you'd bring home from Australia."
Meditatively, she said, "I was planning on Italy after Australia."
Trevor fought with himself for a silent moment, then said calmly, "You'll probably catch a doge or a count over there. Much better than a stodgy American lawyer."
She started to laugh. "Damn! I hoped you'd take the bait!"
He lifted a superior brow at her. "And find myself engaged because I'd gone all primitive and possessive and ordered you not to go anywhere?"
"It was just a thought," she explained wistfully.
Manfully ignoring her pensive smile and mournful eyes, he said sternly, "Well, it won't work!"
"You'd let me go off to Australia with that other lawyer?"
"It's none of my business where you go," he said.
"You wouldn't lift a finger to stop me?"
"Not a finger."
"You wouldn't even ask me not to go?"
"It's none of my business," he repeated stoutly.
She stared at him for a moment, sad. Then, before his startled and horrified gaze, large tears pooled in the vivid blue eyes and rolled silently down her cheeks.
'Taylor!" Shaken, he took her hands in his and was just about to apologize fervently for making her cry. Then he remembered how easily she claimed to cry, and suspicion narrowed his eyes.
Slowly, she began to smile, amusement gleaming behind the tears. "You remembered. I wondered if you would."
"You—witch!" He released her hands and pulled out his handkerchief. "Here. Wipe those crocodile tears," he ordered.
She did so, still smiling as she handed the cloth back to him. "Well, it was worth a try," she confessed cheerfully.
"Can you always make yourself cry?"
"Oh, yes—except when I'm really upset. For instance, if you really did let me go off to Australia, I wouldn't cry at all. I wouldn't be able to," she said simply.
Trevor fought a desire to promise he wouldn't let her leave the country, ruefully aware of what would most likely happen if she did leave. "I'd probably chase after you anyway," he muttered.
"Would you?" She seemed entranced by the idea.
He stared at her for a moment, then reached out and hugged her. Hard. "Damn you," he said a bit thickly.
Taylor smiled up at him when his embrace loosened enough to allow her to do so. "I'm going to go on chasing you, you know," she said confidingly. "I know a good thing when I find one. And I have a slight advantage over most women."
"Which is?" he asked wryly.
"An unconventional upbringing. And a psychic certainty that we'll be married someday. So with me, it's no holds barred."
"I believe I've said it before," he murmured, "but a sane man would run like hell."
"I don't see you taking to your heels," she observed.
Abruptly, Luke stuck his head out the back door and waved a ladle at them. "If you want dinner," he called to them, harassed, "you'll come get your mother out of the kitchen, Taylor! She's got a birdcage. Why does she have a birdcage when we don't have any birds? And Jamie's sitting on the counter reading out loud, and I've lost a lobster—" The door banged shut on his last comment as Luke disappeared back inside.
Trevor rose to his feet, pulling her up with him. "Did I say a sane man would run? Well, it's obvious why I'm not running. Only an insane man would get involved with this ridiculous family," he said whimsically.
It was late before Trevor got home that night, mainly because Luke had instigated a poker game after the lobster had been consumed. They'd played for fantastic sums, and after losing every hand to one or another of the family, Trevor declared that he'd never again play cards with psychics.
But he thoroughly enjoyed the evening.
Sometime during the wee hours of the morning, alone and sleepless in his bed, it occurred to Trevor that if he wanted to preserve his unattached status, he'd better stay as far as possible from Taylor and her nutty but curiously attractive family. Instead of counting sheep, he kept repeating that to himself over and over, until sleep finally claimed him.
The end result was that Trevor
Meditatively, she said, "I was planning on Italy after Australia."
Trevor fought with himself for a silent moment, then said calmly, "You'll probably catch a doge or a count over there. Much better than a stodgy American lawyer."
She started to laugh. "Damn! I hoped you'd take the bait!"
He lifted a superior brow at her. "And find myself engaged because I'd gone all primitive and possessive and ordered you not to go anywhere?"
"It was just a thought," she explained wistfully.
Manfully ignoring her pensive smile and mournful eyes, he said sternly, "Well, it won't work!"
"You'd let me go off to Australia with that other lawyer?"
"It's none of my business where you go," he said.
"You wouldn't lift a finger to stop me?"
"Not a finger."
"You wouldn't even ask me not to go?"
"It's none of my business," he repeated stoutly.
She stared at him for a moment, sad. Then, before his startled and horrified gaze, large tears pooled in the vivid blue eyes and rolled silently down her cheeks.
'Taylor!" Shaken, he took her hands in his and was just about to apologize fervently for making her cry. Then he remembered how easily she claimed to cry, and suspicion narrowed his eyes.
Slowly, she began to smile, amusement gleaming behind the tears. "You remembered. I wondered if you would."
"You—witch!" He released her hands and pulled out his handkerchief. "Here. Wipe those crocodile tears," he ordered.
She did so, still smiling as she handed the cloth back to him. "Well, it was worth a try," she confessed cheerfully.
"Can you always make yourself cry?"
"Oh, yes—except when I'm really upset. For instance, if you really did let me go off to Australia, I wouldn't cry at all. I wouldn't be able to," she said simply.
Trevor fought a desire to promise he wouldn't let her leave the country, ruefully aware of what would most likely happen if she did leave. "I'd probably chase after you anyway," he muttered.
"Would you?" She seemed entranced by the idea.
He stared at her for a moment, then reached out and hugged her. Hard. "Damn you," he said a bit thickly.
Taylor smiled up at him when his embrace loosened enough to allow her to do so. "I'm going to go on chasing you, you know," she said confidingly. "I know a good thing when I find one. And I have a slight advantage over most women."
"Which is?" he asked wryly.
"An unconventional upbringing. And a psychic certainty that we'll be married someday. So with me, it's no holds barred."
"I believe I've said it before," he murmured, "but a sane man would run like hell."
"I don't see you taking to your heels," she observed.
Abruptly, Luke stuck his head out the back door and waved a ladle at them. "If you want dinner," he called to them, harassed, "you'll come get your mother out of the kitchen, Taylor! She's got a birdcage. Why does she have a birdcage when we don't have any birds? And Jamie's sitting on the counter reading out loud, and I've lost a lobster—" The door banged shut on his last comment as Luke disappeared back inside.
Trevor rose to his feet, pulling her up with him. "Did I say a sane man would run? Well, it's obvious why I'm not running. Only an insane man would get involved with this ridiculous family," he said whimsically.
It was late before Trevor got home that night, mainly because Luke had instigated a poker game after the lobster had been consumed. They'd played for fantastic sums, and after losing every hand to one or another of the family, Trevor declared that he'd never again play cards with psychics.
But he thoroughly enjoyed the evening.
Sometime during the wee hours of the morning, alone and sleepless in his bed, it occurred to Trevor that if he wanted to preserve his unattached status, he'd better stay as far as possible from Taylor and her nutty but curiously attractive family. Instead of counting sheep, he kept repeating that to himself over and over, until sleep finally claimed him.
The end result was that Trevor
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