Sweet Memories by Lavyrle Spencer Page A

yet this one of green, untutored innocence was oddly satisfying. And she wasn’t the kind of woman a man rushed. She seemed scarcely woman at all, but girl, far less accomplished at the art of kissing than at the art of playing the violin and the piano. Her unpracticed kiss was suddenly more refreshing than any he’d ever shared.
    He pushed back, straightened and intoned quietly, “Merry Christmas, Theresa.’’
    Her eyes lifted to his face. Her voice trembled. “Merry Christmas, Brian.”
     
     

Chapter Five
     
    THE WEEK THAT FOLLOWED   was one of the happiest of Theresa’s life. They had few scheduled duties, the city at their feet and money with which to enjoy it. She and Brian enjoyed being together, though they were rarely alone. Everywhere they went the group numbered four, with Jeff and Patricia along, or five, if Amy came, too, which she often did.
    They spent an entire day at the new zoo, which was practically at their doorstep, located less than two miles away, on the east side of Burnsville. There they enjoyed the animals in their natural winter habitat, rode the monorail part of the time, then walked, ate hot dogs and drank hot coffee.
    It was a sunless day, but bright, glittery with hoarfrost upon the surface of the snow. The world was a study in black and white. The oak branches startled the eye, so onyx-black against the backdrop of pristine landscape. The animals were sluggish, posed against the winter setting, their breaths rising in nebulous vapors, white on white. But the polar bears were up and about, looking like great shaggy pears with legs. Before their den, Theresa and Brian paused, arms on the rail, side by side. The bears lumbered about, coats pure and as colorless as the day. A giant male lifted his nose to the air, a single black blot against all that white.
    “Look at him,” Brian said, pointing. “The only things that are black are his eyes, lips, nose and toenails. On an arctic icefloe he becomes practically invisible. But he’s smart enough to know how that nose shows. I once saw a film of a polar bear sneaking up on an unsuspecting seal with one paw over his nose and mouth.”
    It was a new side of Brian Scanlon: nature lover. She was intrigued and turned to study his profile. “Did it work?”
    His eyes left the bears and settled on her. “Of course it worked. The poor seal never knew what hit her.” Their eyes clung. Theresa grew conscious of the contact of Brian’s elbow on the rail beside hers—warm, even through their jackets. His eyes made a quick check across her shoulder where the others stood, then returned to her lips before he began to close the space between them. But Theresa was too shy to kiss in public and quickly turned to study the bears. Her cheeks felt hot against the crisp air as Brian’s gaze lingered for a moment before he straightened and said softly, “Another time.”
    It happened before the habitat of another animal whose coat had turned winter white. They were watching the ermine coats of the minks when Theresa turned toward Brian, saying, “I don’t think I could wear—”
    He was only three inches away, encroaching, with a hand covering his nose and mouth, eyes gleaming with amused intent.
    She smiled and pulled back. “What in the world are you doing?”
    From underneath his glove came a muffled voice. “I’m trying the polar bear’s sneaky tactics.”
    She was laughing when his glove slipped aside and swept around her, his two hands now holding her captive against a black railing. The quick kiss fell on her open lips. It was a failure of a kiss, as far as contact goes, for two cold noses bumped, and laughter mingled between their mouths. After the brief contact, he remained as he was, arms and body forming a welcome prison while she leaned backward from the waist, the rail pressed against her back and her hands resting on the front of his jacket.
    “There, you see,” she claimed breathily, “It didn’t work. I saw you coming