off his vest and handed it to her. “Here, this is still pretty dry on the inside. Put it on before you freeze.”
Roxanne stared at it in horror. For godssake, she wanted to be cold – colder than she was now. More warmth was the last thing she needed. “Thanks, but I’m fine. Really. That won’t help me any.”
Too bad , Slo thought. A little extra covering on her sure would have helped him.
“You can sit on it then.” Laying the vest leather side down beside him, he smoothed it out for her.
Roxanne’s horror increased. Sitting on it – sitting next to him – would be worse than wearing the damn thing. “That’s okay. I like standing. I’m fine.”
Slo heaved another sigh. Yeah, she kept saying that. Why didn’t he believe her? “Roxy, sit down before you fall down.”
He reached forward, gripped her wrist and pulled. Roxanne locked her knees and leaned backward. The tug-of-war ended with a soft thud as a female fanny hit the vest.
“Relax,” Slo ordered. “You are perfectly safe here. Safe from the storm” – the hand on her wrist drew her back when she tried to scramble away – “and safe from me. What happened in the tent was…a mistake. It won’t happen again, I promise. I’m not a child molester. I—”
“Wait!” Roxanne jerked her hand free from his, removed a small object from her ear, blew on it, then replaced it. “Excuse me, but I was afraid my aid might have gotten some rain in it,” she explained, glaring. “I thought I heard you say something about child molesting. You think I’m a child?”
The second the words were out she realized her mistake. Damn. Here he had actually been intending to leave her alone – exactly what she wanted him to do – and she had just shot the whole thing to hell. Because of an ill-timed flash of pride. Because, until she’d moved to Star, people had always treated her like a child – like an idiot – and she was damned sick of it.
But it was too late to take back the words. Now Slo would rethink the matter. He was thinking right then, thinking fast. Roxanne still couldn’t read his thoughts, but she saw it on his face, could almost hear the wheels of his mind cranking. He was thinking about lovely Lydia Jones and her daughters, all of whom looked years younger than their ages. It was an inherited family trait, and Slo must have had enough contact with the Joneses to be aware of it. He would realize now that she, too, had inherited that youthful quality.
“How old are you?” he asked, a sudden interested gleam in his eyes.
Too interested.
“Twenty-seven,” she confessed. Reluctantly. Bit by cautious bit, she started to scoot away.
A muscular arm snaked around her waist, holding her in place.
“Twenty-seven?” Slo sounded vastly relieved.
Roxanne was glad someone was – but not very.
“That’s only a year younger than me. I guess I should apologize for making it seem I was calling you a kid. Obviously” – the gleam in his eyes heated – “you’re not.”
There was trouble in that gleam. Roxanne’s heart stuttered. The arm around her waist tightened, drawing her closer. There was trouble in that, too. The man was playing with fire. Literally. But if she warned him, he’d probably think she was insane.
That could be a good thing.
Hell, why not? The truth had gotten her into this mess. Maybe some more truth would get her out.
She forced a laugh. “Forget it. I shouldn’t have gotten upset. I am a child in some respects.”
“You don’t feel like a child,” Slo said. But just to make certain apparently, his hand began a roving exploration of her ribcage.
This was not helpful.
“What I meant,” she rasped out, “is that age is a relative thing. It’s not how long you’ve lived, but how much. And I haven’t. Lived much, I mean. I’ve spent most of my life in an institution.”
The roving hand paused on her breast. Not the best place for him to have stopped, but at least she’d gained his
Roxanne stared at it in horror. For godssake, she wanted to be cold – colder than she was now. More warmth was the last thing she needed. “Thanks, but I’m fine. Really. That won’t help me any.”
Too bad , Slo thought. A little extra covering on her sure would have helped him.
“You can sit on it then.” Laying the vest leather side down beside him, he smoothed it out for her.
Roxanne’s horror increased. Sitting on it – sitting next to him – would be worse than wearing the damn thing. “That’s okay. I like standing. I’m fine.”
Slo heaved another sigh. Yeah, she kept saying that. Why didn’t he believe her? “Roxy, sit down before you fall down.”
He reached forward, gripped her wrist and pulled. Roxanne locked her knees and leaned backward. The tug-of-war ended with a soft thud as a female fanny hit the vest.
“Relax,” Slo ordered. “You are perfectly safe here. Safe from the storm” – the hand on her wrist drew her back when she tried to scramble away – “and safe from me. What happened in the tent was…a mistake. It won’t happen again, I promise. I’m not a child molester. I—”
“Wait!” Roxanne jerked her hand free from his, removed a small object from her ear, blew on it, then replaced it. “Excuse me, but I was afraid my aid might have gotten some rain in it,” she explained, glaring. “I thought I heard you say something about child molesting. You think I’m a child?”
The second the words were out she realized her mistake. Damn. Here he had actually been intending to leave her alone – exactly what she wanted him to do – and she had just shot the whole thing to hell. Because of an ill-timed flash of pride. Because, until she’d moved to Star, people had always treated her like a child – like an idiot – and she was damned sick of it.
But it was too late to take back the words. Now Slo would rethink the matter. He was thinking right then, thinking fast. Roxanne still couldn’t read his thoughts, but she saw it on his face, could almost hear the wheels of his mind cranking. He was thinking about lovely Lydia Jones and her daughters, all of whom looked years younger than their ages. It was an inherited family trait, and Slo must have had enough contact with the Joneses to be aware of it. He would realize now that she, too, had inherited that youthful quality.
“How old are you?” he asked, a sudden interested gleam in his eyes.
Too interested.
“Twenty-seven,” she confessed. Reluctantly. Bit by cautious bit, she started to scoot away.
A muscular arm snaked around her waist, holding her in place.
“Twenty-seven?” Slo sounded vastly relieved.
Roxanne was glad someone was – but not very.
“That’s only a year younger than me. I guess I should apologize for making it seem I was calling you a kid. Obviously” – the gleam in his eyes heated – “you’re not.”
There was trouble in that gleam. Roxanne’s heart stuttered. The arm around her waist tightened, drawing her closer. There was trouble in that, too. The man was playing with fire. Literally. But if she warned him, he’d probably think she was insane.
That could be a good thing.
Hell, why not? The truth had gotten her into this mess. Maybe some more truth would get her out.
She forced a laugh. “Forget it. I shouldn’t have gotten upset. I am a child in some respects.”
“You don’t feel like a child,” Slo said. But just to make certain apparently, his hand began a roving exploration of her ribcage.
This was not helpful.
“What I meant,” she rasped out, “is that age is a relative thing. It’s not how long you’ve lived, but how much. And I haven’t. Lived much, I mean. I’ve spent most of my life in an institution.”
The roving hand paused on her breast. Not the best place for him to have stopped, but at least she’d gained his
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