere and get something to eat, Eve?"
Brant's expression was as impersonal as his voice, and Eve caught herself wondering what he was thinking, what was really behind his improbable, impossible suggestion earlier.
"Eve, I want to marry you." And later, "It's your choice. Eve." She had to have dreamed it, of course. Not Brant Newcomb. And what was she doing sitting beside him in his car, trapped into closeness with the one man of all men that she feared and hated most? She was the crazy one!
"I'm not really hungry, thank you."
"Polite girl, aren't you?"
She flashed him a quick, angry look, meeting his measuring blue eyes for an instant. "Is there something wrong with that?"
"I like it." And then, without giving her a chance to reestablish her defenses, he said evenly, "Why don't you come back to the house with me and have a drink?"
Her reaction was instinctive. "Oh, no! If you think I—"
"For Christ's sake, Eve. I mean everything I said to you earlier. And this isn't part of some elaborate plot to kidnap you. If that was all I wanted, I could have it done by experts. There's no one else at the house; I promise you that. And you can leave anytime you want to.
