tightened fiercely around her brandy glass.
“Have you ever kissed a frog?”
“No. A few toads, I think, but no frogs.” She was going to spill the brandy if she didn’t set it down. Moving stiffly, she placed the glass on the table in front of her. The room seemed suddenly very close and crowded.
“Gwen . . .” But he didn’t finish the sentence. He was already on his feet and reaching down to pull her into his arms.
Guinevere said nothing. She couldn’t think of anything sufficiently brilliant or clever or witty. She flattened her palms on his shoulders, aware of the strength in him. He had his own unique, intriguing scent, she realized: warm; a little tangy, faintly musky with overtones of wool from his jacket. Not froglike at all. She lifted her face for his kiss before she could give herself all the reasons why she shouldn’t.
His mouth was heavy on hers, surprisingly so. She sensed the urgency and controlled demand in him and was vividly aware of the way it sparked her own desire. Guinevere’s fingertips sank into the nubby fabric of his jacket.
The large hands at her waist pulled her closer, testing her against strongly muscled thighs. Guinevere let her arms slip upward to circle his neck, and her mouth parted beneath the impact of his. The ribbon of tension and excitement she had been experiencing began to twist and turn around its own axis.
“Gwen, honey, you feel so good.” His voice was a dark mutter of sound in her ear as he freed her mouth to nuzzle the curve of her throat.
She felt his hands slide down to her hips and curve over her buttocks, where his fingers flexed gently. She sighed, her lips skimming the line of his jaw, and then slowly, reluctantly, she pulled away to look up at him. She saw the question that was part demand in his eyes and shook her head a little. She touched his mouth with a fingertip.
“I don’t think so. Not tonight. There are too many unknowns. Too many risks.” Her voice was only a whisper.
“But you’re a lady who has nerve. You know how to take risks.” He probed the base of her spine, kneading the sensitive area deliberately.
“I think I’ve taken my share lately.” She smiled tremulously. “Good night, Zac. It’s been interesting.”
“What’s been interesting?” He looked half resigned and wholly frustrated.
“Kissing a frog.”
“I guess I didn’t turn into a prince, huh?”
“It doesn’t matter. I wasn’t looking for a prince. Good night, Zac,” she said again.
“Good night, Gwen.” He stepped away from her and walked slowly toward the door. With his hand on the knob he turned and glanced back at her. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Lunch.”
“To tell me I’m free?”
His eyes narrowed. She thought he was on the verge of saying something, but obviously he thought better of it. The door closed behind him.
Guinevere stood very still in the center of the room, staring at the closed door and wondering at the conflicting sensations pouring over her like waves. It would have been so easy to have him stay. And so very risky. What on earth was she thinking of even to consider the prospect of an affair with Zachariah Justis?
The ringing of the telephone cut through her chaotic thoughts. Automatically she went to answer it. The voice on the other end of the line was that of Larry Hixon. He was doing an excellent imitation of a nerd in the midst of an anxiety attack.
“Gwen? Were there any other disks near the computer?” he demanded agitatedly.
“What do you mean?”
“The disk at Cal’s house. For Christ’s sake, what other disk would there be? I want to know if there were any other disks that had ‘Elf’ written on the label?”
“I don’t think so, Larry, but it was dark, and I was in a hurry. I may have overlooked something. Why? What’s wrong?”
“I’m playing the game from scratch, just like I told you I was going to do, but it’s screwy, Gwen. Cal has really edited this version, and I can’t figure
“Have you ever kissed a frog?”
“No. A few toads, I think, but no frogs.” She was going to spill the brandy if she didn’t set it down. Moving stiffly, she placed the glass on the table in front of her. The room seemed suddenly very close and crowded.
“Gwen . . .” But he didn’t finish the sentence. He was already on his feet and reaching down to pull her into his arms.
Guinevere said nothing. She couldn’t think of anything sufficiently brilliant or clever or witty. She flattened her palms on his shoulders, aware of the strength in him. He had his own unique, intriguing scent, she realized: warm; a little tangy, faintly musky with overtones of wool from his jacket. Not froglike at all. She lifted her face for his kiss before she could give herself all the reasons why she shouldn’t.
His mouth was heavy on hers, surprisingly so. She sensed the urgency and controlled demand in him and was vividly aware of the way it sparked her own desire. Guinevere’s fingertips sank into the nubby fabric of his jacket.
The large hands at her waist pulled her closer, testing her against strongly muscled thighs. Guinevere let her arms slip upward to circle his neck, and her mouth parted beneath the impact of his. The ribbon of tension and excitement she had been experiencing began to twist and turn around its own axis.
“Gwen, honey, you feel so good.” His voice was a dark mutter of sound in her ear as he freed her mouth to nuzzle the curve of her throat.
She felt his hands slide down to her hips and curve over her buttocks, where his fingers flexed gently. She sighed, her lips skimming the line of his jaw, and then slowly, reluctantly, she pulled away to look up at him. She saw the question that was part demand in his eyes and shook her head a little. She touched his mouth with a fingertip.
“I don’t think so. Not tonight. There are too many unknowns. Too many risks.” Her voice was only a whisper.
“But you’re a lady who has nerve. You know how to take risks.” He probed the base of her spine, kneading the sensitive area deliberately.
“I think I’ve taken my share lately.” She smiled tremulously. “Good night, Zac. It’s been interesting.”
“What’s been interesting?” He looked half resigned and wholly frustrated.
“Kissing a frog.”
“I guess I didn’t turn into a prince, huh?”
“It doesn’t matter. I wasn’t looking for a prince. Good night, Zac,” she said again.
“Good night, Gwen.” He stepped away from her and walked slowly toward the door. With his hand on the knob he turned and glanced back at her. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Lunch.”
“To tell me I’m free?”
His eyes narrowed. She thought he was on the verge of saying something, but obviously he thought better of it. The door closed behind him.
Guinevere stood very still in the center of the room, staring at the closed door and wondering at the conflicting sensations pouring over her like waves. It would have been so easy to have him stay. And so very risky. What on earth was she thinking of even to consider the prospect of an affair with Zachariah Justis?
The ringing of the telephone cut through her chaotic thoughts. Automatically she went to answer it. The voice on the other end of the line was that of Larry Hixon. He was doing an excellent imitation of a nerd in the midst of an anxiety attack.
“Gwen? Were there any other disks near the computer?” he demanded agitatedly.
“What do you mean?”
“The disk at Cal’s house. For Christ’s sake, what other disk would there be? I want to know if there were any other disks that had ‘Elf’ written on the label?”
“I don’t think so, Larry, but it was dark, and I was in a hurry. I may have overlooked something. Why? What’s wrong?”
“I’m playing the game from scratch, just like I told you I was going to do, but it’s screwy, Gwen. Cal has really edited this version, and I can’t figure
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