"What kind of girl do you think I am?" she asked. Since she had been rubbing against him in a very lewd manner on the dance-floor, Sam thought that sh... was just the sort of girl that he hoped. But when she asked him, he stammered."Err... I didn't mean... that is..."But Carla gave him a wink."That's okay," she said. "I am that kind of girl."So back to his hotel they drove.Sam went through the motions of pouring them drinks, but they didn't bother to drink them. He sat beside her and, soon. "No," she said. "I've just eaten a TV dinner. Sorry I forgot you were coming over. My memory still hasn't come back to me completely, and I'd rather just sit and talk."That obviously wasn't what Bud had in mind, and he felt very self-conscious sitting there before her. She sat down beside him.As she sat beside him, his hand slid easily, unconsciously over her bare, white knee. She didn't move, frozen with the anticipation of gentle handling. She had almost forgotten what sex was supposed to be. More

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