“SHE MAY LOOK LIKE AN ANGEL. . . but she's a tramp.”

    That was when I hit him, my best friend. I thought of Laura and our three-day honeymoon. I thought of the sting of her full lips, the long, lush lines of her warm, wonderful body, her throaty, delighted laugh. And I thought of all the nights we were going to spend together.
    Paul had stumbled to his feet, and there was blood on his mouth.
    "You need a keeper," he said heavily and contemptuously, "to save you from yourself—and her."