pointed out meaningfully.
"That's beside the point. I was waiting for you to come along—and very patient I've been, too! There I was expecting a macho prince to come along and carry me off over his saddle, and instead I get Sir Walter Raleigh spreading his cloak over a puddle so I won't get my feet wet!"
Trevor went off again.
With no mercy, Taylor continued in the same fiercely put-upon voice. "I wanted more Don Juan—less Sir Galahad! I wanted the Black Knight instead of the White Knight! I wanted to be ravished totally—well, partially—against my will! I wanted a dash of James Bond and a pinch of Superman and a slice or two of the Lone Ranger—"
"A macho salad!" Trevor laughed even harder at the affronted expression she wore; it was belied by the wicked laughter in her eyes.
"And if we're going to talk about decency," she said roundly with only a faint quiver to betray her, "why don't we talk about a man who won't even let himself be decently seduced!"
"That's a contradiction in terms," he said a bit weakly.
"Not," she said, "in my dictionary, it isn't."
Trevor wiped his streaming eyes and tried to gather some vague sort of command over himself. He felt completely limp with laughter, utterly relaxed, and wholly incapable of logical thought.
"Feeling better?" she murmured suddenly.
Trevor stared at her. "You've been manipulating me, you little witch," he realized slowly.
"You were upset." Her lovely face was ingenuous. "And they do say laughter's the best medicine, after all."
He had a feeling his mouth was open and hastily closed it. He knew better than to doubt anything she'd said—particularly about her parents—but he realized his love had been playing him like a piano tuned expertly to her touch. "Three hundred years ago," he said ruefully, "you'd have been burned at the stake."
Her eyes gleamed at him. "Probably. But admit it—you do feel better."
Trevor sighed. "Yes, I feel better. I'm still not sure I'm the man for you, however."
"You laugh at my jokes," she pointed out. "And that's a more solid basis for marriage than most people ever find."
Just as she'd very nearly seduced him with black lace and garters, she now came close to performing the feat a second time. A part of him longed wistfully to share his life with a woman who could make him laugh—and feel better—in spite of himself. But there was still that part of him wary of being too well known.
She could read his mind.
Accordingly, he shied off again. "I'll grant that," he said carefully, "but I'm still not sure. And bear in mind, young lady, that I'll not be seduced against my will!"
"Funny, for a while there, I thought you were willing."
Trevor sent a mock glare toward her gently quizzical expression. "You know damn well I was, and stop baiting me!"
"Sorry," she murmured, still smiling.
"And now," he said sternly, "if you'll get de—uh—dressed, I'll take you home."
"I can't go home tonight," she objected.
He eyed her with foreboding. "Why not?"
"Because I'm supposed to be seducing you," she explained patiently. "If I come home before dawn, Mother and Daddy'll know I failed. Their very own daughter a failure as a temptress! Just imagine—they won't be able to hold their heads up again at their club!"
"Do they have a club?" he asked involuntarily.
"Of course they have a club, Trevor."
He got hold of himself again. "Well, no one else has to know, so they can hold their heads up."
'Trevor," she said in a very gentle, long-suffering voice, "you know my parents. D'you really believe no one else will know?"
He thought about it for a moment, then matched her tone of long-suffering. "I suppose they would consider it dinner-table conversation at that."
'Tennis-court conversation at the very least. And even if they can hold their heads up, I'll be utterly shamed! You wouldn't do that to me, would you?"
Trevor sighed, defeated. "If you'll promise me I won't face a shotgun wedding in the morning—"
"Trevor!"
"That," he
"That's beside the point. I was waiting for you to come along—and very patient I've been, too! There I was expecting a macho prince to come along and carry me off over his saddle, and instead I get Sir Walter Raleigh spreading his cloak over a puddle so I won't get my feet wet!"
Trevor went off again.
With no mercy, Taylor continued in the same fiercely put-upon voice. "I wanted more Don Juan—less Sir Galahad! I wanted the Black Knight instead of the White Knight! I wanted to be ravished totally—well, partially—against my will! I wanted a dash of James Bond and a pinch of Superman and a slice or two of the Lone Ranger—"
"A macho salad!" Trevor laughed even harder at the affronted expression she wore; it was belied by the wicked laughter in her eyes.
"And if we're going to talk about decency," she said roundly with only a faint quiver to betray her, "why don't we talk about a man who won't even let himself be decently seduced!"
"That's a contradiction in terms," he said a bit weakly.
"Not," she said, "in my dictionary, it isn't."
Trevor wiped his streaming eyes and tried to gather some vague sort of command over himself. He felt completely limp with laughter, utterly relaxed, and wholly incapable of logical thought.
"Feeling better?" she murmured suddenly.
Trevor stared at her. "You've been manipulating me, you little witch," he realized slowly.
"You were upset." Her lovely face was ingenuous. "And they do say laughter's the best medicine, after all."
He had a feeling his mouth was open and hastily closed it. He knew better than to doubt anything she'd said—particularly about her parents—but he realized his love had been playing him like a piano tuned expertly to her touch. "Three hundred years ago," he said ruefully, "you'd have been burned at the stake."
Her eyes gleamed at him. "Probably. But admit it—you do feel better."
Trevor sighed. "Yes, I feel better. I'm still not sure I'm the man for you, however."
"You laugh at my jokes," she pointed out. "And that's a more solid basis for marriage than most people ever find."
Just as she'd very nearly seduced him with black lace and garters, she now came close to performing the feat a second time. A part of him longed wistfully to share his life with a woman who could make him laugh—and feel better—in spite of himself. But there was still that part of him wary of being too well known.
She could read his mind.
Accordingly, he shied off again. "I'll grant that," he said carefully, "but I'm still not sure. And bear in mind, young lady, that I'll not be seduced against my will!"
"Funny, for a while there, I thought you were willing."
Trevor sent a mock glare toward her gently quizzical expression. "You know damn well I was, and stop baiting me!"
"Sorry," she murmured, still smiling.
"And now," he said sternly, "if you'll get de—uh—dressed, I'll take you home."
"I can't go home tonight," she objected.
He eyed her with foreboding. "Why not?"
"Because I'm supposed to be seducing you," she explained patiently. "If I come home before dawn, Mother and Daddy'll know I failed. Their very own daughter a failure as a temptress! Just imagine—they won't be able to hold their heads up again at their club!"
"Do they have a club?" he asked involuntarily.
"Of course they have a club, Trevor."
He got hold of himself again. "Well, no one else has to know, so they can hold their heads up."
'Trevor," she said in a very gentle, long-suffering voice, "you know my parents. D'you really believe no one else will know?"
He thought about it for a moment, then matched her tone of long-suffering. "I suppose they would consider it dinner-table conversation at that."
'Tennis-court conversation at the very least. And even if they can hold their heads up, I'll be utterly shamed! You wouldn't do that to me, would you?"
Trevor sighed, defeated. "If you'll promise me I won't face a shotgun wedding in the morning—"
"Trevor!"
"That," he
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