The sudden lancing of light across the dark gallery made her heart leap into her throat, and she turned her head to the left to wearily eye the sliding doors to Blake’s room, where the light was coming from. What had awakened him? When the glass doors remained closed, she turned back to stare out again into the blackness of the garden. She hoped he wouldn’t come looking for her; she didn’t think she could face him right then. Perhaps in the morning, when she was dressed in her familiar “therapist uniform” of shorts and a T-shirt and they were involved in the routine of exercise. Perhaps then she’d have herself under control and could act as if nothing unusual had happened. But now she felt raw and bleeding, every nerve exposed. Wearily she leaned her head against the railing, not even feeling how cold she’d become.

A whirr came to her ears and she lifted her head, frowning. It was coming from her room…then it stopped just behind her, and she knew. Blake had used the wheelchair, because he could get around faster in it than he could using the walker. Her entire body tensed as she listened to him getting out of the chair, struggling for balance, but she didn’t dare look around. She kept her forehead pressed against the cold metal of the railing, hoping without belief that he’d realize she didn’t want to be disturbed and leave her alone.

First she felt his hands, gripping her shoulders, then the hard, warm press of his body against her back and the stirring of his breath in her hair. “Dee, you’re freezing,” he murmured. “Come inside. We’ll talk there, and I’ll get you warm.”

She swallowed. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“There’s everything to talk about,” he said, a hardness that she’d never heard before in his voice making her shudder in reaction. He felt the ripple of her muscles under his fingers and pulled her closer to him. “Your skin is icy, and you’re coming in with me now. You’re in shock, honey, and you need to be taken care of. I thought I understood, but you threw me for a loop tonight. I don’t know what it is you’re hiding, what you’re afraid of, but I’m damned well going to find out before this night is over.”

“The night is over,” she told him thinly. “It’s morning now.”

“Don’t argue with me. In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t have a stitch of clothing on and I’m freezing, but I’m staying right here with you. If you don’t come inside I’ll probably catch pneumonia and undo all the progress you’ve worked for. Come on,” he said, his tone changing into one of cajolery. “You don’t have to be afraid. We’ll just talk.”

She shook her head, her long hair flying wildly and striking him in the face. “You don’t understand. I’m not afraid of you; I never have been.”

“Well, that’s something,” he muttered, dropping his arm to her waist and urging her to turn. She gave up and dully let him guide her inside, with his using her for balance. His pace was slow but remarkably steady, and he didn’t really put any of his weight on her. He stopped to close the sliding doors, then guided her to the bed.

“Here, get under the covers,” he ordered as he bent down to switch on the lamp. “How long have you been out there? Even the room is cold.”

She shrugged; it didn’t really matter how long it had been, did it? She did as he said and crawled into the bed, pulling the thick comforter up to her neck. Blake studied her pale, set expression for a moment, and his lips pressed grimly together. He lifted the cover and slid into the bed next to her, and she stared at him in shock.

“I’m cold, too,” he said, and it was only half a lie. He slid his arm under her neck and curved his other hand around her waist, pulling her into the cocoon of his body heat. At first she was rigid; then the warmth began to penetrate her chilled skin and she started to shiver. His hand exerted just the slightest pressure and she moved with it, unconsciously pressing more closely to him in search of extra heat. When he had her settled, her head cradled on his shoulder and her legs tangled with his, he stroked the heavy black hair away from her face and she felt the pressure of his mouth on her forehead.

“Are you comfortable?” he murmured.

Comfortable wasn’t the word for it; she was so tired that her limbs lay heavily, without strength. But she nodded, as he seemed to want an answer. What did it matter? She was just so tired….

After a moment he said with misleading mildness, “I thought you said you’d been married.”

Surprise made her lift her head and stare at him. “I was.” What did he mean?

Gently he threaded his fingers through her hair and forced her head back to his shoulder. “Then why was it so…painful for you?” he asked, his voice a rumble under her ear. “I damned near fainted, thinking that you’d been a virgin.”

For a moment her mind was blank, struggling to understand what he was saying; then realization came abruptly and a hot flush warmed her cold cheeks. “I wasn’t a virgin,” she assured him huskily. “It’s just that I haven’t…it’s been a long time.”

“How long?”

With rising alarm she heard the determination in his voice, barely masked by the quietness of his tone. He meant to know everything, to uncover all her secrets. Twice before he’d torn away the protection of her forgetfulness, forcing her to remember the pains and failures that she’d tried so hard never to think of again. Did he like causing her pain?

“How long?” he repeated inexorably. “Talk to me, honey, because you’re not leaving this bed until I know.”

Dione closed her eyes in despair, swallowing in an effort to relieve the dryness of her mouth. She might as well tell him and get it over with. “Twelve years,” she finally admitted, the words muffled against his skin because as she said them, she turned her face into his throat.

“I see.” Did he? Did he really see? Could any man really understand what goes through a woman’s mind when her body is violated? A wild bitterness sprang out of the well of pain that she usually kept covered. He didn’t care if he explored the clock’s workings until it could no longer tick, as long as he discovered what had made it tick in the beginning. Her hands stiffened against him and she pushed, but now he was much stronger than she was, and held her welded tightly to him, his body hard and unyielding against hers. After a moment she gave up the futile effort and lay beside him in rigid rejection.

He curved his long fingers over her smooth shoulder and tucked her even closer to him, as if to shield her. “Twelve years is a long time,” he began easily. “You had to be just a kid. How old are you now?”

“Thirty.” She heard the ragged edge of panic in her voice, felt the way her heart began to skitter, the increased rhythm of air rushing in and out of her lungs. She’d already told him too much; he could put the pieces of the puzzle together now and read the whole ugly story.

“Then you had to be just eighteen…. You told me that you got married when you were eighteen. Haven’t you been in love since then? I know men have been attracted to you. You’ve got a face and body that turn my insides into melted butter. Why haven’t you let someone love you?”

“That’s my business,” she cried sharply, trying again to roll away from him. He held her without hurting her, gently subduing her with his arms and legs. Goaded, maddened by the bonds that held her, she shrieked, “Men don’t love women! They hurt them, humiliate them, then say, ‘Whatsamatter? You frigid?’ Let me go!”

“I can’t,” he said, his voice catching oddly. She was in no state to pay any attention to how her words had affected him; she began to fight in earnest, kicking at his legs, trying to scratch his face, her body arching wildly in an effort to throw herself off the bed. He snatched her hands away from his cheeks before she could do any damage, then wrestled her around until she was beneath him, his weight holding her captive.

“Dione, stop it!” he yelled. “Damn it, talk to me! Were you raped?”

“Yes!” she screamed, a sob tearing out of her throat. “Yes, yes, yes! Damn you! I didn’t want to remember! Can’t you understand that? It kills me to remember!” Another tearing, aching sob wrenched its way out of her chest, but she wasn’t crying. Her eyes were dry, burning, yet still her chest heaved convulsively and the awful sounds, like someone choking on a pain too large to be swallowed, continued.

Blake’s head fell back and he ground his teeth in a primal snarl, his neck corded with the rage that surged through him. His muscles trembled with the need to vent his fury physically, but a despairing whimper from the woman in his arms made him realize the need to control himself, to calm her. He held her and stroked her, sliding his palms down her body and feeling the marvelous tone of her sleek muscles even through the fabric of her gown. His lips nuzzled into her hair, moved on to discover the softness of her eyelids, the satin stretch of skin over her exotic cheekbones, the intoxicating bloom of her soft, generous mouth. He whispered to her, crooned endearments, reassured her with broken phrases that told her how lovely she was, how much he wanted her. He promised her with his words and his body that he wouldn’t hurt her, reminding her over and over of the hour not long past when she’d trusted him enough to let him make love to her. The memory of that joining burned over his skin, but his need for her could wait. Her needs came first, the needs of a woman who had known too much pain.

Gradually she calmed; gradually she reached out to him, by slow degrees curling her arms around his muscular back. She was tired, so worn out from the emotional strain of the night that she was limp against him, but he had to know, so he said again, “Tell me about it.”

“Blake, no,” she moaned, turning her head weakly away from him. “I can’t….”

“You can; you have to. Was that why you got divorced? Couldn’t your husband handle what had happened to you?” His questions fell on her like rocks, bruising her, and she flinched in his arms. He caught her chin and turned it back to him so he could read the nuances of her expression. “What kind of bastard was he, to turn his back on you when you needed him most? Did he think it was your fault?”

A high, strained peal of laughter escaped her, and she shut it off abruptly by clapping her hand over her mouth, afraid of the rising hysteria in her. “He…oh, this is funny! He didn’t have any trouble handling what happened to me! He did it. My husband was the one who raped me!”

Blake went rigid, stunned both by her words and the way she began to laugh, gasping shrieks of laughter that again she shut off, visibly clenching herself in an effort to regain control. She attained it, but she used all of the inner strength she possessed, and as she lay in his arms she could feel the emotion draining away from her, leaving her heavy, spent…

“Tell me,” he insisted, his voice so hoarse that she didn’t recognize it.

Her heartbeat had changed from a frantic sledgehammer pounding to a ponderous rhythm; dimly she wondered at it, but what did it really matter? What did anything really matter? She’d had all she could bear tonight….

“Dione,” he prodded.

“I don’t know why I married him,” she said dully. “I don’t think I ever loved him. But he was handsome and he had money, something I’d never had. He dazzled me with it. He bought me things, took me places, told me how much he loved me. I think that was it; he told me that he loved me. No one had ever told me that before, you see. But I was still standoffish with him, and Scott couldn’t stand that. I don’t think anyone had ever said no to him before. So he married me.”

Blake waited a moment for her to resume, and when she didn’t he jostled her lightly. “Go on.”

Her eyelids lifted slowly. She stared at him with half-veiled eyes, the glimmering, mysterious golden pools darkened to amber by the shadow of her lashes. “On our wedding night, he hurt me,” she said simply. “He was so rough…I started fighting him. I was strong even then, and I knocked him off of me. He went wild…. He forced me to have sex with him, and he wasn’t gentle. It was my first time, and I thought I was dying.

“I knew then that the marriage was an awful mistake, that I wanted out, but he wouldn’t let me go. Every night I’d fight him again, and he’d force me again. “He was going to teach me how to be a woman if he had to break every bone in my body,” he said. I couldn’t stop fighting him,” she muttered to herself. “I never could just lie there and let him get it over with. I had to fight back, or I felt like something in me would die. So I fought, and the more I fought, the rougher he got. He started…hitting me.”

Blake cursed violently and she jumped, throwing her arm up to cover her face. She was so deep inside her bitter memories that she was reacting as she had then, defending herself. His curse changed into a groan and he cuddled her, coaxing her to lower her arm. “I’m sorry, darling, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he panted. “When he started hitting you, why didn’t you turn him into the police?”

“I didn’t know that he couldn’t do that,” she said tiredly. “I was so dumb; I read a lot of things about it afterward, but at the time I thought he had a legal right to do what he wanted with me, short of murder. He got worse and worse; he almost stopped wanting sex. He’d just start right in hitting me. Sometimes he’d go ahead and rape me, as roughly as he could, but most of the time he didn’t.”

“You stayed with him for three months? Isn’t that how long you told me your marriage lasted?”

“Not even that long. That I stayed with him, I mean. I can’t remember…. He pushed me down the steps one night, and I landed in the hospital with a broken arm and a concussion. I was there for several days, and a nurse figured out that I hadn’t simply tripped while going down the steps. She talked to me, and a counselor talked to me. I didn’t go back to Scott. When I was released from the hospital, the nurse let me stay with her.”

She was calmer now, the memories easier to bear. In her normal voice she said, “Scott’s family was horrified by what had happened, they were good people, and when I filed for divorce they forced Scott to go along with it. They gave me a lot of support, paid for my training as a therapist, kept Scott away from me, even got him into psychiatric counseling. It must have worked; he’s remarried now, and they seem very happy. He has two daughters.”

“Have you kept in touch with him?” Blake asked incredulously.

“Oh, no!” she denied, shaking her head. “But while his mother was alive she kept track of me, sort of looked after me like a guardian angel. She never got over what had happened to me, as if it were her fault because Scott was her son. She told me when he remarried, and when her grandchildren were born. She died a couple of years ago.”

“So he lived happily ever after, and you’ve been dragging a ball and chain around with you for all these years,” he said angrily. “Afraid to let anyone touch you, keeping people pushed away at a safe distance…only half-alive!”

“I haven’t been unhappy,” she said wearily, her lashes sweeping down. She was so tired…. He knew all of it now, and she felt so empty, as if all the terror that had filled her for so long had seeped away, leaving her hollow and lost. The warmth of Blake’s body was so comforting in the chilly room; the steady rumble of his heartbeat in his strong chest was so reassuring. She could feel the iron in the bands of flesh that wrapped around her, feel the security of his strength. She’d given him that strength; it was only right that she rely on it now. She turned her face against him, inhaling and tasting on her tongue the heady scent of his body. He smelled of man, of sweat, of a clean grassy scent that eluded her when she tried to search it out. He had the musky smell of sex, a reminder of the incredible night. With a slow, gentle sigh, she slept, all of her senses filled with him.

When she woke she was alone in the bed and the brightness of the room told her that the morning was almost over. She wasn’t fortunate enough to forget, even for a moment, the events of the night. Her eyes went to the gallery, but the wheelchair was gone, and she wondered how Blake could have left her bed and taken the wheelchair without waking her; she was normally the lightest of sleepers, coming awake at any unusual noise. But she’d been so tired…she was still tired, her body heavy and clumsy feeling, her reactions slow.

She eased out of bed, wincing at the unfamiliar soreness of her body. How could she have been so stupid that she’d let Blake make love to her? She was trying to get through these last days with him with the least amount of emotional damage, and she’d made it impossibly complicated. She should never have tried to arouse him; she didn’t know anything about handling men, or handling herself, if it came to that. He’d said, “I need you,” and she’d melted. A real pushover, she told herself contemptuously. He must have seen her coming a mile away. Then, to top it all off, she’d told him about Scott.

She writhed inwardly with embarrassment. She’d managed for years to control herself, to keep herself from wallowing in the slimy pool of the past. So she hadn’t been comfortable with men; what of it? A lot of women managed very well without men. When she thought of the way she’d clung to him, weeping and moaning, she wanted to die of shame. Her solitary nature hated the thought of displaying so much of herself to anyone, even the man who had taken up her days and nights for months.

Willpower had a lot to say for itself; it steadied her nerves, gave her the courage to shrug her shoulders and step into the shower as if there was nothing unusual about that morning. She dressed as she normally did, then went straight to the gym, where she knew she’d find Blake. There was no point in putting off their meeting, because time wouldn’t make it any easier. It was best to face him and get it over with.

When she opened the door he glanced at her but didn’t say anything; he was lying on his stomach, lifting weights with his legs, and he was counting. He was totally engrossed in the demands he was making of his body. With a slow but steady rhythm he lifted each leg in turn.

“How long have you been doing that?” Dione asked sternly, forgetting her discomfort as her professional concern surfaced.

“Half…an…hour,” he grated.

“That’s enough. Stop right now,” she ordered. “You’re overdoing it; no wonder your legs give you fits! What are you trying to do, punish your legs for the years they didn’t work?”

He relaxed with a groan. “I’m trying to get away from the walker,” he said irritably. “I want to walk alone, without leaning on anything.”

“If you tear a muscle you’re going to be leaning on something for a lot longer than necessary,” she snapped back. “I’ve watched you push yourself past the bounds of common sense, but no more. I’m a therapist, not a spectator. If you’re not going to follow my instructions, then there’s no use in my staying here any longer.”

His head jerked around, and his eyes darkened to a stormy color. “Are you telling me that you’re leaving?”

“That’s up to you,” she returned stonily. “If you’ll do as you’re told and follow your training program, I’ll stay. If you’re going to ignore everything I say and do what you want, there’s no point in my wasting my time here.”

He flushed darkly, and she realized that he still wasn’t used to giving in to anyone. For a moment she expected him to tell her to pack her bags, and she pulled herself up, braced for the words that would end her time with him. Then he clenched his jaw and snapped, “All right, lady, you’re the boss. What’s the matter with you today? You’re as touchy as a rattler.”

Absurd relief washed over her, at both her reprieve from exile and the familiar, comforting ill-temper apparent in his words. She could handle that; but she knew beyond a doubt that she wouldn’t have been able to handle the situation if he’d made any reference to the intimacy of the night, if he’d tried to kiss her and act like a lover.

She was so determined to regain the therapist-patient relationship that during the day she resisted his teasing and efforts to joke with her, turning a cold face to his laughing eyes. By the time they had finished they were snarling at each other like two stray dogs. Dione, having eaten nothing all day, was so hungry that she was almost sick, and that only added to the hostility she felt.

Her body was rebelling against her misuse of it when it was finally time for dinner. On wobbly legs she made her way down the stairs, her head whirling in a nauseating manner that made her cling to the banisters. She was so preoccupied with the task of getting down the stairs in one piece that she didn’t hear Blake behind her, didn’t feel his searing blue gaze on her back.

She made it to the dining room and fell into her chair with relief at not having sprawled on the floor. After a moment Blake made his way past her and went into the kitchen; she was too sick to wonder at that, even though it was the first time she’d seen him enter the kitchen in the months she’d been living there.

Alberta came out promptly with a steaming bowl of soup, which she placed before Dione. “Eat that right now,” she ordered in her gruff, no-nonsense voice.

Slowly Dione began to eat, not trusting her queasy stomach. As she ate, though, she began to feel better as her stomach settled; by the time she’d finished the soup the trembling in her body was subsiding and she wasn’t as dizzy. She looked up to find Blake seated across from her, silently watching her eat. A wave of color heated her face, and she dropped her spoon, embarrassed that she’d begun eating without him.

“Lady,” he said evenly, “you give the word stubborn a whole new meaning.”

She lowered her eyes and didn’t respond, not certain if he were talking about how hungry she’d been or something else; she feared it was the “something else,” and she just couldn’t carry on a calm, ordinary conversation about what had happened between them.

She made an effort to call a truce between them, though without lowering her guard an inch. She couldn’t laugh with him; her nerves were stretched too tightly, her emotions were too ravaged. But she did smile and talk, and generally avoided meeting his eyes. In that manner she made it safely through the evening until it was time to go to bed and she could excuse herself.

She was already in bed, staring at the ceiling, when she heard him call. It was like an instant replay of the night before and she froze, a film of perspiration breaking out on her body. She couldn’t go in there, not after what had happened the last time. He couldn’t have cramps in his legs, because she’d heard him come up not five minutes before. He wasn’t even in bed yet.

She lay there telling herself fiercely that she wouldn’t go; then he called her name again and years of training rose up to do battle with her. He was her patient, and he was calling her. She could just check and make certain that he was all right, and leave again if there was nothing wrong.

Reluctantly she climbed out of bed, this time reaching for her robe and belting it tightly around her. No more going into his room wearing only her nightgown; the thought of his hands on her breasts interfered with the rhythm of her breathing, and an odd ache began in the flesh that he had touched.

When she opened the door to his bedroom she was surprised to see that he was already in bed. “What did you want?” she asked coolly, not leaving her position by the door.

He sighed and sat up, stuffing his pillows behind his back. “We have to talk,” he said.

She froze. “If you like to talk so much, maybe you should join a debating team,” she retorted.

“I made love to you last night,” he said bluntly, going straight to the heart of the issue and watching as she flinched against the door. “You had a rough deal with your ex-husband, and I can understand that you’re wary, but last night wasn’t a total disaster for you. You kissed me, you responded to me. So why are you acting today as if I’d raped you?”

Dione sighed, shaking her long hair back. He’d never understand something that she didn’t really understand herself; she only knew that, in her experience, caring led to pain and rejection. It wasn’t so much a physical distance she wanted from him as an emotional one, before he took everything she had and left her only a shell, empty and useless. But there was something he would understand, and at last she met his eyes.

“What happened last night won’t happen again,” she said, her voice low and clear. “I’m a therapist, and you’re my patient. That’s the only relationship that I can allow between us.”

“You’re closing the barn door after the horse is already out,” he said with maddening amusement.

“Not really. You had doubts about your ability to have sex after the accident, and that was interfering with your training. Last night removed those doubts. That was the beginning and end of anything sexual between us.”

His face darkened. “Damn it,” he growled, all amusement gone. “Are you telling me that last night was just a therapeutic roll in the hay?”

Her lips tightened at his crudity. “Bingo,” she said, and stepped out of his room, closing the door firmly behind her.

She returned to bed, knowing it was useless to think of sleep, but making the effort anyway. She had to leave. She simply couldn’t stay until the first of the year, not with things as strained as they were now. Blake was almost fully recovered; time and practice would accomplish the rest of it. He didn’t need her any longer, and there were other people who did.

Her bedroom door opened and he stood there, without the walker, moving slowly and carefully as he closed the door and crossed the room to her.

“If you want to run, I can’t catch you,” he said flatly.

She knew that, but still she lay where she was, watching him. He was nude, his tall, perfect body shamelessly exposed to her gaze. She looked at him and couldn’t help feeling a thrill of pride at the ripple of muscles, the fluid grace of his body. He was beautiful, and she’d created him.

He lifted the sheet and got into bed beside her, immediately enveloping her in the warmth of his body. She wanted to sink into his flesh, but instead she made one more effort to protect herself. “This can’t work,” she said, her voice cracking with pain.

“It already has; you just haven’t admitted it yet.” He put his hand on her hip and pulled her to him, nestling her against him down the entire length of his body. She sighed, her soft breath tickling the hairs on his chest; her body relaxed in traitorous contentment.

He tilted her chin up and kissed her, his lips gentle, his tongue dipping into her mouth briefly to taste her, then withdrawing. “Let’s get one issue settled right now,” he murmured. “I’ve been lying to you, but I thought it best to keep from frightening you. I wanted you since…hell, it seems like from the first time I saw you. Definitely since I threw my breakfast at you, and you laughed the most beautiful laugh I’d ever heard.”

Dione frowned. “Wanted me? But you couldn’t—”

“That’s what I’ve been lying about,” he admitted, kissing her again.

She jerked back, her cheeks going scarlet. “What?” she gasped, mortified when she thought of the effort she’d made to arouse him, and the money she’d spent on seductive clothes.

Wryly he surveyed her furious face, but braved the wildcat’s claws and pulled her back into his arms. “Several things you did made me think that you might have been mistreated,” he explained.

“So you decided to show me what I’d been missing,” she exploded, pushing at his chest. “Of all the sneaky, egotistical snakes in the world, you’re at the top of the heap!”

He chuckled and gently subdued her, using the strength that she’d given him. “Not quite. I wanted you, but I didn’t want to frighten you. So I pretended that I couldn’t make love to you; all I wanted was for you to get to know me, learn to trust me, so I’d have a chance at least. Then you started dressing in those thin shirts and shorts, and I thought I’d go out of my mind. You damn-near killed me!” he said roughly. “You touched me constantly, driving me so wild I’d almost exploded out of my skin, and I’d have to hide my reaction from you. Didn’t you wonder why I’d been working like a maniac?”

She sucked in a shaky breath. “Is that why?”

“Of course it is,” he said, touching her lip with his finger. “I tried to get you used to my touch, too, and that only made my problem worse. Every time I kissed you, every time I touched your legs, I was driving myself crazy.”

Closing her eyes, she remembered all the times when he’d stared at her with that peculiar, hot light in his eyes. A woman with any real experience would have known immediately that Blake wasn’t impotent, but she’d been the perfect, all-time sucker for that line. “You must have laughed yourself sick at me,” she said miserably.

“I haven’t been in any shape to laugh, even if it had been a laughing matter. Which it wasn’t,” he said. “The thought that someone had hurt you made me so furious I wanted to tear the guy apart. Whoever he was, he was the reason you were frightened of me, and I hated that. I’d have done anything to make you trust me, let me love you.”

She bit her lip, wishing that she could believe him, but how could she? He made it sound as if he’d been so concerned for her, and all he’d really been concerned with was his own sexual appetite. She knew how touchy he’d been about letting even Serena see him while he was less than perfect; he wouldn’t want to make love to a woman who might pity him for the effort it took him to walk, or, even worse, might want him because of a morbid curiosity. Dione was the one safe female of his acquaintance, the one who knew everything about him already and was neither shocked, curious, nor pitying. “What you’re saying is that you wanted sex, and I was handy,” she said bitterly.

“My God, Dee!” He sounded shocked. “I’m not getting through to you, am I? Is it so hard for you to believe that I want you, not just sex? We’ve been through a lot together; you’ve held me when I hurt so much I couldn’t stand it any longer, and I held you last night when you were afraid, but trusted me with yourself anyway. You’re not just a sexual outlet for me; you’re the woman I want. I want all of you: your temper, your contrariness, your strength, even your downright bitchiness, because you’re also an incredibly loving woman.”

“All right, I absolve you,” she said wearily. “I don’t want to talk about it now; I’m tired and I can’t think straight.”

He looked down at her, and impatience flickered across his face. “There’s no reasoning with you, is there?” he asked slowly. “I shouldn’t have wasted my time talking to you. I should have just shown you, like I’m going to do now.”