'Til the End of Time by Iris Johansen Page A

exactly what he said. She couldn’t hope to win a struggle with him without the advantage of surprise. She had already experienced the power in Sandor’s deceptively slim body. She muttered something beneath her breath and plopped down on the bank.
    “I didn’t quite catch what you said, but I believe you’ve cast vile aspersions on my illustrious ancestors.” Sandor grinned as he knelt beside her and began to unlace her left tennis shoe. Hisformer hardness had disappeared as quickly as it had come.
    “I told you I don’t have blisters. I don’t know why you won’t believe me. I didn’t limp. I know I didn’t limp.”
    “You keep repeating that.” He slid the shoe off her foot and began to peel off the white sock beneath it. “I wonder why? You’re very certain. It occurs to me that the only reason you could be so sure you weren’t limping is because you were trying hard not to.” He looked up into her mutinous face and asked quietly, “Is that what you were doing?”
    “I don’t have blisters.”
    “We’ll see.” He tossed the sock aside and glanced down at the foot cradled in his hand. “You have nice feet, strong and shapely.”
    “And large.”
    “Small feet would look ridiculous on a woman with your proportions.” He frowned. “I don’t see any blisters on your heels or toes.” He started to turn her foot over to examine the sole.
    “No!” She tried to jerk her foot away. “You’ve already seen that I don’t have blisters.”
    It was too late. She could tell by the expression on his face: It was stunned and sick.
    “No, you don’t have blisters.” His voice was thick. “Lord, why didn’t you tell me? Is the other foot like this?”
    “Yes.” She tried to move her foot, but he wouldn’t release it. “I’d like to put on my shoe, please.”
    “Not yet. You’ve nothing to hide anymore.” He looked up to reveal eyes glittering with a terrible anger. His hands were shaking as he carefully put her left foot down and began to untie her rightshoe. “You’ve walked over ten miles to keep your damn secret from me, but now it’s out in the open.” He pulled off her right shoe and sock and carefully turned her foot over and examined it. “You lied to me. This one is much worse.”
    She shrugged. “It doesn’t hurt any more than the other one.” She smiled faintly. “As far as discomfort goes they’re definitely a matched set.”
    His hand tightened around her foot. “Don’t joke. I think I could strangle you. Why didn’t you
tell
me? Why didn’t you put up more of an argument when I told you I was going to make you walk fifteen miles across rough country?” His eyes were blazing in his taut, pale face. “And why didn’t you explain that the soles of your feet are so crisscrossed with scar tissue, it’s probably impossible to walk more that
one
mile without excruciating pain?”
    “You said it was safer to walk.” She didn’t look at him. “I didn’t have a right to ask you to run any extra risks because I have a handicap.”
    “I would have found a way. You had no right to play the martyr.” His fingers touched her scarred instep. “I feel like one of the goons in Naldona’s torture squad. Dammit, why couldn’t you have trusted me?” The question vibrated with impassioned force. “What the hell can I do to show you I’m worthy of your trust? You didn’t have to go through this alone. I want to be there for you, but you won’t let me. You hide behind your wall of silence and won’t let anyone in. Well, I can’t take it anymore. I’m not—” He broke off. He was shaking as if he had a chill. He closed his eyes. “Oh, dear Lord, what am I saying?” He drew a deep, shuddering breath and opened his eyes. They werestill glittering, but not with anger. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to shout at you. You’ve gone through enough for one day.”
    “You didn’t shout at me.” He hadn’t raised his voice, but every word had been so charged with