didn’t move hers away. He left his where it was. He was finding it damned hard not to stare at her. He studied her over the rim of his glass as he sipped his soda.
“If you don’t want me to read your mind, you’d better wear your glasses all the time,” he remarked. “Your eyes are too expressive for your own good. And very, very blue.”
“What am I thinking?” she challenged.
“About me. You’re worried about what’s fact and what’s fiction.”
“It’s none of my business.”
“I’m living in your house. That makes it your business. Are you wondering if I’m going to whip out drug paraphernalia after supper?” She ducked her head, a silent admission. “I don’t do any drugs, Kirsten. Short of a few pot parties in high school and college, I never have.”
She looked for telltale signs of duplicity in his eyes. “No?”
He shook his head. “Do you?”
“No!”
“Then we don’t have a problem with that.” He sipped his soda. “Nor am I an alcoholic who’s trying to stay on the wagon.”
“You’re drinking plain soda.”
“Because I took a sinus capsule this afternoon. I have a bitch of a nasal septum.”
Despite his attempted humor, her expression remained serious. “There have been reports to the contrary. About the alcoholism.”
“False reports.”
“You’ve never denied them.”
“Denying them would be tantamount to giving them credence. Besides, I have better things to do.”
“Yes, I’ve read about those too,” she said with a faint smile.
“My sordid romantic escapades? Do you want to know about my love life?”
“No.”
“Does it matter?”
“No, as long as . . . as long as . . .”
“As long as I don’t practice anything too deviate under your roof.”
“I don’t think you would do that.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” he said sarcastically.
“Well, what do you expect people to believe?” she exclaimed. “You never grant interviews. If all these rumors are false, you could clear them up if you weren’t so secretive.”
“But those false rumors don’t bother me. Apparently they do you.”
“How can you stand for people to think bad things about you?”
“It goes with my job.”
“Still—”
Before he realized he’d done it, he clasped her hand to stop her arguments and to emphasize what he was about to say. “Look, if I went on ‘20/20’ and cleared up one set of rumors, by the next morning another set would have been started. It would be time-consuming and energy-draining to come along behind them like a poop-scooper and clean them up.” She laughed at his analogy. Smiling, he added, “As long as the people I love are protected, I don’t let what’s written in the gossip columns bother me.”
A shadow crossed her face, dimming her smile. “Uh-oh,” he said. “I see you’re still concerned about my love life. If you want to know my sexual preferences, why don’t you just ask?”
She withdrew her hand from his and mentally, if not physically, put space between them. “As I said, it’s none of my business.”
He drew a deep breath. “I have loved several men, Kirsten.” Her gaze swung up to his. “Relatives. A very few cherished friends. But I’ve never had a man for a lover.”
Somehow his hand was now curved around her elbow. He was stroking the inside of it with an idle thumb. He knew the caress contributed to the trance his lulling voice and steady gaze induced.
“If I were gay, would I have gotten so hard when I touched your breasts this afternoon?”
Her wineglass, slippery from condensation, slid from her grasp and shattered on the deck. At the same instant Alice called her name from the doorway.
The housekeeper was the first to respond to the accident, though for an instant the three of them were held spellbound in the charged atmosphere that immediately followed it. Alice rushed across the deck, avoiding the puddle of liquid that was spiked with ice cubes and shards of
“If you don’t want me to read your mind, you’d better wear your glasses all the time,” he remarked. “Your eyes are too expressive for your own good. And very, very blue.”
“What am I thinking?” she challenged.
“About me. You’re worried about what’s fact and what’s fiction.”
“It’s none of my business.”
“I’m living in your house. That makes it your business. Are you wondering if I’m going to whip out drug paraphernalia after supper?” She ducked her head, a silent admission. “I don’t do any drugs, Kirsten. Short of a few pot parties in high school and college, I never have.”
She looked for telltale signs of duplicity in his eyes. “No?”
He shook his head. “Do you?”
“No!”
“Then we don’t have a problem with that.” He sipped his soda. “Nor am I an alcoholic who’s trying to stay on the wagon.”
“You’re drinking plain soda.”
“Because I took a sinus capsule this afternoon. I have a bitch of a nasal septum.”
Despite his attempted humor, her expression remained serious. “There have been reports to the contrary. About the alcoholism.”
“False reports.”
“You’ve never denied them.”
“Denying them would be tantamount to giving them credence. Besides, I have better things to do.”
“Yes, I’ve read about those too,” she said with a faint smile.
“My sordid romantic escapades? Do you want to know about my love life?”
“No.”
“Does it matter?”
“No, as long as . . . as long as . . .”
“As long as I don’t practice anything too deviate under your roof.”
“I don’t think you would do that.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” he said sarcastically.
“Well, what do you expect people to believe?” she exclaimed. “You never grant interviews. If all these rumors are false, you could clear them up if you weren’t so secretive.”
“But those false rumors don’t bother me. Apparently they do you.”
“How can you stand for people to think bad things about you?”
“It goes with my job.”
“Still—”
Before he realized he’d done it, he clasped her hand to stop her arguments and to emphasize what he was about to say. “Look, if I went on ‘20/20’ and cleared up one set of rumors, by the next morning another set would have been started. It would be time-consuming and energy-draining to come along behind them like a poop-scooper and clean them up.” She laughed at his analogy. Smiling, he added, “As long as the people I love are protected, I don’t let what’s written in the gossip columns bother me.”
A shadow crossed her face, dimming her smile. “Uh-oh,” he said. “I see you’re still concerned about my love life. If you want to know my sexual preferences, why don’t you just ask?”
She withdrew her hand from his and mentally, if not physically, put space between them. “As I said, it’s none of my business.”
He drew a deep breath. “I have loved several men, Kirsten.” Her gaze swung up to his. “Relatives. A very few cherished friends. But I’ve never had a man for a lover.”
Somehow his hand was now curved around her elbow. He was stroking the inside of it with an idle thumb. He knew the caress contributed to the trance his lulling voice and steady gaze induced.
“If I were gay, would I have gotten so hard when I touched your breasts this afternoon?”
Her wineglass, slippery from condensation, slid from her grasp and shattered on the deck. At the same instant Alice called her name from the doorway.
The housekeeper was the first to respond to the accident, though for an instant the three of them were held spellbound in the charged atmosphere that immediately followed it. Alice rushed across the deck, avoiding the puddle of liquid that was spiked with ice cubes and shards of
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