"Judith Merril - The Tomorrow People" - читать интересную книгу автора (Merril Judith)

"I guess I was dreaming." He wiped sweat from his forehead and neck and face. Then he swung
his legs out of the bed and stood up. "Coffee?"
Lisa hesitated, shook her head: No.
Johnny found his shorts on the floor, pulled them on. There was sweat on his thighs, too.
Sticky and drying. A shower, he thought ... too damn hot in here. He peered at the thermostat; it
said 68, but the room was hot. He turned it down. Check it out in the morning, he thought. Couldn't
be working right. A drink and a shower would do it, all right. Then he could get back to sleep. Just
one drink . . .
"Maybe a brandy . . . ?"
It took a moment to register—she meant for her. He looked down at her, grinning. "Hey!" he
said, "Don't you think one lush around here is enough?" She smiled and he leaned over, meaning
to drop a quick kiss on her hair. Then it hit him again: the incredible fact of her presence, right
there, in his house, in his bed . . . the look and shape of her, the curve of shoulder, the aliveness
just below her skin, the way her cheek curved with her smile . . . smiling light in her eyes, and all
for him ... for him .. . even while the faint line of frowning ... for him, too. . . lingered above. The
cloudy feel and fragrance of her hair, and the strange blend of scents on her skin; soap, grass,
sex, something else, something sweet and delicious and way-back in memory.
"Oh, baby!" he said and sat down to do an all-out job of kissing her. "Maybe I don't want that
coffee—Nope!" He stood up, abruptly aware of dried sweat on his face, in his hair. "The lady
wants a drink, that's what she gets!"
In the kitchen, he got the bottle and two glasses and went straight back, not giving himself time
for the quick one he would have had while he mixed his coffee. He gave Lisa the bottle.
"Pour me. I'll be right back."
And what the Hell do you think you're proving? he jeered at himself as he turned on the shower.
All the answers he could think of sounded more like Phil Kutler's brand of idiocy than like any of
his own. He stepped impatiently out of the air blast and wrapped a towel around his still-damp
waist. Well, he thought, any way you look at it, it's your own damn fault!
He went out, took the glass Lee held out, and belted it [down] fast. He filled it again, leaving the
jug carefully on her table, not his own. Then he walked around the bed and sat down, leaning
against the headboard.
Sip it, he told himself. Lisa leaned back beside him. He watched her breasts move under the
fullness of the thin night-gown: rising, as she settled into place, and again as she raised her glass
to her lips; falling when she lowered it; shifting again when she turned to smile at him. Her hair
was freshly brushed, he saw, and her lips newly, lightly, rouged. There was a trace of perfume,
too, that had not been there before— and the other smell, the special one he couldn't quite place,
was lost under it. That was when he remembered something she'd said before.
"What's with the morning bus?" he asked.
"I have to be at the studio at ten. They're taping the Bar-tok. Didn't I tell you Hal called . . . ?"
"Yeah." She had told him. So okay. One more thing he didn't remember. He looked at her
again. What the Hell is that smell, anyway . . . ?
"Lee . . ." He could sense her tension, her shrinking from what he was going to say. "I could go
down too . . . while we're there ... we could see about that license, you know?"
"Oh, Johnny . . ." She paused, and because he did love her, he didn't wait to make her say the
rest.
"Okay, doll. Listen . . ." No good. "Oh, Hell! Just don't forget old Johnny did his best to make an
honest woman out of you!" What the Hell should he care? If that's how she wanted it...
She'd do anything for him, he knew. Anything—except marry him.
Okay! "Better get some sleep," he said stiffly.
"Mmmmm?" She emptied her glass, squashed out her cigarette, and slid down on her pillow.
Her hand hovered over the light switch while her eyes questioned his.