aula Fairley was late.

Ross Nelson glanced at the carriage clock on the mantelshelf of his living room for the umpteenth time. He was growing impatient. When she had telephoned at six-thirty to say she was delayed, he had told her to take her time. But he had expected her to arrive before now.

He strolled across the antique Chinese carpet and hovered in front of the bar contained in the ebony and gilt Chinese chest. He poured himself another dry martini, dropped in an olive, and walked to the window, looking down onto Park Avenue. His thoughts continued to dwell on Paula. She was one of the few women he had not been able to fathom. Or coax into his bed. He had desired her for the longest time now. Since the fall of 1969, when he had first become aware of her potent sexuality. She had always managed to keep their relationship on a cool businesslike basis. At first he had believed he would win her over. Women generally fell for him. Later he had become annoyed as she continued to be uninterested. But he had kept up his battery on the telephone, constantly invited her out to dinner, and bombarded her with flowers. Since he was conceited and had enjoyed much success with women from all walks of life, Ross convinced himself that Paula would one day be his alone.

After Jim Fairley had been killed in the avalanche, Ross had played the role of a concerned good friend whenever she had been in New York. In the past nine months, he had seen more of her than usual, since she had wanted to divest herself of some of Emma Harte's holdings which she had inherited. He had been on hand to help the sorrowing widow handle her business. He had hoped to persuade her to sell the Sitex stock—and seduce her as well. Her grief and curiously distant manner had induced him to hold himself in check. He had bided his time. But he had no intention of doing so any longer. Not now, not after Skye Smith's revelations last night.

He focused on the gossip Skye had relayed about Paula and Shane O'Neill. He had been stunned and disbelieving, had demanded to know the source. Skye had been only too ready to confide further. At the end of the evening he had walked home, bridling with anger and riddled with frustration. All these months, as he had held her hand and comforted her, Paula had been sleeping with Shane O'Neill. He knew Skye had not lied. After all, Sarah Lowther, Paula's cousin, had been the one who had spilled the beans!

He was delighted that Dale and his wife had been called back to Texas so unexpectedly. They had planned a foursome for dinner. He relished the idea of being alone with Paula tonight. His way was clear with her. Finally. At long last he was going

to possess this most elusive of women.

Ross sat down on the sofa, put his martini on the Chinese coffee table, and took a cigarette, suppressing the sudden grin that had begun to spread across his face. He had not told Paula that Dale and Jessica had returned to the ranch. Why alert her, give her the opportunity to cancel? But he had given his housekeeper the evening off and telephoned the.restaurant to change the reservation to ten o'clock. That would give him ample time to make his moves.

Thoughts of her slender boyish body, the voluptuous breasts intruded, brought a sudden flush to his neck. He lifted "the glass, downed the rest of the drink, and went to the bar to pour another one. It was his third. He hesitated. Oh what the hell, he muttered. I can handle my liquor.- Ross prided himself on his ability to drink gallons and remain a potent lover. His glance fell on the bottle of champagne in the ice bucket, and he smiled confidently. After a few glasses of that and a little of his sweet talking, Paula Fairley would be much more susceptible to his masculine appeal.

Ross Nelson had almost demolished that third martini when the intercom rang. Leaping to his feet, he rushed out into the foyer to answer it, hardly able to contain himself. He told the doorman to send Mrs. Fairley up and stood waiting for her.

A few minutes later he was kissing Paula's cool cheek, ushering her across the hall and into the living room.

She paused in the entrance and swung her head, looked up at him, her violet eyes quizzical. "Haven't Jessica and Dale arrived yet?" she asked before she moved forward.

He gazed after her, watching the fluid movement of her body, the shapely outline of her long legs through the thin silk of the

pale gray cocktail dress. He almost salivated with longing. He could hardly wait to remove the dress, to strip her naked and revel in her beauty.

Paula turned to face him, catching him off guard. He blinked rapidly, hurried into the room, explained, with a nervous laugh, "They had to fly back at the last minute. An illness in the family." He stepped up to the bar, began to open the bottle of champagne. "Dale sends his apologies, and he told me to tell you he'll phone you tomorrow."

"I see," Paula said, seating herself on the sofa. "I'm disappointed they're not having dinner with us. I did have a few more

things to discuss with Dale." She gave him a small smile. "Never mind."

"Yes," Ross murmured and carried the drink over to her. Sealing himself in the chair opposite, he lifted his own glass and grinned at her. "Well, Paula, congratulations! You've certainly pulled off a coup at Sitex!"

"Cheers, Ross," Paula said, took a sip of the champagne, " and then eyed him speculatively. "You're probably annoyed with me, angry that I finally decided to hold on to the Sitex stock. But—"

"Of course not," he lied blandly, wanting to keep: the atmosphere cozy and totally free of conflict. "It was your choice. Dale

and I could only advise you. We only wanted to help you, Paula. As Dale jsaid to me at the bank this afternoon, International Petroleum is not going anywhere. I think Milton Jackson would always be interested in buying you out."

"I'm sure they would," Paula responded quietly. "And I do want to thank you for your concern, all of your help with the Sitex matter, and with my other American business. I'm most appreciative."

"My pleasure."

Paula leaned back on the sofa and crossed her legs, trying to hide her surprise at his attitude. She had expected Ross to be furious, knowing how much he valued Milton Jackson as a client of the bank. Dale, she knew, would always give her his support. But Ross Nelson was another kettle of fish. She was relieved that he was being so agreeable. He was always agreeable though, wasn't he? She sighed, realizing she would have to spend the next few hours alone with him. There was no way she could get out of dining with him. She decided to be gracious and get through the evening as best as she could.

Ross began to talk about her brother Philip, whom he had met the previous autumn when they had.both been in New York. And for the next half hour the banker kept up a steady stream of conversation about the family in general, her grandmother,

and Harte Enterprises. In between he kept refilling her glass, downed another martini, and lit endless cigarettes.

At ten to nine Paula cut him short suddenly and asked, "Shouldn't we be leaving, Ross? For the restaurant, I mean?"

"No, not just yet. I m ^afraid I had problems with the reservation at Twenty-One'. They couldn't give me a table before nine-thirty, ten o'clock. We might as well relax here."

"Oh all right," Paula said, but she was irritated. She disliked eating when the evening was almost over.

As he talked, believing he was being entertaining, Ross continued to drink. He also scrutinized Paula intently, admiring her elegance and beauty. The dress she wore was simple, with a draped cowl collar and short sleeves. She wore emerald earrings and, apart from a watch, these were her only pieces of jewelry. She looked stunning, and the gray silk molded her figure in all the right places. Suddenly he was unable to keep his distance.

He rose, strolled to the bar cabinet, topped his glass, and joined her on the sofa. He rested his arm on the back and sipped his drink. His eyes held hers, and he smiled a slow warm smile. "You're looking exceptionally lovely tonight, Paula."

"Thank you, Ross." She returned his gaze, and her brow puckered. There was something in those hazel eyes of his that instantly alerted her, and she drew back slightly, pressed herself closer to the arm of the small sofa. She felt a sense of panic.

Ross placed his glass on the coffee table, and in one swift move he pulled her into his arms, brought his mouth down hard on hers. She struggled with him, tried to push him away, but his grip was firm ps he held her tightly. He forced his tongue against her mouth, forced her mouth open, and began to suck on her tongue and her lips. Heat ran through him, and he moved slightly so that he could grasp her left breast with his right hand. He squeezed it, pinched the nipple, increased the pressure of his fingers.

Paula continued to struggle, tried to disentangle herself from his arms, but he was a big man and strong, and she had no chance against him. He somehow managed to pull her forward, sliding her body down 'the sofa into a supine position, and then he fell on top of her, working his tongue on her mouth again. She clamped her teeth shut and moved her head to one side rapidly. He ran his hand over her thigh, lifted her skirt, slid his hand underneath, stroked her upper leg, and then worked his fingers against her crotch.

Paula, lying under the weight of Ross Nelson, was in a state of shock. She struggled hard to break free from his tenacious hold on her. He had leaped on her so unexpectedly, taken her totally by surprise, and only a split second after she had noticed the lust burning in his eyes. She was horrified and revolted by him, and also terribly frightened. She knew she had to escape from him, from his apartment. Quickly. If only she could get her hands up to his face to scratch him. They were trapped under his bulk. She moved her head from side to side again, frantically avoiding his mouth without success. His hands were now ripping at her panty hose, and dimly through the roaring in her head she heard the nylon tear as he tugged at the crotch of the hose. Oh my God! His fingers were against her skin, pushing into her as he slobbered against her face, his mouth slack and wet. Shudders rippled through her. She thought she was going to vomit. He was hurting her, trying to penetrate her with his fingers.

Tears sprang into her eyes, induced by the fear, the shock, the revulsion, and the pain as he pushed his hand harder between her legs. He stopped kissing her at last, drew back for breath. Paula opened her mouth and began to scream.

Ross was jarred from his exploration of her body, and he sat up swiftly, looked down into her tear-stained face, and clamped one hand over her mouth.

'Shut up," he hissed. "You know you like this, you bitch. Don't play the innocent with me. You've been getting it from Shane O'Neill for pionths. Now it's old Ross's turn."

He laughed loudly, and Paula realized that he was very drunk. She struggled, moving under him violently, easing herself to

the edge of the sofa.

To pull her back, he had to remove his hand from her mouth. The minute he did she began to scream again. Once more he covered her face with his large hand, wrapped one of his heavy legs around her body, and pinioned her under him. "You've been playing the grieving widow with me far too long, Paula," he gasped, his glazed eyes roving over her lasciviously. His lust was mounting by the minute, inflamed by the fight she was putting up. It brought a flushed and congested look to his face. "Come on, let's go to the bedroom," he mumbled, his words slurred. "You know you want to screw me."

Paula had been waiting for the right moment, and now she endeavored to nod her head, as if acquiescing to this suggestion.

She acknowledged him with her eyes, softening her gaze.

"No more screaming," he muttered. "Okay?"

She nodded again.

He took his hand away from her mouth and leaned into her as if to kiss her.

Paula whispered, "I thought you wanted to go into the bedroom?"

He grinned at her drunkenly. "That's the idea, baby."

"What are we waiting for?"

Still grinning he got up off the sofa. Before Paula had a chance to do the same, he bent down, took hold of her arms, and

pulled her to her feet.

She did not dare struggle, knowing his great strength. She would have to pick the right moment to flee. She swallowed as he dragged her to him and nestled his face against her hair. "You're going to have to tell me everything liddle old Shane did to excite you, baby. Whatever old Shane can do, Ross can do better. And then some, baby."

Swallowing her disgust and fear, summoning all of her strength, Paula pushed him away from her. Drunk, believing she was playing along with him, Ross was taken by surprise. He lost his balance, staggered back, and flopped down on the sofa.

Paula reached for her solid gold evening bag on the coffee table and swung around.

He was far too fast for her and.grabbed her again. They struggled in the middle of the room. She kicked his shin, and he

yelled in pain, instantly loosened his grip on her. Finally she was able to pull away from him.

Ross snatched at her dress. The cowl collar ripped under his hand.

Paula kicked him again as he took a step toward her, his expression threatening, and then in a swift movement she

raised her hand and smashed the heavy gold bag into his face with all her might.

He cried out in pain as the precious metal struck his cheek and backed off, stumbling against the Chinese coffee table immediately behind him. He went sprawling on the floor. "You bitch!" he screamed, bringing his hands to his bleeding face.

Gasping for breath, shaking and terrified, Paula dashed into the foyer. The Chinese area rug skidded under her, but she recovered her balance, hitting her face against the edge of the tall cabinet as she did. But ignoring the stab of pain, she flew to the door, jerked it open, and banged it after her as she ran out. She pressed the button for the elevator, cowering against the wall, praying he would not follow her.

Tears rushed to her eyes as she fiddled with the collar of her torn dress. She pushed them back, attempted to compose herself. When the elevator doors rolled open, she almost fell into the car, avoided the curious glance of the uniformed operator. She moved further back, retreated into the shadow, opened her bag, and took out her compact. She ran the powder puff over her face and then smoothed her hand over her hair, aware of her disheveled appearance.

Within seconds she was stepping out into the marble lobby of the building, hurrying across it at her fastest pace, and then hailing a cab on Park Avenue.