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Such an unusual feeling, to have a guy of her own suddenly—to be engaged to be married, and not to David. She wondered if she'd ever get used to the idea, or to the fact that she was going to be Brant's wife, of all things.
Later, in the car, she asked him if he would take her back to her apartment.
He looked at her quizzically.
"Tired of me already? I thought you might be resigned to being my kept woman for a few days."
She managed to laugh, shaking her head.
"It's not that. But Brant, I really should go back just long enough to check with Marti if she's back, and pick up the rest of my clothes, and— God, I'm suddenly beginning to realize how damn many things I have to do, like call New York and—"
He touched her hand.
"Okay, okay. We're on our way."
David would have become impatient with her or grumbled—he hated having his plans delayed or interfered with. Brant was just as polite and reasonable as he'd been all day. Would he ever lose his temper with her, or were all his rages held inside and as carefully controlled as his other emotions?
When Eve started to let herself into the apartment, Marti came out of her room at once, heaving an exaggerated sigh of relief.
"Well, for God's sake! I was beginning to think you'd developed amnesia! He's been calling all afternoon, driving me nuts! I..."
Marti's voice trailed away almost ludicrously when she saw whom Eve had brought back with her.
"Oh, my God!" she burst out spontaneously. "Not you!"
"Hi, Marti. I'm afraid it is." Brant's voice was cool and slightly mocking, as usual.
"Marti," Eve stammered, "I—well, we—" She couldn't seem to get the words out in the face of Marti's obvious shock.
"Wiry don't you get whatever clothes and stuff you need and attend to your telephone calls, sweetheart, and I'll explain to Marti."
Telephone calls! Eve glanced sharply at Brant. Did he mind that David had called her? Had there been a touch of sarcasm in his voice?
But he had turned away from her already. He and Marti were eyeing each other coolly, like adversaries. Weakly, Eve decided to let Brant take over; he was good at that..
"Explain!" Marti was saying furiously. "Explain what? Eve's not going anywhere with you, Brant Newcomb. I won't let her. You forget, I know exactly what kind of a bastard you are!"
Eve retreated, closing the door of her room on their voices. For a moment, she leaned against it, closing her eyes. David had called. David—wanting what of her?
Automatically, even as she was thinking this, Eve had started to walk toward the telephone. But she stopped, stood looking at it for a moment, and then turned away. She knew what David wanted. His willing and accommodating mistress—giving in, expecting nothing, making no demands. This time, he wasn't going to get her back. This time, Eve Mason wouldn't be available, and he could think what he pleased. I can be stubborn, too, Eve thought. I can be practical and cool (learning from Brant?), even if I feel it's going to kill me inside, in that secret part of me that still wants David.
Hastily, almost frantically, Eve began to snatch things out of her closet, rummage through drawers, dumping everything out on the bed. She wanted to tear down the mirror that reflected her every movement back at her. Not wanting to think about David and the times he'd shared this room, this bed with her.
God—if he called now! What would she do? Or say to him? Where in the past she had always prayed silently for David's call, now she found herself hoping fervently that he would not—not until she was safely gone.
Presently, Marti came in to help her pack, sorting out things she could send for later. Marti's magnolia-skinned face was paler than usual, and she wore a stunned, disbelieving look.
"I can't believe it!" Marti exploded, the minute she walked in. "Eve, are you sure you know what you're doing? I keep thinking that this is Brant, and he has to be playing some kind of cruel game. I— Oh, Eve baby, I'm just fond of you, you know that. I just don't want to see you cut to pieces by a—a barracuda!"
Eve shrugged helplessly.
"It's too late, Marti. I've committed myself, and we're going to be married in a few days. I even signed all kinds of papers this morning, and—it's as good as done, I suppose. Don't look that way, I can hardly believe it myself."
"You're making a mistake, Eve. I warned you about him, remember? But it's your life. Damn, I guess I feel almost protective—you don't need any more hurt. First David, and now—" Marti glanced toward the door.
"And what about David? What am I supposed to tell him if he calls again—or are you going to do that?"
"I don't want to talk about David! Oh, Marti, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to snap, but—something happened with us and—and it's over. David did it—I guess he opened my eyes for the last time."
