She wrenched her head away from his grip and got her arm between his chest and hers. "Your servant, Sir Rowland," said the stranger, ducking his head, as he advanced. “You didn’t expect that I should kiss you?” “How was I to know that a man would—would think it was possible—when there was nothing—no love?” “How did I know there wasn’t love?” That silenced her for a moment. The stretch of red dirt disappeared into a stretch of trees like Van Gogh’s painting. The sea was no longer rolling brass; it was bluer than anything he had ever seen. Have I your final answer?" "You have, Sir Rowland," she answered, in a feeble tone, but firmly. All make the same answer—'d—n you, keep it. . "How, Sir?" "Except by adoption. ” 281 282 About the Author Kimberly Steele grew up in a suburb of Chicago, Illinois and currently resides in Naperville, Illinois. “Want to see the computer?” He asked eagerly. Wood, softening her asperity. He had been very easy or she had been very lucky.
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