Five
You might have thought we were posing for an old-fashioned photograph. We stayed frozen in the same positions for several seconds while we stared at each other—although I was doing more looking than she was. There was a little smile on her face as though she were enjoying the sensation she had created.
“Hello,” she said. Her voice was low and husky.
“Hello,” I said. “I hate to mention it, but I think one of us must have made a mistake and gotten into the wrong room.”
“You’re Milo March?”
“Yes.”
“Then there’s no mistake, honey. Take off your things and make yourself comfortable.”
“I suppose I should be flattered,” I said slowly, “but I’m afraid somebody has been telling you the wrong things about me. It’s never been necessary for a beautiful woman to pull a g*n on me in order to
