you'd let me see your body."
"In your dreams."
"Yeah, there, too. Well, since you're working in the recovery field, you must be younger than Paris."
"How old is she?"
"Dunno. I don't think even her grandfather Pushin knows her real age."
"Guess," Keely challenged, "oh infallible age-guesser."
"Under fifty, over forty. You…I think you're more than twenty, but younger than thirty-five. Am I right?"
"Possibly."
"Come on, Keely, give," he cajoled when she didn't take umbrage at being thought forty years old or even older.
"Twenty…" she muttered.
"I missed that. Did you say twenty-six?" She nodded, but looked uncertain. Or, in typical female fashion, had fibbed about her age. "That old, eh? I'm surprised you don't have warts and whiskers."
She hit him with a pillow and the fight was on.
She was stronger than she looked and pretty much held her own, delivering whap for whap until he discovered one of her secrets. She was ticklish and he took advantage until he had her right where he wanted her. Under him. Her captured hands above her head. Her breasts--full and tempting beneath his T-shirt. Her legs spread, held open by his thighs. His cock celebrating its nearness to its goal. Her eyes changing color, darkening. Her laughter fading and need growing to match his own. But under the need…
"Jonathan Jacob Jones! You're a virgin."
"Maybe. Maybe not."
"Whadya mean? Maybe--"
"Maybe not. I…I can't remember. Anything."
He sat up. "Jove blast it, Keely! Don't cry."
"Not crying." She swiped away her tears as she sat up, leaning against the headboard. "I never cry." Her chin jutted.
"Maybe not. But you're giving a damn fine impression of somebody who does."
She hiccupped. "Sometimes…it just hits me. Like…like when I see how Herma-Frodie look at each other. I-I wonder if anybody's ever looked at me with so much love and respect and all that sappy stuff. It hits me then. And it hurts--not being able to remember."
"You don't remember anything? Not even your real age?"
"Not even my real name. Your queen's physician said I look like a girl he treated a long, long time ago. Her name was Keely. I liked it, so he called me that. Then Paris called me that and by the time Doc released me--"
"Everyone called you Keely. Where'd the Ketchum come from?"
A too brief grin tilted the corners of her mouth.
"I seem to share the queen's sense of the absurd." Geoff's tone was wry. He recalled how he often deliberately mispronounced Keely's surname.
"Yeah. She said it fit someone who's hunting for her great-uncle. At first I didn't get the joke. Like you, she said it like catch 'em . When I got it, it seemed to fit as well. So I kept it."
"So you could be married, have six kids and a whole passel of relatives who are missing you like crazy."
"I doubt it. I think I'd feel it here." She touched her chest in the vicinity of her heart. "But I don't."
"Well, hell."
"Yeah."
Geoff leaned against the headboard, easing Keely into his arms. She resisted at first, but soon gave in to the very human need to be touched. Sighing, she snuggled against him, her cheek--soft and damp with new tears--pressed to his chest. Right where his heart beat strong against her ear.
"I don't want your pity."
"Don't have it."
"Then why are you cuddling me?"
"'Cause I don't think you're ready for what I really want to do to you."
"Which is?"
He tilted her chin so he could look into her eyes. "You may not remember who you are, Keely. But you know what I want."
She blushed. Blushed, by Jove!
"I guess I do know." She hid her face against his chest. "Geoff? Will you let me know when I am ready?"
"Uh…sure."
Jonathan Jacob Jones! Had he just promised to take Keely's virginity ?
Chapter Five
Jove, her hair felt like living silk. Short as it was, he still could curl tendrils around his fingers. He imagined her hair wet from a shower, curls rioting around her piquant face.
"Geoff?"
Crap ! What kind of torment had she
"In your dreams."
"Yeah, there, too. Well, since you're working in the recovery field, you must be younger than Paris."
"How old is she?"
"Dunno. I don't think even her grandfather Pushin knows her real age."
"Guess," Keely challenged, "oh infallible age-guesser."
"Under fifty, over forty. You…I think you're more than twenty, but younger than thirty-five. Am I right?"
"Possibly."
"Come on, Keely, give," he cajoled when she didn't take umbrage at being thought forty years old or even older.
"Twenty…" she muttered.
"I missed that. Did you say twenty-six?" She nodded, but looked uncertain. Or, in typical female fashion, had fibbed about her age. "That old, eh? I'm surprised you don't have warts and whiskers."
She hit him with a pillow and the fight was on.
She was stronger than she looked and pretty much held her own, delivering whap for whap until he discovered one of her secrets. She was ticklish and he took advantage until he had her right where he wanted her. Under him. Her captured hands above her head. Her breasts--full and tempting beneath his T-shirt. Her legs spread, held open by his thighs. His cock celebrating its nearness to its goal. Her eyes changing color, darkening. Her laughter fading and need growing to match his own. But under the need…
"Jonathan Jacob Jones! You're a virgin."
"Maybe. Maybe not."
"Whadya mean? Maybe--"
"Maybe not. I…I can't remember. Anything."
He sat up. "Jove blast it, Keely! Don't cry."
"Not crying." She swiped away her tears as she sat up, leaning against the headboard. "I never cry." Her chin jutted.
"Maybe not. But you're giving a damn fine impression of somebody who does."
She hiccupped. "Sometimes…it just hits me. Like…like when I see how Herma-Frodie look at each other. I-I wonder if anybody's ever looked at me with so much love and respect and all that sappy stuff. It hits me then. And it hurts--not being able to remember."
"You don't remember anything? Not even your real age?"
"Not even my real name. Your queen's physician said I look like a girl he treated a long, long time ago. Her name was Keely. I liked it, so he called me that. Then Paris called me that and by the time Doc released me--"
"Everyone called you Keely. Where'd the Ketchum come from?"
A too brief grin tilted the corners of her mouth.
"I seem to share the queen's sense of the absurd." Geoff's tone was wry. He recalled how he often deliberately mispronounced Keely's surname.
"Yeah. She said it fit someone who's hunting for her great-uncle. At first I didn't get the joke. Like you, she said it like catch 'em . When I got it, it seemed to fit as well. So I kept it."
"So you could be married, have six kids and a whole passel of relatives who are missing you like crazy."
"I doubt it. I think I'd feel it here." She touched her chest in the vicinity of her heart. "But I don't."
"Well, hell."
"Yeah."
Geoff leaned against the headboard, easing Keely into his arms. She resisted at first, but soon gave in to the very human need to be touched. Sighing, she snuggled against him, her cheek--soft and damp with new tears--pressed to his chest. Right where his heart beat strong against her ear.
"I don't want your pity."
"Don't have it."
"Then why are you cuddling me?"
"'Cause I don't think you're ready for what I really want to do to you."
"Which is?"
He tilted her chin so he could look into her eyes. "You may not remember who you are, Keely. But you know what I want."
She blushed. Blushed, by Jove!
"I guess I do know." She hid her face against his chest. "Geoff? Will you let me know when I am ready?"
"Uh…sure."
Jonathan Jacob Jones! Had he just promised to take Keely's virginity ?
Chapter Five
Jove, her hair felt like living silk. Short as it was, he still could curl tendrils around his fingers. He imagined her hair wet from a shower, curls rioting around her piquant face.
"Geoff?"
Crap ! What kind of torment had she
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