Free Beware by Richard Laymon Page A

hands would glide over her, sometimes slipping down between her legs.
    Brian used to do that, too, but she never loved Brian. Never loved anyone after Tom. But Brian came along at a time when she needed a man, andshe’d never had such sex; Brian cared about nothing else.
    Lying back, Lacey sighed and remembered those times by his pool when she lay on her back with her eyes shut and the sun on her naked body—the sun, the oil, and Brian’s sliding, searching hands.
    Now, she wondered if she could ever allow another man to have her. She knew her desire was strong: it always had been. But could she let herself be touched without recoiling, entered without shuddering in revulsion?
    Sprawled on the bathroom floor. The rug against her
face. Fingers clamping her shoulders. Erection ramming her.
    Hurt by the sudden shock of memory, she opened her eyes, groped inside her handbag, and took out the book. She struggled to read, but her mind soon strayed from the words. She saw herself tied to the bed and she heard the scratchy voice—“I oughta kill you”—and felt him jerk her legs apart, felt his mouth. She shut the book.
    The pool was deserted. The man who’d been swimming lengths now lay on the concrete, dripping, hands folded under his head. Lacey took off her sunglasses. She got up from the lounge and stepped to the pool’s edge.
    She dived in, jerking rigid at the cold blast of water, gliding through its silence and finally curving upward to the surface. She swam to the far end, turned, and swam back with all her might. Then she turned again and raced to the other end and back. She sidestroked two lengths, then breast-strokedtwo lengths, then climbed exhausted from the pool. She lowered the back of her lounge and flopped on it facedown, gasping.
    She heard the slap of footsteps.
    “You’re quite a swimmer.”
    Raising her head, she looked up at the man—the one who’d been in the pool before her. “Thanks,” she told him.
    “I’m Scott.”
    “Hi.”
    He was slim and muscular and tanned. His tight bikini trunks covered little of him, and concealed less. He sat on the concrete beside Lacey, facing her. “Do you have a name?” he asked.
    “Doesn’t everyone?”
    “Oooh. Touchy.”
    “Sorry. I’m just not in the mood for company.”
    “That’s the time when you
need
company the most.”
    “Wrong.” She lowered her head, and shut her eyes.
    “Can’t get rid of me that easily. Nothing I enjoy more than a challenge.”
    “Climb a mountain.”
    “Too rough. I prefer smoother terrain.”
    “Leave me alone, all right?”
    “Your back will burn. Would you like me to apply a dab of oil?”
    “I wouldn’t. I’d like to be left alone. Why don’t you go try someone else?”
    “Because you’re beautiful and lonely.”
    Lacey sighed. “I really don’t need this. If you won’t leave, I will.”
    “Ah, say no more. I can take a hint.”
    She opened one eye enough to see him stand. Scott smiled and waved as he backed away.
    Resting her head on her crossed arms, Lacey tried to sleep. Her mind replayed the encounter. The guy had been arrogant and pushy. But, damn it, she could’ve at least been polite. She’d acted like a bitch. She felt herself blushing at the memory.
    Well, what’s done is done.
    She tried not to think about it.
    She lay motionless, concentrating on the hot pressure of the sun.
    “A libation for the lady.”
    Lifting her head, she saw Scott above her, a Bloody Mary in each hand. “You don’t give up, do you?”
    “That’s why I seldom fail.”
    Lacey turned over, stared at the grinning man, and finally sat up. “I’m Lacey,” she said. “And I apologize for acting creepy.”
    “Creepy is a fair first-line of defense,” he said, sitting down on the concrete. “Only fair, though. Total complacency works better. It reduces the woman’s guilt factor. Much more difficult to penetrate.”
    “You’ve studied the subject.”
    “Women fascinate me.” He took the dripping celery