Chapter Seven
Suddenly the doorbell sounded, and Tom’s heart seemed to jump up into his constricted throat and lodge there, fluttering spasmodically like a bird trapped in the flue of a chimney. Samantha’s emerald eyes flashed, and the corner of her mouth twisted in a sardonic sort of self-satisfaction. “You know what to do,” she murmured, and then as the full-breasted woman, luxuriously bathed and toweled rosy and now more intimately groomed than she had ever been before in her life, let her rolling hips carry her queenly nude form unhurriedly back to the bedroom, the red-faced Tom could only gulp, and hasten to answer the door.
Feeling flushed and jittery, teetering inside between bleak dread and an awful anticipation which he knew, squirming guiltily, that no husband should feel, he w
