Читать книгу The Virgin And The Vagabond - Elizabeth Bevarly - Страница 10

Two

A few hours later, she was feeling fresh and clean, dressed in a loose, white cotton sheath with three-quarter sleeves, a wide, scooped neck and sailor-type collar. But better than that, she thought as she strode into the Endicott Free Public Library to meet with the other festival committee members, she had gone a whole half hour without a single vision of James Nash erupting in her brain.

Upon entering the cavernous marble structure, however, her gaze was drawn to the periodicals section to the left of the check-out desk, and her thirty-minute record was broken. Darn. All she could think about then was that with a brief, effortless investigation, she could easily verify James’s claim to worldwide notoriety and nationwide desirability.

Glancing down at her watch, Kirby found, not much to her surprise, that she was fifteen minutes early for the meeting. She was always early for functions. Simply because, by virtue of her less-than-thriving business and completely inactive social life, she was pretty much overcome by leisure time.

Without thinking about her motives, she strode casually toward the periodicals, her white flats scuffing softly along the marble floor. She scanned the shelves until she located the one where Tattle Tales magazine just so happened to be housed, then thumbed nonchalantly through the last few months’ worth of issues, until she located one whose cover carried a very familiar face.

Good heavens, he’d actually been telling the truth. His name really was James Nash, and he really had been dubbed the Most Desirable Man in America.

Her brain lurched into overdrive, but Kirby somehow managed to steer herself slowly to a nearby chair and park herself in it. Then she gazed dumbfounded at the magazine’s cover, a full-face photograph of the man who had stood on the other side of her front door just a few hours ago.

Naughty Nash! the headlines beside his name screeched in big red letters. Then, in smaller type, was the added sentiment But Oh...So Nice!

Chiding herself for being genuinely curious about the man, Kirby flipped through the magazine until she located the story about him. Another photograph of his beautiful face assaulted her senses, and that odd sparkle of heat fired to life in her belly again.

“Playboy, paladin, parasite, pariah,” the article began. “They’re all words that have been awarded to this year’s Most Desirable Man in America. Whatever. Regardless of his rough reputation, one thing nobody can deny about James Nash is this: he’s plain perfection.”

Well, my goodness, it sounds like someone’s been nipping at the alliteration juice again, Kirby thought uncharitably about the article’s author.

Then, unable to break her gaze from the other words on the page, she continued to read. “He’s wonderfully wealthy. He’s incredibly intelligent. He’s appealingly adventurous. He’s gallantly gorgeous. And, of course, he’s sensuously sexy. What more could a woman desire in a man?”

Gosh. Kirby thought to herself, maybe stalwart stability. Obeisant honor. Absolute affection. That sort of thing. Oh, but, hey, as long as he’s really rich and fabulously famous... She shook her head morosely and read further.

“James Nash has seen all, done all, dated all. He’s been linked romantically with royalty and riches, glamour and glitz, fashion and fame, celebrity and sass. He has a string of relationships in his past, yet not a single one of his former loves has a negative word to say about him.

“‘Every woman should have a man like James at least once in her life,’ stated starlet Ashley Evanston in a recent telephone interview. Debutante Sissy Devane, daughter of billionaire Russell Devane, concurred. ‘No man is more knowledgeable about what it takes to please a woman,’ she said with a little purr of delight this author couldn’t mistake. ‘James is quite thorough in his sexual technique.’”

Oh, please, Kirby thought, slamming the magazine shut Was nothing sacred? Why did people air their sex lives for public consumption as if they were sharing recipes?

She told herself to simply toss the magazine back on the shelf where she’d found it and forget about the fact that James Nash had ever darkened her door. But for some reason, she just couldn’t quite put the man to rest.

She supposed there was really nothing wrong with reading the article, she told herself. Just so she’d know what she was up against should James Nash decide to come around again, of course. With a quick glance over her shoulder, she tucked the magazine between herself and her purse, then hastily made her way to the check-out desk and placed it on the counter.

On the other side, Mrs. Winslow, who had been senior librarian since Kirby was a child, smiled as she rose from her desk. “Good evening, Kirby,” she said in that even, quiet librarian’s voice as she approached, tucking a pencil into the snowy bun atop her head.

Kirby forced a smile in return and tried to pretend she really couldn’t care less about the item she had chosen to check out. “Hi, Mrs. Winslow.”

“I see the festival committee is meeting upstairs tonight. Big plans this year?”

“Oh, you bet.”

“Did you ever find someone to replace Rufus Laidlaw as grand marshal of the Parallax Parade?”

Kirby shook her head. “Not yet.”

“Well, it’s going to be hard to find someone of Rufus’s caliber,” the librarian said with a certain nod. “There aren’t many people in Endicott who’ve achieved such celebrity status.”

“No, ma’am. You’re right about that. Not many people from here have costarred in laxative commercials, that’s for sure.”

“And don’t forget the one where he played a dancing can of corn.”

“Oh, I could never forget that. It’s a shame he had to cancel, even if that cancellation came because of a boost to his career. But don’t worry. We’ll find someone.”

“I’m sure you will.” Then Mrs. Winslow glanced down at Kirby’s choice of reading material and made a soft tsking noise. “I’m sorry, dear, but periodicals don’t circulate.”

Kirby arched her eyebrows in surprise. “They don’t?”

The librarian shook her head. “That’s why we have the reading room over there. Of course, there are those who prefer to photocopy the articles they wish to read. Be aware, however, that should you do so, you might potentially be violating copyright law.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to do that,” Kirby assured Mrs. Winslow. “I have a few minutes before the meeting. I’ll just go to the reading room.”

Mrs. Winslow smiled, clearly satisfied that Kirby had made the right moral choice.

Kirby spun around, her attention drawn to the picture of the man staring at her from the magazine cover. The glossy paper James’s smile was as flirtatious as the real life one’s had been, and his eyes in the photo held all the mischief she had seen in them in person. She supposed a man like him could turn the charm on and off like a faucet, adjusting the flow and temperature in accordance to whether or not there were flashing cameras and/ or his adoring public within range.

So caught up had she become in studying the smiling, handsome face on the magazine’s cover, that it came as a tremendous surprise to her when a familiar, masculine voice said out of nowhere, “Then again, why would you want to photocopy the thing when you can have the genuine article?”

Kirby snapped her head up at the question, only to find herself falling into the depths of those pale gray eyes that had so captivated her earlier. James Nash had changed his clothes, too, she noted, and now wore charcoal trousers, a white, open-collared shirt with the sleeves rolled to just below his elbows, and a knit black vest. His jet hair was still bound at his nape, and for some reason, she found herself wondering just how long it was.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, hoping she only imagined the husky, breathless quality her voice seemed to have adopted.

“Following you,” he told her frankly.

The tremor that had begun in her belly when she first saw him began to rattle throughout her entire body at the ease with which he offered his statement. “Why?” she managed to ask.

He shrugged casually, as if his answer should be obvious. Then he took a few idle steps toward her, his gaze never leaving hers. “Because wherever you were going, I wanted to go there with you.”

“Why?” she repeated.

He smiled as he halted a few inches shy of her. “Because I’m very curious to learn more about you.”

“Why?”

His smile grew broader. “What are you? Generation Why?” he mimicked. “I should think the answers to all your questions would be obvious.”

“Well, they’re not.”

This time he was the one to inquire, “Why?”

Because no man has ever been in the slightest bit interested in finding out where I was going, she wanted to shout at him. Because no man has ever been curious to learn more about me, that’s why. Instead of answering him, however, Kirby remained silent.

He sighed with what she could only interpret as disappointment. “Whatever. You know, for some reason, to see you go scuttling up the steps of the local library was in no way surprising.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she demanded, finally finding her voice.

He met her gaze levelly. “Just that after what I’ve learned today, I shouldn’t be surprised that you would indulge in such quiet, safe activities, that’s all.”

Kirby narrowed her eyes at him. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

Instead of answering her directly, he said, “You know, most people wouldn’t feel guilty about reading something like Tattle Tales magazine—its circulation is huge. And most people sure wouldn’t feel compelled to hide it under their purse as they carried it up to the check-out desk.”

She gaped at him, fighting off a blush, burning inside that he had been observing her as she read about him. “I did not hide it under my purse.”

He chuckled, a sound that was soft, certain and seductive. “Like hell you didn’t.”

“Mr. Nash—”

“Please, Kirby, I thought we’d gotten past that. Call me James. After all, I have seen you naked.”

Even without turning around to look at her, Kirby knew Mrs. Winslow’s head snapped up at that pronouncement. She knew, because she heard the little gasp of horror that accompanied it. Kirby closed her eyes tight and tried to rein in her mortification.

“Only because you’re a...a...a promiscuous...playboy... Peeping Tom,” she declared through gritted teeth.

She spun around to look at the librarian. “Mrs. Winslow, he didn’t really...! mean, he and I didn’t... What I mean is, I would never... Especially with someone like... You know my reputation in town is...” She halted suddenly when she realized she was making absolutely no sense.

But Mrs. Winslow only raised a steady hand, palm out, and shook her head. “You owe me no explanation,” she said. “Bob has been officially sighted out there in the cosmos, and we can’t be held responsible for our behavior once the comet is within range. Whatever you do in your spare time now, no one can fault you.”

“But I’m not doing anything in my spare time,” Kirby insisted. “Least of all...that. Especially not with someone like...him.”

“Whatever you say, dear.” Unfortunately, the librarian didn’t look at all convinced.

“Honest,” Kirby reiterated. “He was spying on me.”

“Kirby, don’t be embarrassed,” Mrs. Winslow continued. “I myself have even succumbed to the comet’s influence. Last night, I went to the Videoramajama, intending to rent a Jane Austen double feature, and came home with two Keanu Reeves movies instead. And they were actually quite good. He’s a rather remarkable actor, even without a shirt.” She paused a thoughtful moment then added, “Yes, indeed I would venture to say that shirtless, he is without question in his milieu.”

And with that, Mrs. Winslow dropped her gaze back to the assortment of colored index cards littering her desk and continued with her task.

Great, Kirby thought. She supposed she should feel thankful that no one other than Mrs. Winslow had overheard James’s comment. The librarian was one of the few people in town who frowned upon idle gossip. Then again, whatever was going on between her and James felt anything but idle. She lifted a hand to her forehead and rubbed ineffectually at a headache she felt threatening. Then she spun back around to face her accuser.

“Let’s get a couple of things straight right now,” she told him.

He smiled. “Gladly.”

She took a few steps forward, lowering her voice as she drew nearer. “Number one,” she began slowly, “you did not see me naked.”

James rocked back on his heels as his grin turned smug. “Oh, yes I did. And quite a sight it was, too.”

“You didn’t have my permission to look, therefore, it doesn’t count.” Then, before he could protest, she held the copy of Tattle Tales aloft and hurried on. “Number two, I did not pick up this magazine because there was an article about you in it.”

Now his grin turned really smug. “Oh, no?”

“No,” she assured him. She lifted the magazine up for his inspection and pointed to a small box in the upper right hand corner. “See this? There’s an article about Joe Piscopo in here. Now, I don’t know about you, but I’ve always been a big, big fan of Joe Piscopo.”

“Have you now?”

“Oh, yeah. I used to have a cat named Joe.”

“Do tell.”

“And that’s not all,” she continued, riffling through the pages until she came to the back of the journal. She scanned the columns fiercely, then thrust her finger against the first ad she saw. “Just look at this.”

Nash bent forward, squinting to see what she was pointing at. “What?” he finally asked.

“It’s an ad for...for...” She, too, turned her attention to the magazine, then swallowed hard when she realized what she had selected by chance. She tried to make her certainty convincing as she said, “An ad for...um...ThighMaster. And I...uh...I really need one of those.”

His expression was impassive. “Really? You’d never know it to look at you. And if you’ll recall, I have looked at you. Thoroughly.” As she fought off another blush, he bent forward and extended his hand toward the hem of her dress. As he did so, he added playfully, “But I suppose, if you insist, it wouldn’t hurt to have another look.”

Viciously she smacked at his hand just before it made contact. “Mr. Nash,” she began again.

“James,” he interjected, jerking his hand out of the way.

She ignored the distinction and instead continued. “I don’t know why you keep bothering me, but I assure you I—”

“I’ll be more than happy to explain it to you,” he interrupted her. “Over dinner. In my suite. Tonight. How about it?”

She emitted a brief, quiet sound of disbelief. “I don’t think so,” she stated emphatically. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have an appointment.”

“That’s okay. I’ll wait.” This time he reached for the magazine. “I can read all about my nationally desirable status.”

Instead of handing over the magazine that still dangled from her fingers, Kirby snapped it shut and spun on her heel toward the stacks where she’d found it. As she went, she threw a comment over her shoulder. “I’d advise against it.”

James followed close behind, his step perfectly aligned to hers. “Against reading about myself? Or against waiting for you?”

“Both.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re not all that interesting, and I’m not at all interested. That’s why.”

“You might want to at least listen to my offer.”

She glanced over at him hesitantly, felt that odd heat starting to unwind in her midsection again and quickly looked away. “Oh, I think you made it abundantly clear this afternoon what you were offering. And as I told you then—whatever it is you’re selling, I don’t want any.”

“Who says I’m selling it?”

Before she tossed the magazine back down onto its shelf, Kirby held it up for his inspection. “It’s all right here in black and white, illustrated in living color.”

“That doesn’t say I’m selling it,” he argued. “On the contrary, that article only goes to describe what a very giving person I am.”

She nodded. “Yeah, that’s the problem. You give it to everything in a skirt.”

“Not necessarily,” he countered. “Sometimes they’re wearing pants. Or swimsuits. Or wet suits. Or ski gear. Or lingerie. Or nothing at all.”

Kirby wished he wouldn’t go into such detail. She really didn’t want to know. Mainly because it hurt to realize that the only reason he had any interest in her was because of her gender. He’d leap on anything that had produced estrogen at some point in its life.

“You don’t have to spell it out for me,” she muttered. “I know what kind of man you are. I know you’ve been with a lot of other women.”

He smiled at her phrasing. “Other women?” he asked softly. “Why, Kirby, you almost sound like you’re jealous.”

She rolled her eyes and squelched the realization that for some bizarre reason, she was precisely that. “Oh, please. If there’s one thing I’m not, it’s jealous of anyone who might come into contact with you.”

“Your lips say ‘no,’ but your eyes...”

He let the old adage drift off, his smile becoming so smug now that Kirby wanted to smack it right off his face. With no small effort, she prevented herself from tearing the magazine to shreds right before his eyes—it was, after all, library property—and instead slammed it back down onto its resting place.

“Go away,” she said as clearly as she could. “Leave me alone. I never want to see you again.”

He laughed, a low, rough sound that was more than a little suggestive. For some reason, she had the impression that he wanted to touch her. But instead of reaching out, he shoved his hands deep into his trouser pockets and continued to stare at her as if he couldn’t quite believe she was real.

“You are such an interesting woman,” he said softly, his voice a near purr. “So exciting. So stimulating. So...” He inhaled deeply and released the breath in a slow, ragged stream, as if he were trying very hard to rein in some impulse that threatened to gallop out of control. “So...arousing,” he finally finished on an uneven whisper.

Well, that certainly caught Kirby’s attention. In addition to having never been seen naked by any man in Endicott, she’d never been called exciting or stimulating—and certainly not arousing—by any man in Endicott. And she’d never been looked at as if she were some half-naked Venus to be plundered, either.

But with one heated look and a few suggestive remarks, James Nash seemed to be more than capable of making up for all the past oversights of every man in town. Kirby was suddenly assaulted by a sensation she’d never experienced before, a thrill of something hot and urgent and needful boiling up inside her, a hunger for some unknown quantity that only James Nash could fill.

Uh-oh.

“I...I...I...” she began. But for some reason, no other letters came forth to form words that might help her out of her predicament.

He moved a generous step forward, an action that brought his body to within inches of hers. Kirby felt as if his heat were surrounding her, and when she inhaled, she filled her lungs with the scent of him, something dark and masculine and exciting. His gaze fastened on her mouth, his lips parted slightly, as if he were about to bend forward and sweep her into oblivion.

And even though she assured herself that kissing a man like him was the absolute last thing she wanted to do, she realized a profound disappointment when he didn’t kiss her.

Instead, he lifted one arm to prop it against the bookcase beside them, and leaned in farther still, until his face was scarcely millimeters away from hers. Kirby breathed deeply of him again, holding her breath inside for as long as she dared, growing dizzy and intoxicated by the scent of him. And when her eyes began to flutter downward, when she felt herself involuntarily drawing closer to him, she had to force herself to pull away.

She snapped her eyes open and exhaled unsteadily, willing her heart rate to level off. But her pulse only quickened when her gaze met James’s. Because the way he was looking at her was downright scandalous.

“Have dinner with me tonight,” he instructed her without an ounce of inquiry in his voice.

“I...I...I...” Kirby gave her brain a mental shove to drive it out of the scratched groove it had entered. Unfortunately, when she did that, she found that every instinct she possessed was insisting she shout “Okay!” in response to his demand.

With a fierce mental shush to her instincts, she said softly, reluctantly, “I can’t.”

Her refusal had no effect on him whatsoever. He only continued to gaze at her in that maddeningly seductive way and lifted a hand to her face. In an act of self-preservation, she ducked her head away from his touch. But he only curled his index finger gently beneath her chin and effortlessly nudged her head backward, until she found herself gazing into his face again.

Then, oh, so softly, he asked, “Why not?”

Her blood roared as it rushed through her body, its velocity striking heat in every cell it hurtled past. For a moment, she could only stare at him, wondering how on earth she had found herself in such a situation. She wanted to throw caution to the wind and take him up on anything—everything—he had to offer.

Then she reminded herself what kind of man he was. He didn’t claim a single character trait she insisted upon finding in a mate. He was a ne’er-do-well with no marketable skills, no job, no formal education, no roots and no desire to settle down. Okay, he was rich, so he didn’t really have any need of those particular traits, she conceded. Fine. He still wasn’t the kind of man she needed or wanted.

“I...um, I have other plans,” she stammered. “I have to be somewhere. Right...right now, as a matter of fact.”

Still, he was unfazed by her assertion. He cupped her jaw resolutely in his warm, rough hand and skimmed his thumb lightly over her cheekbone, starting a fire deep inside her that she feared would rage on forever.

“Like I said,” he told her softly, “I’ll wait.”

When he lifted his other hand, skimmed her hair aside and curved his fingers easily around her nape, her heart beat even more fiercely. “Oh...” she breathed softly, her eyes fluttering closed as the flames leapt higher and hotter inside her.

The thumb stroking her cheek continued its erotic rhythm as the fingers on her nape began to urge her forward, closer to James. For one delicious, delirious moment, she let herself be swayed, allowed herself to be overrun by his touch, his voice, his scent, his power.

Then, when she realized how easily she was succumbing to him, she forced her eyes open, leaned away and continued. “I mean, uh...I..I might be a while.”

He smiled that sexy smile again, and his gray eyes grew dark with something that touched her way deep down inside her soul. “That’s okay,” he said softly. The thumb caressing her cheek shifted down to skim lightly over her lower lip, and a tiny explosion of delight sprayed against her belly. “I don’t mind waiting for you,” he added. “You’re worth waiting for.”

Oh, wow, Kirby thought.

This was definitely a new experience for her. No man had ever spoken to her in such a blatantly suggestive way before. But here was James, an absolutely gorgeous specimen of manhood, who was actually interested in her, who was actually coming on to her, who was actually trying to...to...oh, God, who was actually trying to seduce her.

Not him, she told herself. Anyone but him. He was the last man on earth she should go up against. Over and over she told herself these things, until finally, finally, the warnings registered in her flustered brain. And when she realized she stood so little chance against him, when she understood that as long as he was within a football field’s length of her, she wouldn’t be able to resist him, then she knew all she could do was try to escape.

“No!” she cried suddenly, doubling her fists against his chest to shove herself backward, stumbling away from him when she finally did. Involuntarily her hand flew to her mouth, the backs of her fingers rubbing lightly over the lips he had touched so tenderly. Though whether she was trying to wipe away the sensation of his caress or preserve it forever, she honestly didn’t know.

Too late, she remembered that she and James were standing in a library. A really quiet library. A really quiet library with marble walls and floor, something she realized belatedly created a virtual soundstage for echoes. The moment the word No! left Kirby’s mouth, it ricocheted right back at her, punctuated by the stunned expressions of a dozen people nearby, and Mrs. Winslow’s fiercely uttered librarian’s “Shush!”

When Kirby saw that the majority of the people staring at them were members of the festival committee on their way upstairs for the meeting, she dropped her head helplessly into her hands. Then, without another word, without a backward glance, without a single thought for how monumentally embarrassed—and how utterly turned on—she still was, she spun around and fled.

As James watched Kirby’s flight, something he couldn’t ever recall feeling before unfolded deep in his belly. Regret. Honest-to-goodness regret that he would be denied the pleasure of her company for even a short period of time. He’d never felt that way about anyone in his entire life. Not about his family—such as it was—nor his friends—such as they were—nor his companions—ditto—nor even his lovers—major ditto. Yet a simple blond woman who was nearly a complete stranger had made him feel exactly that. Regretful. Bereft. Alone.

Amazing.

Then again, he recalled, Kirby wasn’t exactly a complete stranger. Not quite. Not anymore. Begley had discovered all kinds of things about her on his fishing expedition that afternoon, things that made James feel as if he knew her pretty well.

He shook his head in wonder as she disappeared through a pair of doors on the other side of the room, ahead of a group of people, all of whom—except Kirby—were glancing surreptitiously back over their shoulders at him. Only when they were completely out of sight did James allow himself to relax, to remember how soft and warm and compelling Kirby had been during their brief encounter, and to ponder again the wealth of information his valet had uncovered during a stroll through town a few hours earlier.

Begley had waxed poetic in particularly rhapsodic terms about an establishment dubbed the Dew Drop Inn, especially with regard to a certain proprietress named Jewel, of generous stature and even more generous proportions. In fact, Begley had gone on for so long about Jewel’s many charms that James had begun to wonder if his valet had ever even gotten around to completing the errand on which he’d been sent. Namely, digging up as much dirt as he could on a local citizen named Kirby Connaught.

Fortunately, Begley being the trusted and reliable servant that he was, he had performed his duties admirably. Eventually. And Jewel, it appeared, had been the one to provide him with all the sordid details.

According to the local barkeep, Kirby Connaught was a very good girl, a local scion of all things morally decent and profoundly innocent. She never had a harsh word to say about anyone—except, evidently, James. Nor was she capable of even the slightest misbehavior—except, apparently, theft of expensive champagne.

She was an orphan of modest means who still lived in the pink stucco house where she’d grown up, but also a daring entrepreneur who was trying—with questionable success—to launch her own decorating business. She was a regular churchgoer, a passionate art lover, an avid gardener, a reliable volunteer. A former cheerleader. A former calendar girl. A former senior class secretary, candy-striper, Girl Scout and National Merit Scholarship Semifinalist.

And, word had it, she was also a virgin. And not a former virgin, either. A current one.

That last part had really thrown James for a loop. Surely it wasn’t true. Surely the gossip was completely wrong. Surely there was no way the men in this town were stupid enough to have overlooked such a tempting, delectable, ripe, succulent, luscious, mouth-watering...

He inhaled a ragged breath and released it slowly. Such a supreme example of Venus in all her glory. Yet somehow, James knew that the gossip was indeed true. Kirby’s responses had been too quick, too obvious, too sensitive, too artless to have come from anyone other than a virgin.

How could such a thing have happened?

Of course, there was always the possibility that Kirby herself was responsible for her untouched status, he thought further. Maybe she simply gave any man who approached her the brush-off. After all, hadn’t she just done that very thing with him? She could be frigid, completely uninterested in sex. Or even a manhater, for that matter.

Immediately, though, he knew that wasn’t true. He could tell by the way she had responded to his touch only a few moments ago that she was in no way frigid. There was, without question, a wantonness in her that ran deep and strong. Kirby had a healthy sexual hunger—there was no question about that. What James couldn’t figure out was why she tried so hard not to feed it.

He returned his attention to the copy of Tattle Tales that sat innocently on the shelf. Although he had shouldered the mantle of Most Desirable Man in America with some pride, he hadn’t read the accompanying article in the magazine. Mainly because he honestly hadn’t cared what it said. Not until he’d seen Kirby perusing it. Now he couldn’t help but wonder what kind of conclusions she had been drawing as she read.

Probably none that were any worse than the ones she had already drawn about him, he thought dryly. For such a scion of innocence, purity and goodness, she sure was quick to see the worst in people.

Reluctantly he reached for the copy of the glossy tabloid and gazed at the picture of himself as indifferently as he could. Not the best shot that had ever been snapped of him, but it wasn’t bad. The headlines, however, were a little extreme. He wasn’t nearly naughty enough to warrant an exclamation point. Nor was he nice enough to have commanded an ellipsis. Not the way they meant it anyway.

He glanced up again at the door through which Kirby had passed with her colleagues. He had meant it when he’d told her she was worth waiting for. Folding himself into the chair she had vacated, oddly thrilled by the knowledge that his fanny was occupying the same cushion hers had, James sat himself down and began to read.