down, and if you're serious about coming with me to Colorado, then you'll have to agree to slow down."
"That's your final word on the subject?"
"Yes," she said fiercely, "it is."
He stared at her for an endless minute. The shadows in his eyes shifted rapidly, as if he were running through a variety of responses in his own mind. Abruptly he dropped his hands from the wall, shaking his head with grim disgust.
"How the hell do you do this to me?" he asked in a low voice as he turned away and stalked over to the window.
The question was so soft Mercy wasn't certain it was meant for her to hear. He was asking himself and it was obvious he didn't have an answer.
"Croft…"
He ignored her, running a hand through his dark hair as he stared out the window. "I've just spent a tough thirty minutes trying to clear my head for the day, and in less than five minutes you've managed to ruin everything I accomplished."
"Uh, Croft…"
He swung around, his gaze accusing. "Damn it, I
never
lose my temper."
"You mustn't get upset with yourself just because you're feeling a little impatient with me. You have a perfect right to be somewhat," she groped for the word, "
surprised
about the fact that I've decided to take charge of this relationship. You've got a dominant sort of personality, and for the past couple of days you have been more or less dominating this situation. Naturally, it comes as a shock to hear me say I want to put a hold on the physical side of things, but—"
He cut her off with a sharp movement of his hand. "Not another word, Mercy. I'm warning you. Unless you want to receive a few surprises and shocks yourself, you will close
your mouth and keep it closed until I've had my tea and my breakfast."
Mercy, who had her mouth half open for another reassuring comment on the subject of expecting too much of one's self-control, closed it at once. Without a word she watched him stalk into the bathroom.
They said the way to a man's heart was through his stomach. She would whip up something extra special for breakfast, she decided. And she would keep quiet while she did it. Croft was obviously going through a period of adjustment and needed the time to think.
That decision couldn't stop the silent, laughing grin that suddenly curved her mouth.
Several hours later Mercy sat in the passenger seat of a rented Toyota and struggled with the large, folded map of Colorado she had picked up from the car rental agency. They had left the Denver airport, following Interstate 25 south according to the directions that had been neatly typed on a piece of paper and left waiting at the rental agency.
Once away from the big city haze around Denver, a perfect blue Colorado sky had beckoned. The late afternoon sunshine seemed stronger, more intense than it had back in Washington. On the right the massive barrier of the Rocky Mountains paralleled the interstate, challenging more adventurous drivers to leave the freeway and try their luck in a far more primitive environment. Most of the traffic ignored the challenge.
Croft was driving, his movements relaxed and economical, his full attention on the traffic around him. He had made the decisions at the rental agency, selecting a Toyota Celica for the mountain roads. Mercy watched him surreptitiously, aware of his quiet, focused concentration. He did everything
that way, she realized. He had a way of aiming himself and channeling his energy on whatever task came to hand.
He was not the kind of man to get distracted from whatever he had originally set out to do.
That last thought had been bothering her off and on since that morning. It should have occurred to her earlier, Mercy chided herself. But the night before she knew she had wanted to believe
that she had succeeded in distracting Croft on some important level. The bright light of day and several hours of contemplation had reminded her that wasn't really very likely. It would take a great deal to genuinely distract Croft Falconer, a
"That's your final word on the subject?"
"Yes," she said fiercely, "it is."
He stared at her for an endless minute. The shadows in his eyes shifted rapidly, as if he were running through a variety of responses in his own mind. Abruptly he dropped his hands from the wall, shaking his head with grim disgust.
"How the hell do you do this to me?" he asked in a low voice as he turned away and stalked over to the window.
The question was so soft Mercy wasn't certain it was meant for her to hear. He was asking himself and it was obvious he didn't have an answer.
"Croft…"
He ignored her, running a hand through his dark hair as he stared out the window. "I've just spent a tough thirty minutes trying to clear my head for the day, and in less than five minutes you've managed to ruin everything I accomplished."
"Uh, Croft…"
He swung around, his gaze accusing. "Damn it, I
never
lose my temper."
"You mustn't get upset with yourself just because you're feeling a little impatient with me. You have a perfect right to be somewhat," she groped for the word, "
surprised
about the fact that I've decided to take charge of this relationship. You've got a dominant sort of personality, and for the past couple of days you have been more or less dominating this situation. Naturally, it comes as a shock to hear me say I want to put a hold on the physical side of things, but—"
He cut her off with a sharp movement of his hand. "Not another word, Mercy. I'm warning you. Unless you want to receive a few surprises and shocks yourself, you will close
your mouth and keep it closed until I've had my tea and my breakfast."
Mercy, who had her mouth half open for another reassuring comment on the subject of expecting too much of one's self-control, closed it at once. Without a word she watched him stalk into the bathroom.
They said the way to a man's heart was through his stomach. She would whip up something extra special for breakfast, she decided. And she would keep quiet while she did it. Croft was obviously going through a period of adjustment and needed the time to think.
That decision couldn't stop the silent, laughing grin that suddenly curved her mouth.
Several hours later Mercy sat in the passenger seat of a rented Toyota and struggled with the large, folded map of Colorado she had picked up from the car rental agency. They had left the Denver airport, following Interstate 25 south according to the directions that had been neatly typed on a piece of paper and left waiting at the rental agency.
Once away from the big city haze around Denver, a perfect blue Colorado sky had beckoned. The late afternoon sunshine seemed stronger, more intense than it had back in Washington. On the right the massive barrier of the Rocky Mountains paralleled the interstate, challenging more adventurous drivers to leave the freeway and try their luck in a far more primitive environment. Most of the traffic ignored the challenge.
Croft was driving, his movements relaxed and economical, his full attention on the traffic around him. He had made the decisions at the rental agency, selecting a Toyota Celica for the mountain roads. Mercy watched him surreptitiously, aware of his quiet, focused concentration. He did everything
that way, she realized. He had a way of aiming himself and channeling his energy on whatever task came to hand.
He was not the kind of man to get distracted from whatever he had originally set out to do.
That last thought had been bothering her off and on since that morning. It should have occurred to her earlier, Mercy chided herself. But the night before she knew she had wanted to believe
that she had succeeded in distracting Croft on some important level. The bright light of day and several hours of contemplation had reminded her that wasn't really very likely. It would take a great deal to genuinely distract Croft Falconer, a
Similar Books
