"What are you going to do now? Rape me before you arrest me?"
"Come on, Susan, you know better than that. Get it through your head that right now I'm the best friend you've got."
"How often have you used that line? What do they call that, putting the suspect at ease?"
"That's what they call it," Matt agreed. "The difference is, this is the first time I've used the technique on an interviewee I think I'm in love with."
Her heart jumped when he said that.
"In love?" she asked, witheringly sarcastic. "You don't expect me to believe that, do you?"
"Well, maybe what happened affected me more than it affected you, but that's how I'm forced to look at it."
"Oh, come on, Matt!"
"If I didn't come to realize, when you were in the bathroom all that time, that what's wrong with me is that I'm in love with you, then what would have happened was that we would have torn off another couple of pieces, had our dinner, and I would have taken you home and been not at all upset about the inevitability of you going off to the slam."
"My God, you're serious!"
"Were you listening when I said we don't have time for bullshit?"
There was a knock at the door.
"Who's that?" Susan asked, as if frightened.
"Probably the waiter. When I checked in, I told them to cool a couple of bottles." He raised his voice. "Just a moment, please, I'm in the shower."
He let go of her wrist and got out of bed.
"Is there another one of those in there?" he asked, making reference to the hotel's terry-cloth robe and gesturing toward the bathroom.
"I only saw this one," Susan said.
"Then you better give me that one," Matt said. "And wait in the bathroom. Or get under the blankets."
She looked at him doubtfully, then looked around for her discarded clothing.
"Where're my clothes?"
"I kicked them under the bed," he said matter-of-factly, then smiled and went on. "Come on, give me the robe. The cow already got out of the barn. I know what you've got hidden under there."
She turned her back on him, unfastened the robe, and, aware that she was blushing again, shrugged out of it and ran to the bathroom.
"What do you want to eat?"
"What do I want to eat?" she parroted incredulously. "Eat?"
"They do a nice standing rib," he said. "Okay?"
"I just don't give a damn," she confessed, and closed the bathroom door.
Feeling dizzy and a little faint, but no longer nauseous, Susan leaned against the closed bathroom door. This gave her a view of herself in the mirrors over the sink.
For a moment, she seriously considered that she might be having a bad dream. That was obviously not the case.
But I can't believe any of this is happening! Either what happened in the car, or that I came to the room, or what happened here. Anything that happened here, from letting him undress me through what happened after he did, to that clever little unbelievable line, "The cops are onto you, fair maiden."
She was vaguely conscious of hearing him order dinner-New England-style clam chowder, not the kind with tomatoes, medium-rare beef, baked potatoes, asparagus, and a large pot of coffee-and couldn't believe that, either.
How the hell can he even think of food at a time like this?
And then he was trying to push the bathroom door open against the weight of her body.
"Hey, you all right, Susan?" he asked, and there was concern in his voice.
"What do you want?"
"I thought you might want the robe back."
"Just a minute," she said, and pushed herself off the door and went after a towel.
Before she reached it, he had pushed the door open. Susan tried to cover herself modestly with her hands.
"Ta-ta!" Matt cried. "The Mad Flasher strikes again!"
Using both hands, he pulled the bathrobe open wide.
Under it, his private parts were now concealed by his shorts.
"You're insane," she said, but she smiled and reached for the robe as he shrugged out of it.
"Your maidenly modesty is really a waste of effort, you know. I have seen what I have seen, and it is burned indelibly for all eternity on my brain."
"You really are insane, aren't you?" Susan said.
Why am I pleased that he liked what he saw? And for that matter, why am I not really all that embarrassed about him seeing me naked?
Matt went back into the bedroom, and as she fastened the robe around her, she saw him going into the sitting room. She combed her hair as best she could, then went into the bedroom.
Where she found that he had indeed kicked her clothing under the bed. The first thing she retrieved was her brassiere.
And saw he had torn it off: the buttonhole on the strap between the cups was ripped open.
She found her underpants and pulled them on under the terry-cloth robe and went into the sitting room.
He was pouring champagne. He picked up both glasses and held one out to her.
"I'm not sure I want this," she said.
"What shall we drink to?" he asked, ignoring her.
"What is there to celebrate?"
"Us, maybe? Or am I really alone in thinking that something really special happened to both of us in the last twenty-four hours?"
"Matt, I'm afraid to believe you about… what you said," she said.
"I told you I think I love you after I told you that bullshit time is over," he said. "You can believe that."
"I don't know what happened to me," Susan said.
"The question is was it special for you? Half as special, maybe, as it was for me?"
"What do you think?" she asked softly.
"I don't know what to think. That's why I asked."
"The last time somebody put his hands in my pants in a car was when I was in high school. I hit him with a flashlight and knocked out two of his teeth."
"Is that a yes?"
"I came up here with you, didn't I? And you know what happened."
"In that case, we have just taken step one," Matt said. "Which I think we should commemorate with a swallow of the bubbly, and, if you're so inclined, with a friendly kiss."
"A friendly kiss?"
"Boy Scout's honor," he said, and stepped close to her.
She looked into his eyes for a long moment, then kissed him, very chastely, on the lips.
That was and that wasn't. It was closed-mouthed and gentle, but I felt it all the way down to my crotch.
If he kisses me again, or puts his hand inside the bathrobe, we'll be back in the sack again.
Matt touched his glass to hers.
"Well, at least we have our priorities right. First the kiss, and then the champagne."
"And now what?" Susan asked.
"We wait for dinner to be delivered," he said. "And meanwhile, we try to start to find some kind of a solution to our dilemma."
"And how do we do that?"
"You start by trusting me," he said, looking into her eyes. "You really don't have any choice, but I want you to really understand that."
She averted her eyes by lowering them.
"Are you constantly in that state?" she blurted.
"I just kissed you," he said. "And it happened." He snapped his fingers. "Just like that. Ah-ten-hut! And then, feeling noble as hell, I resisted the enormous urge to pick you up and carry you back to bed."
"That wouldn't be smart, would it?" Susan asked, raising her eyes from his erection to his eyes.
"Not right now, but you could easily talk me out of that position."
"Maybe that's all it is," she said. "Unbridled lust. On both sides."
"Maybe," he said very seriously. "I think there's more, but if that's all there is, that's enough."
"I don't really know what you mean by trust you," she said.
"Well, that means I'm going to ask you questions, and you're going to answer them. The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. You're not going to hold anything back. You've just changed sides, Susan. Chenowith and his friends are now the bad guys."