Beyond Reach. Sandra Field

as if it had just happened Lucy remembered how Troy’s kiss had filled her with a joy as many-hued and vivid as the fish, and how everything he had done since then had repudiated that joy. She was honest enough to know she was as angry with herself as with him—for she’d been the one to feel the joy, she who had sworn off tall, blond men. She didn’t want to fall in love again, it hurt too much and got her nowhere. She said, ‘I am, yes. Although overall I’d have to say he showed more emotion than you.’

      ‘Don’t push me, Lucy.’

      ‘Why did you kiss me, Troy?’

      ‘I gave you three good reasons.’

      ‘I want the real one.’

      ‘I already gave it to you,’ he said with a wolfish smile. ‘Insatiable lust.’

      Her knees were trembling. Bracing them against the cupboard door, Lucy said, ‘You’re the one who said no male-female stuff between us.’

      ‘Haven’t you ever wanted something—or in this case, someone—so badly your whole body told you what it wanted?’ he quoted mockingly.

      Lucy paled. ‘You know what’s so horrible about all this?’ she demanded, with sudden, searing honesty. ‘I liked you kissing me. I wanted you never to stop.’ She dashed at the tears that had filled her eyes. ‘What a stupid idiot I am… because you’re nothing but a coldblooded manipulator. You wouldn’t recognize an emotion if you fell over it.’

      If her vision hadn’t been obscured by tears she might have seen Troy flinch. But all he said was, ‘So you’re not quite as immune as you thought you were. Maybe we should sleep together, Lucy—then you could add me to your total. One more blond hunk to notch in your belt. Or wherever it is you keep tally.’

      There was plenty of emotion in his voice now, and all of it was anger. ‘No, thank you,’ she said, as steadily as she could. ‘I’m a little more discriminating than that.’

      ‘That wasn’t the impression I got.’

      That he should so misread her hurt horribly. She wasn’t one bit immune, she thought wretchedly, and knew she had to end this. Turning, she cut three slices of bread with a reckless disregard for safety, plastered them with butter, put two on Troy’s plate and one on hers, then put the butter back in the refrigerator. How could she possibly have woken this morning feeling as if it was Christmas Day? More to the point, how on earth was she going to get through the next four weeks?