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started toward the bedroom. "Come," she said. "Later we will talk, when you really like me."
    Lee followed her and sat down on the edge of the bed. She had not been anxious to climb into that bed with Cleo. Now, she didn't want it at all.
    Cleo sensed her aloofness. She came to the edge of the bed and moved close between Lee's knees. With long, gentle fingers, she stroked the short, straight bangs on Lee's forehead. "Tonight you do not care for me at all," she said lightly.
    Lee sighed. It would never occur to Cleo that Lee might have other things on her mind. For Cleo, there was only one thing that counted.
    She put her arm around the girl's waist and buried her face against the black, itchy material of the dress. Cleo's fingertips caressed the back of her neck now, moving into her hairline and tickling down behind her ear. Something choked in Lee's throat and stung at her eyelids. But she reached up and grasped the zipper pull at the back of Cleo's neck.
    She had never seen a woman get out of her clothes as agilely as Cleo managed to do it. She was still in her underwear when Cleo bounced onto the bed. She let the slip drop over her hips and fall to the floor. Cleo grabbed her fingers and pulled her down to the mattress.
    Cleo's mouth was warm and moist against hers. Cleo's tongue eager, darting to find hers, to tease, to torment. Cleo's fingers wise and knowing, catching a muscle here, a nerve there. Playing with her, until neither of them was playing any longer.
    And she knew how Cleo wanted it. Hard and driving. Brutal. Knew that Cleo sensed the rage in her and wanted her to use it, to spend it. She gave it to her that way. Hating the woman still and hating herself. Not wanting Cleo, but taking her...
    She clung to Cleo's hips, her fingertips biting into the flesh, her cheek against the woman's thigh. Cleo lay still now, her breathing deep and slow. Lee felt the woman's palm on the back of her head, knew that Cleo was soothing her. Yet the rage inside her would not be still. And she was thinking, not of Cleo whose body she had splotched with bruises, but of Maggie, whom she had never touched and never would.
    Maggie... Mag the Nag. A girl not to be trusted, because she would love you and tie you down. A girl not to be wanted, because she could satisfy you like nobody else could satisfy you—and you'd be hung on Maggie for life. A girl not to be needed, because she would always be there when you needed her. Maggie... whom you loved and wanted and needed.
    Cleo's fingers were gentle. Cleo's lips soft, persuasive. Yet she hardly felt them as they brushed lightly over her flesh. Her body responded because her body needed to numb itself, needed the fleeting sensation that was more pain than pleasure. But the mind part of her remained coldly separate, watching the spectacle like a dour critic.
    For Cleo's benefit, she smiled a little, pretending it had been good. Cleo leaned over her, her lips pressed to Lee's throat, and one hand circled on the smooth flatness of Lee's chest.
    She felt Cleo laugh against her throat. "What's so funny?"
    Cleo pulled her face away and touched a fingertip to the end of Lee's nose. "You are like a little boy," she teased gently. "You have no breasts and no hair."
    Lee smiled. "Look again," she said. "You must have missed something."
    "Oh, silly." Cleo curled up small and pressed herself against Lee's side. "I know you are a woman that way. Besides, what use would I have for a little boy?"
    Again Lee smiled, remembering the feel of Cleo, the need of her. "You have plenty of use for men, I gather," she said mildly. "How come you bothered with me?"
    "Sometimes," Cleo said, her mouth against Lee's arm, "a man is much better than a woman." She laughed then and put her arms tight around Lee. "And sometimes, a woman is much better than a man."
    Something about the way she said it put Lee instantly on guard. The familiar clink of gold that she had heard before in Cleo's tone had sneaked in again. She took