changed little about the room, outside of a few new books on the shelf above the desk.
“One of the best things that ever happened to me was when my mother married John Lancaster and you became my brother, Whit,” she declared, bringing her gaze back to him.
But his attention was focused on the ruffled neckline of her pajama top where it dipped low to reveal the swell of her breasts. There was sharp, almost angry, reproval in his glance when it lifted to her face.
“Why did you bother to wear a robe?” he challenged.
A little embarrassed by her inadvertent lack of modesty, Shari fumbled for the loose ends of the robe’s sash. “I guess I just forgot to tie it.” She quickly corrected that omission, crossing the frontfolds of the robe over each other and securing them with a knot in the cloth belt.
“I think it’s time you were going back to your own room,” Whit stated with a thin-lipped expression.
“Not yet,” Shari protested. “We’ve hardly had a chance to talk.”
“Then get up,” he ordered. “If we’re going to talk, it’s going to be somewhere other than this bed.”
Although puzzled by his behavior, she uncurled her legs and slid off the bed to the floor. The bed had always been the location for their talks. She didn’t understand why he was suddenly changing the routine.
“Hand me my pants,” Whit ordered. “They’re lying on that chair over there.” Shari walked to the straight-backed chair he had indicated and started to pick up the pair of tan denims draped across the seat. “I’ve got stuff in the pockets,” he warned her not to let it fall out.
She picked them up by the waistband and carried them to the bed. “Here you are.” She handed them over to him.
Whit remained under the covers, holding the pants in his hand and looking at her expectantly. But Shari didn’t know what he expected from her. The corners of his mouth were pulled inward in an expression of exhausted patience.
“Will you please turn around?” he requested with a circling gesture of his hand, a trace of harshness in his tone.
She released a short laugh of surprise. “Are you serious?” she asked, unable to keep the laughter outof her voice. “Whit, I’ve seen you in your under-shorts before.”
But he didn’t find anything funny about the situation. If anything, his expression became harder and more forbidding.
“Dammit, I said turn around,” he snapped.
Bewildered over the reason for his anger, Shari did as she was told and faced away from the bed. His attitude seemed to change the entire atmosphere in the room. She was much more conscious of the sounds he was making behind her—the muted clink of the coins in his pockets as he pulled on his pants and the zip of the fly closing. It started a lot of disturbing thoughts.
She tried to eliminate them by making light of the situation. “When did you become so shy, Whit?” she asked, very careful not to turn her head. “I don’t remember modesty being one of your virtues.”
There was an impatient click of a cigarette lighter. Out of the corner of her eye, Shari caught the swirl of tobacco smoke. Then Whit was briskly walking by her toward the chairs on the other side of the room. He stopped when he realized she wasn’t following him and looked back at her.
“You said you wanted to talk,” he reminded her curtly. “Let’s talk.”
“What is the matter with you, Whit?” She was drawn slowly in his direction, her gaze searching the taut features for an explanation for his strange behavior. “You aren’t acting like yourself at all.”
“Oh?” The simple sound bordered on a taunting challenge. “Perhaps you should enlighten me on theproper way I should behave.” He had just lit the cigarette and already he was turning to put it out, using an ashtray on the desk. “Just exactly what is it that you expect from me?”
“I guess I expect you to act more like the Whit I remember.” Shari wasn’t certain herself.
“Times
“One of the best things that ever happened to me was when my mother married John Lancaster and you became my brother, Whit,” she declared, bringing her gaze back to him.
But his attention was focused on the ruffled neckline of her pajama top where it dipped low to reveal the swell of her breasts. There was sharp, almost angry, reproval in his glance when it lifted to her face.
“Why did you bother to wear a robe?” he challenged.
A little embarrassed by her inadvertent lack of modesty, Shari fumbled for the loose ends of the robe’s sash. “I guess I just forgot to tie it.” She quickly corrected that omission, crossing the frontfolds of the robe over each other and securing them with a knot in the cloth belt.
“I think it’s time you were going back to your own room,” Whit stated with a thin-lipped expression.
“Not yet,” Shari protested. “We’ve hardly had a chance to talk.”
“Then get up,” he ordered. “If we’re going to talk, it’s going to be somewhere other than this bed.”
Although puzzled by his behavior, she uncurled her legs and slid off the bed to the floor. The bed had always been the location for their talks. She didn’t understand why he was suddenly changing the routine.
“Hand me my pants,” Whit ordered. “They’re lying on that chair over there.” Shari walked to the straight-backed chair he had indicated and started to pick up the pair of tan denims draped across the seat. “I’ve got stuff in the pockets,” he warned her not to let it fall out.
She picked them up by the waistband and carried them to the bed. “Here you are.” She handed them over to him.
Whit remained under the covers, holding the pants in his hand and looking at her expectantly. But Shari didn’t know what he expected from her. The corners of his mouth were pulled inward in an expression of exhausted patience.
“Will you please turn around?” he requested with a circling gesture of his hand, a trace of harshness in his tone.
She released a short laugh of surprise. “Are you serious?” she asked, unable to keep the laughter outof her voice. “Whit, I’ve seen you in your under-shorts before.”
But he didn’t find anything funny about the situation. If anything, his expression became harder and more forbidding.
“Dammit, I said turn around,” he snapped.
Bewildered over the reason for his anger, Shari did as she was told and faced away from the bed. His attitude seemed to change the entire atmosphere in the room. She was much more conscious of the sounds he was making behind her—the muted clink of the coins in his pockets as he pulled on his pants and the zip of the fly closing. It started a lot of disturbing thoughts.
She tried to eliminate them by making light of the situation. “When did you become so shy, Whit?” she asked, very careful not to turn her head. “I don’t remember modesty being one of your virtues.”
There was an impatient click of a cigarette lighter. Out of the corner of her eye, Shari caught the swirl of tobacco smoke. Then Whit was briskly walking by her toward the chairs on the other side of the room. He stopped when he realized she wasn’t following him and looked back at her.
“You said you wanted to talk,” he reminded her curtly. “Let’s talk.”
“What is the matter with you, Whit?” She was drawn slowly in his direction, her gaze searching the taut features for an explanation for his strange behavior. “You aren’t acting like yourself at all.”
“Oh?” The simple sound bordered on a taunting challenge. “Perhaps you should enlighten me on theproper way I should behave.” He had just lit the cigarette and already he was turning to put it out, using an ashtray on the desk. “Just exactly what is it that you expect from me?”
“I guess I expect you to act more like the Whit I remember.” Shari wasn’t certain herself.
“Times
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