it?” he demanded hoarsely, reaching down to lift her in his arms as if she weren’t five feet, eight inches of solid woman.
“Kiel, I can’t—I mean I... I don’t ...” she faltered, wrapping her arms around his neck because she felt totally, illogically secure in his arms.
“God, what is this?” he exclaimed unbelievingly. “Don’t tell me I’ve got my signals crossed because I’m no inexperienced boy, Willy. You want it just as much as I do, and that’s saying a lot. Come on, darling, I can take care of you, if that’s what you’re worried about.” His voice had dropped to a low rumble that made gooseflesh rise on her spine and she wondered frantically if she had strength of character enough to hold out against both of them.
“Kiel, please put me down,” she whispered into his warm, pulsating throat. “I ... I don’t think I’m ready for this sort of an involvement.”
She could feel his eyes burning into her soul in the still darkness about them, and sense the hardening withdrawal in spite of his still-ragged breathing. The arm that supported her knees released her abruptly so that she staggered, and he steadied her only briefly before removing his arm from her shoulders. His voice was a raw parody of itself: “I’m a little old for this sort of game, Willy. If you grow up anytime soon, let me know; otherwise, I’ll see you around.”
And then he was gone, leaving her staring blindly at the cool diffusion of moonlight through the screen-covered door. What had happened to the warm, comfortable friendship that had sprung up between them so spontaneously? Had it only been physical on his part? Something so superficial and fragile that it fractured irreparably when he ran up against her last line of defense? How could she be joking about something so ridiculous as onions and horseradish one moment and then be shaken by sarcasm, bruised by animosity the next?
For animosity it was; there had been no mistaking that hard bitterness that radiated from him when he put her down so abruptly, nor the sarcasm in his final words.
Willy turned away slowly and fumbled for the light switch. This time she pulled the shades, not caring to have any interested bystander see her when she dropped to the couch and buried her face in her hands. There were no tears. No, she was a big girl now, in spite of Kiel’s insinuations, and she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he could make her cry.
For the first time in ages, Willy was on time the next day. The night had brought with it little rest and she surveyed the overcast sky through her salt-smeared window with a baleful feeling of satisfaction. She could not have stood the false cheer of a brilliant sun today, and if she wanted to wallow in morose self-pity for a few hours—hours that would have been spent in a brisk swim and a shared breakfast while they argued amiably over the pages of the Virginian Pilot —then what difference did it make, as long as she presented a cheerful facade at work? She could do without speculation in that quarter.
Dotty greeted her with the news that Matt wanted to see everyone in his office at nine-fifteen, and she frowned in fierce concentration at the scribbly appointment calendar on her desk, seeing among her compulsive doodlings the reminder that she was showing a house in Colington at ten.
“You look like you could do with a vacation,” Dotty observed. “Been burning the candle?”
“I tried jogging after an early-morning swim lately. Didn’t I tell you exercise was hazardous to the health?”
“Ha, ha!” the secretary mocked. “The day you exercise to the point of heavy breathing will be a long time coming, Willy Silverthorne, so pull the other one.”
“The Chiswicks. Haven’t I heard that name before?” Willy speculated, glad to leave the subject of her recent activities. “I’m showing them that place at Colington this morning. Any advice?”
“Only that if they’re the same Chiswicks who
“Kiel, I can’t—I mean I... I don’t ...” she faltered, wrapping her arms around his neck because she felt totally, illogically secure in his arms.
“God, what is this?” he exclaimed unbelievingly. “Don’t tell me I’ve got my signals crossed because I’m no inexperienced boy, Willy. You want it just as much as I do, and that’s saying a lot. Come on, darling, I can take care of you, if that’s what you’re worried about.” His voice had dropped to a low rumble that made gooseflesh rise on her spine and she wondered frantically if she had strength of character enough to hold out against both of them.
“Kiel, please put me down,” she whispered into his warm, pulsating throat. “I ... I don’t think I’m ready for this sort of an involvement.”
She could feel his eyes burning into her soul in the still darkness about them, and sense the hardening withdrawal in spite of his still-ragged breathing. The arm that supported her knees released her abruptly so that she staggered, and he steadied her only briefly before removing his arm from her shoulders. His voice was a raw parody of itself: “I’m a little old for this sort of game, Willy. If you grow up anytime soon, let me know; otherwise, I’ll see you around.”
And then he was gone, leaving her staring blindly at the cool diffusion of moonlight through the screen-covered door. What had happened to the warm, comfortable friendship that had sprung up between them so spontaneously? Had it only been physical on his part? Something so superficial and fragile that it fractured irreparably when he ran up against her last line of defense? How could she be joking about something so ridiculous as onions and horseradish one moment and then be shaken by sarcasm, bruised by animosity the next?
For animosity it was; there had been no mistaking that hard bitterness that radiated from him when he put her down so abruptly, nor the sarcasm in his final words.
Willy turned away slowly and fumbled for the light switch. This time she pulled the shades, not caring to have any interested bystander see her when she dropped to the couch and buried her face in her hands. There were no tears. No, she was a big girl now, in spite of Kiel’s insinuations, and she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he could make her cry.
For the first time in ages, Willy was on time the next day. The night had brought with it little rest and she surveyed the overcast sky through her salt-smeared window with a baleful feeling of satisfaction. She could not have stood the false cheer of a brilliant sun today, and if she wanted to wallow in morose self-pity for a few hours—hours that would have been spent in a brisk swim and a shared breakfast while they argued amiably over the pages of the Virginian Pilot —then what difference did it make, as long as she presented a cheerful facade at work? She could do without speculation in that quarter.
Dotty greeted her with the news that Matt wanted to see everyone in his office at nine-fifteen, and she frowned in fierce concentration at the scribbly appointment calendar on her desk, seeing among her compulsive doodlings the reminder that she was showing a house in Colington at ten.
“You look like you could do with a vacation,” Dotty observed. “Been burning the candle?”
“I tried jogging after an early-morning swim lately. Didn’t I tell you exercise was hazardous to the health?”
“Ha, ha!” the secretary mocked. “The day you exercise to the point of heavy breathing will be a long time coming, Willy Silverthorne, so pull the other one.”
“The Chiswicks. Haven’t I heard that name before?” Willy speculated, glad to leave the subject of her recent activities. “I’m showing them that place at Colington this morning. Any advice?”
“Only that if they’re the same Chiswicks who
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