very respectable height," she gritted.
"It's just right. For you," he agreed readily.
"My neck is getting sore trying to talk to you now," she pointed out. Instantly his right hand moved up to start massaging that portion of her anatomy and Kirsten wished she had kept her mouth shut. She still wasn't free.
"The basic idea," she said very distinctly, "is that I prefer men who don't try and use their superior physical strength to get their way."
"And you want one who's passionately in love with you, don't forget," he added, his hand moving strongly against her neck. The hazel eyes studied every square centimeter of her taut expression.
"Yes!" Was that really so much to ask? she wondered.
"Would you believe me if I said I meet at least one of the conditions? That of being in love?" His words were low, sensuous.
"Of course not! You barely know me!" Kirsten replied sturdily.
"Ummm. So I guess I can forget that approach for a while, right? There's not a whole lot I can do about my size," he continued musingly.
"True." She pounced on that.
"I could promise not to haul you around with one hand. But one hand is all I have," he noted, a gleam entering the stern gaze. A gleam that was instantly replaced with a curious, questioning look. "Does the hand, or rather, lack thereof, bother you, Kirsten?" he asked with such totally unexpected vulnerability that she answered him immediately, honestly, without pausing to think.
"No, of course not! What bothers me is what you do with the one you have!" she grumbled and was rewarded with a pleased smile. Right away Kirsten acknowledged to herself that she had just made a bad mistake. It would have been expedient to have used Simon's one-handedness as an excuse. She felt like an idiot for having been trapped into such a quick answer, but then was forced to admit that she would never have been able to bring herself to use it against him. Lying had always been an exceptionally difficult skill for Kirsten and the clear eyes reflected that.
"Now that's settled," he remarked, leaving her to wonder what, exactly, had been settled. "I have to tell you I'm in a hell of a hurry for you, Kirsten, honey. I'm too old to waste time going through all the crazy, teasing, courting rituals and you're not getting any younger, yourself…"
"Thank you very much!" she snapped, stung.
"It's the truth, isn't it? You're what? Twenty-seven? Twenty-eight? And I'm thirty-seven. Why should we play games? That's for kids like Williamson or for someone like Liz Wilford…"
"She's not that much younger than I am!" Kirsten protested, feeling quite put upon now. Her gray eyes narrowed as Simon roared with outright laughter. His laughter was a very huge thing, well fitted to the rest of him.
"You see how poor I am at the business of wooing!" he remarked when he had himself under control again.
"Simon," she began furiously, but was interrupted by a knock on the door.
For an instant Kirsten was paralyzed. Good lord! What was she going to do? How could she ever explain Simon's presence to Ben or anyone else?
Simon took one look at her stunned face and firmly set her aside. Before she could stop him he was at the door. Kirsten nearly collapsed with relief when the mailman handed him a package and disappeared.
"See? Nothing to get flustered about," he announced brightly, covering the distance to the kitchen in a few large steps. Kirsten took the package he thrust at her and numbly began fumbling with the wrapper.
"Even if it had been someone you know, what's the harm? Your friends will have to find out about me sooner or later," he continued with satisfaction, watching Kirsten as she worked on the package.
"There is nothing for anyone to find out," she insisted feelingly and then glanced again at the outside wrapper.
The original address had sent it to the town where she had lived as Mrs. Jim Talbot for such a short period of time. The block letters had been scratched out and a new hand had sent it to her father's
"It's just right. For you," he agreed readily.
"My neck is getting sore trying to talk to you now," she pointed out. Instantly his right hand moved up to start massaging that portion of her anatomy and Kirsten wished she had kept her mouth shut. She still wasn't free.
"The basic idea," she said very distinctly, "is that I prefer men who don't try and use their superior physical strength to get their way."
"And you want one who's passionately in love with you, don't forget," he added, his hand moving strongly against her neck. The hazel eyes studied every square centimeter of her taut expression.
"Yes!" Was that really so much to ask? she wondered.
"Would you believe me if I said I meet at least one of the conditions? That of being in love?" His words were low, sensuous.
"Of course not! You barely know me!" Kirsten replied sturdily.
"Ummm. So I guess I can forget that approach for a while, right? There's not a whole lot I can do about my size," he continued musingly.
"True." She pounced on that.
"I could promise not to haul you around with one hand. But one hand is all I have," he noted, a gleam entering the stern gaze. A gleam that was instantly replaced with a curious, questioning look. "Does the hand, or rather, lack thereof, bother you, Kirsten?" he asked with such totally unexpected vulnerability that she answered him immediately, honestly, without pausing to think.
"No, of course not! What bothers me is what you do with the one you have!" she grumbled and was rewarded with a pleased smile. Right away Kirsten acknowledged to herself that she had just made a bad mistake. It would have been expedient to have used Simon's one-handedness as an excuse. She felt like an idiot for having been trapped into such a quick answer, but then was forced to admit that she would never have been able to bring herself to use it against him. Lying had always been an exceptionally difficult skill for Kirsten and the clear eyes reflected that.
"Now that's settled," he remarked, leaving her to wonder what, exactly, had been settled. "I have to tell you I'm in a hell of a hurry for you, Kirsten, honey. I'm too old to waste time going through all the crazy, teasing, courting rituals and you're not getting any younger, yourself…"
"Thank you very much!" she snapped, stung.
"It's the truth, isn't it? You're what? Twenty-seven? Twenty-eight? And I'm thirty-seven. Why should we play games? That's for kids like Williamson or for someone like Liz Wilford…"
"She's not that much younger than I am!" Kirsten protested, feeling quite put upon now. Her gray eyes narrowed as Simon roared with outright laughter. His laughter was a very huge thing, well fitted to the rest of him.
"You see how poor I am at the business of wooing!" he remarked when he had himself under control again.
"Simon," she began furiously, but was interrupted by a knock on the door.
For an instant Kirsten was paralyzed. Good lord! What was she going to do? How could she ever explain Simon's presence to Ben or anyone else?
Simon took one look at her stunned face and firmly set her aside. Before she could stop him he was at the door. Kirsten nearly collapsed with relief when the mailman handed him a package and disappeared.
"See? Nothing to get flustered about," he announced brightly, covering the distance to the kitchen in a few large steps. Kirsten took the package he thrust at her and numbly began fumbling with the wrapper.
"Even if it had been someone you know, what's the harm? Your friends will have to find out about me sooner or later," he continued with satisfaction, watching Kirsten as she worked on the package.
"There is nothing for anyone to find out," she insisted feelingly and then glanced again at the outside wrapper.
The original address had sent it to the town where she had lived as Mrs. Jim Talbot for such a short period of time. The block letters had been scratched out and a new hand had sent it to her father's
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