Read Surrounded for Free Online

planning for Oceanview Plaza. "Nonsense," he said. "You're worth every penny you get, no matter how much it is."
        The Times reporter was right about her beauty. She was tall and willowy like a show girl, five-eight to Tucker's five-nine. Her legs were exquisite and long, her waist pinched up as if corseted, her breasts high and round and firm. She was a real blonde with wild green eyes, natural and wholesome- and yet sultry. Her complexion was as smooth as an air-brushed bosom in Playboy, an attribute that made it possible for her to play roles ranging from gosh-wow ingenues to slinky sexpots with equal success.
        He was continually amazed that she wanted to live with him, for she was the sort of woman who usually was escorted around town by tall handsome men whose shoulders were as wide as doorways. Yet she had come, and she stayed, and they were happy with each other.
        In all but one way their relationship was fresh and honest. Each came and went as he pleased, with no deceptions, lies or jealousy. They did not make plans for a mutual future because neither wanted the other to feel obligated to any prepared script. They earned and did not own each other. She paid half the rent and utilities, bought half the groceries, because that was the only way she would remain with him. They trusted each other, respected each other as equals. However, when it came to his "business," Tucker deceived her. It was not that he thought she would turn him over to the police if she knew that he was a thief; it was simply that he did not want to involve her in his own criminal activity in any way for which she might later have to suffer.
        He turned away from the newspaper and put his arms around her again. She was wearing a lightweight knitted suit that clung to her and seemed to dissolve between them. "The New York Times thinks you're beautiful," he said.
        "Then I must be beautiful."
        "You're a celebrity."
        "Impressed?"
        "Terribly."
        "Want my autograph?"
        "On an eight-by-ten glossy."
        She kissed his chin. "Have you ever been to bed with a celebrity?"
        "Never."
        "Now's your chance," she said.
        "Are you propositioning me?"
        "That's it exactly."
        In the master bedroom she undressed him, and then he returned the favor. The buttons on her knit suit parted easily. The flimsy material seemed to melt away from her, flowing down across her full curves and puddling at her feet.
        His voice was soft, almost inaudible, when he said, "You are beautiful, Elise."
        "Do you believe everything you read in the papers?" she asked.
        Later, they went out to the kitchen and made dinner. He put the steaks on and mixed the salad dressing while she cleaned and chopped the lettuce, celery, and carrots. They had lots of cheap wine and finished with Tia Maria and coffee.
        "I'm whoozy," she said.
        "So am I." "
        "Defenseless," she said.
        "Are you really?"
        "Utterly defenseless."
        He took her back into the bedroom and helped her slip out of her comfortable quilted houserobe, and then he took advantage of her. It lasted longer this time, was slower but more complete for both of them.
        Well afterward, she said, "Oh, you got a telephone call from your father's lawyer."
        He rose up, leaning on one elbow, and looked at her. Her face was half hidden in purple shadows as smooth as steamed velvet, half revealed by the warm orange light of the bedside lamp. Darkness molded to her body and subtly emphasized the ripe lines of it. "You mean Littlefield called?" he asked.
        "Yes."
        "When?"
        "About one o'clock this afternoon." She was lying on her back, but she turned slightly to face him. The shadows retreated from her face.
        "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"
        "I knew it would spoil the evening," she said. "I was horny. As you may have