it takes my entire lifetime!"
Her threat elicited nothing but more laughter, and she attempted to stomp a foot in the water before realizing how ridiculous she must look. Her cap was long gone with the waves, her hair was half up and half down with straggling pins, and her elegant fawn-colored riding habit encased her in drenched dishevelment.
Snapping her mouth shut for an instant, she drew herself to her full height and primly stiffened her shoulders. "Pray, Mr. O'Hara, be so kind as to tell me what you find so amusing about all this?"
He crossed his arms over his chest and slowly let eyes that still glittered with laughter roam with ill-concealed mirth from her hair-plastered face to the spot where her breeches met the water. "Besides the obvious?" he inquired innocently.
Gritting her teeth, Ronnie retorted, "Yes—besides the obvious!"
"Okay, my dear, dear Mrs. von Hurst," he replied, his mockery light as he surveyed her. "It's rather an inside joke, but I'll try to explain." He shifted his weight to launch into his explanation, and as Ronnie glared at him she was forced to hide a grudging admiration behind the wall of her anger. Even soaked he was magnificent, his form outlined by his wet clothing, his hair and mustache so black, they glinted blue.
"You see, I've always thought of you as a cat. So sleek, so smooth, so independent . . . incredibly lithe, remarkably agile. From the moment I first saw you, I thought you possessed that sophisticated feline mystique. By whimsy I think I've just discovered that to be a little true." He paused for a moment, and Ronnie realized that he had been slowly advancing on her. His words had astounded her. They seemed to be compliments.
But that devilish twinkle was in his eyes. She began to back off further in to the water as he continued his approach.
"A cat, Ronnie," he continued. "An aloof creature, seeking to be stroked occasionally, only at her own leisure. Sometimes even purring with pleasure. Sometimes baring claws that scratch deeply, but always, always, so terribly independent."
He had woven a spell with his words as he came closer and closer. And even as she watched him with suspicion, he stopped directly in front of her and grinned, his teeth startlingly white against the damp mustache.
"Now I'm absolutely convinced you are a cat. Only a drowned cat could look so pathetic when inadvertently drenched."
Ronnie curled her lips over tightly clenched teeth, and her eyes blazed, shimmering like the sea beneath the sun. "Thank you, Drake," she enunciated with dry formality. "A cat, huh? I would watch it, then," she advised. "I've heard that cats are known to be exceptionally fierce when 'inadvertently drenched.'"
"Are they?"
"Oh, yes," she said pleasantly, basically back in control and wise enough to move with caution. "Especially when plagued by extremely dense, prying blackbirds." She certainly wasn't going to be able to use brute force against him, she decided dryly, but perhaps a little cat cunning. . . .
"Prying blackbirds," he told her with an edge to his voice, "only pry when they don't understand. It's an effort not to be dense."
She wasn't really listening, she was hiding a smile of satisfaction—he expected no retaliation. Shrugging dismissively, she stooped in the water as if to find a pebble in her boot, then leaned her weight abruptly against him as she shifted a foot behind his.
The effect was marvelous. Totally unprepared, Drake fell backward with a splash. Her self-satisfied smile of victory, however, left her face and was replaced with a yelp. He had recovered enough to catch her hand before he went down, and a split second later she was splashing down on top of him.
"Blackbirds can also be fierce when harassed by cats," Drake said, grinning as he maintained a grip upon her as they both surfaced. "Poor things. Especially when they fall prey to the deviousness of a cat. A second time." The grin suddenly left his lips. "Most especially cats who promise love in the
Her threat elicited nothing but more laughter, and she attempted to stomp a foot in the water before realizing how ridiculous she must look. Her cap was long gone with the waves, her hair was half up and half down with straggling pins, and her elegant fawn-colored riding habit encased her in drenched dishevelment.
Snapping her mouth shut for an instant, she drew herself to her full height and primly stiffened her shoulders. "Pray, Mr. O'Hara, be so kind as to tell me what you find so amusing about all this?"
He crossed his arms over his chest and slowly let eyes that still glittered with laughter roam with ill-concealed mirth from her hair-plastered face to the spot where her breeches met the water. "Besides the obvious?" he inquired innocently.
Gritting her teeth, Ronnie retorted, "Yes—besides the obvious!"
"Okay, my dear, dear Mrs. von Hurst," he replied, his mockery light as he surveyed her. "It's rather an inside joke, but I'll try to explain." He shifted his weight to launch into his explanation, and as Ronnie glared at him she was forced to hide a grudging admiration behind the wall of her anger. Even soaked he was magnificent, his form outlined by his wet clothing, his hair and mustache so black, they glinted blue.
"You see, I've always thought of you as a cat. So sleek, so smooth, so independent . . . incredibly lithe, remarkably agile. From the moment I first saw you, I thought you possessed that sophisticated feline mystique. By whimsy I think I've just discovered that to be a little true." He paused for a moment, and Ronnie realized that he had been slowly advancing on her. His words had astounded her. They seemed to be compliments.
But that devilish twinkle was in his eyes. She began to back off further in to the water as he continued his approach.
"A cat, Ronnie," he continued. "An aloof creature, seeking to be stroked occasionally, only at her own leisure. Sometimes even purring with pleasure. Sometimes baring claws that scratch deeply, but always, always, so terribly independent."
He had woven a spell with his words as he came closer and closer. And even as she watched him with suspicion, he stopped directly in front of her and grinned, his teeth startlingly white against the damp mustache.
"Now I'm absolutely convinced you are a cat. Only a drowned cat could look so pathetic when inadvertently drenched."
Ronnie curled her lips over tightly clenched teeth, and her eyes blazed, shimmering like the sea beneath the sun. "Thank you, Drake," she enunciated with dry formality. "A cat, huh? I would watch it, then," she advised. "I've heard that cats are known to be exceptionally fierce when 'inadvertently drenched.'"
"Are they?"
"Oh, yes," she said pleasantly, basically back in control and wise enough to move with caution. "Especially when plagued by extremely dense, prying blackbirds." She certainly wasn't going to be able to use brute force against him, she decided dryly, but perhaps a little cat cunning. . . .
"Prying blackbirds," he told her with an edge to his voice, "only pry when they don't understand. It's an effort not to be dense."
She wasn't really listening, she was hiding a smile of satisfaction—he expected no retaliation. Shrugging dismissively, she stooped in the water as if to find a pebble in her boot, then leaned her weight abruptly against him as she shifted a foot behind his.
The effect was marvelous. Totally unprepared, Drake fell backward with a splash. Her self-satisfied smile of victory, however, left her face and was replaced with a yelp. He had recovered enough to catch her hand before he went down, and a split second later she was splashing down on top of him.
"Blackbirds can also be fierce when harassed by cats," Drake said, grinning as he maintained a grip upon her as they both surfaced. "Poor things. Especially when they fall prey to the deviousness of a cat. A second time." The grin suddenly left his lips. "Most especially cats who promise love in the
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