Pictures of You by Barbara Delinsky Page B

Her senses had memorized his very smell, so fresh and masculine and heady. There was a moment’s hesitation before Roberto’s voice, low and gruff, shattered the silence.
    â€œLet me see your finger,” he ordered, grabbing the forefinger of her right hand before she understood what he was doing.
    â€œOuch … watch it!” she exclaimed, his hand having grazed the very spot she had burned earlier. He had taken a small tube from his shirt pocket and was proceeding to spread, none too gently for Eva’s comfort, a salve on the burn which, though small, had begun to blister.
    â€œI didn’t think you’d noticed,” Eva shot at him sarcastically, even as the soothing effect of the salve had begun to ease the sting.
    â€œI don’t miss too much.” His eyes didn’t stray from hers, the implication of his tone notwithstanding. “Here … you’ll need these for tomorrow. You can’t very well hike barefoot over the hills. And, as I said once before, I won’t have any lame animals along.” Reaching again into the pocket of his shirt, he drew out several Band-Aids, obviously intended for her raw heels.
    By this time Eva’s humiliation had nowhere to go.
Once again he was right. As much as she would have liked to turn down his smug gesture of help, she knew she would need the bandages if she ever hoped to put her sneakers on. Betrayed by her feet, she burst out in a spontaneous eruption of laughter at the ludicrous predicament.
    â€œI’m glad to see your humor has returned. I thought for a while, there, that we’d seen the last of it! It becomes you.” He stated it as a fact, but there was a gentleness in his voice.
    â€œIf you like it so much, why do you constantly provoke me? You do, you know.” She stated her own fact, calmly.
    â€œI didn’t say I like it. I merely said it becomes you. There is a difference. And if I provoke you it’s because you are oversensitive. I enjoy your outbursts of anger. They also become you, in their own way.” Roberto’s gentle tone was causing flutters within her, even as his words angered her.
    â€œSo you enjoy annoying me!” she retorted. “What kind of perverted mind can do that? You must be a sadist. You humiliate me, hurt me, tease me, infuriate me … and love every minute of it! What does make you tick? I’m at a total loss to figure you out!”
    His expression softened, pleased to hear her admit to a weakness. “Well, I’m glad to see there’s something you’re at a loss to do. You are pretty self-sufficient, I have to admit. What makes you tick, Mrs. Jordenson?”
    â€œUh-uh. I asked you first.” Eva was not about to be put off when she was so close to a real discovery. “You must have a very low opinion of women.”
    â€œTo the contrary. I have the utmost respect for some women.”
    â€œThen you must despise American women.” She pursued the point, eager to pin him down somehow.
    â€œNot at all. My mother is an American woman.” He
was evading her questions, and Eva knew she would have to be more specific.
    â€œYour mother doesn’t count. Are you married?” She dove in headfirst, not sure whether she would hit bottom or rise to the surface.
    â€œNo,” he replied bluntly. “Do I seem like the marrying type?”
    â€œNo. Ah, yes! I would have guessed that you weren’t married but that you would like to be and to have a family.” Eva was talking freely now, saying things which at another time she might not have ventured to say. But Roberto’s seemingly relaxed mood gave her courage.
    An enigmatic smile curled at the corners of his mouth, a mixture of sadness and frustration. “You know all the answers, don’t you? How did you reach that conclusion?”
    â€œThe way you look at Paul and talk about him. It’s something special, isn’t it? I don’t have any