A BOOK YET UNWRITTEN

Robert moved back, standing in the stream. If he didn't, he knew he'd make love to her right there. He stood, taking deep breaths, looking down at Julie. Her eyes, even larger than usual, were looking back up at him.

The kiss had taken her by surprise at first, then rapidly become all that she'd dreamed in the poppied meadow. Only he ended it, standing, and she opened her eyes, wondering why. Did he not actually want her? No, he did. That was rather evident as he stood so closely in front of her. She tried to keep her lips from curving in a smile.

He seemed so caught up in his thoughts that he was unaware of her awareness, and after a moment extended a hand. "For the second time we are in need of a bath and a change of clothing." That reminded him of his green shirt and he turned his head, looking down the stream. Ah, there it was, caught on a root that protruded from the bank.

Splashing, he made his way to it and, wringing it slightly, proceeded to slide an arm into it. Julie watched as the soaked shirt covered his bare torso, the material clinging to every line and curve. He didn't button it, just came back to her and extended his hand again. This time she took it, letting him help her to her feet. "Perhaps we should refrain from further visitations to this stream?" he said softly.

"Or not," she murmured.

"Why did you return?" he asked.

"My shoes. They were left in the mud that first time."

"Ah," he said, assisting her up the bank, "I shall see if I may then locate them."

Within moments he had found them and using a long stick, gotten them out. Large clumps of mud dripped off them so he waded back into the stream and washed them for her. Not that that made them really clean, but at least they could be carried with no further mud falls.

She studied his fine, strong hands as he worked on cleaning her shoes in the water. He was concentrating rather intently on what he was doing as though not entirely sure what to say next to her. What a strange day it had been, she mused, and what a way to meet somebody. He was amazing... appealing and secretive all at once...and he fascinated her. The best heroes in her novels always had some sort of something they were less than eager to share. She liked that he did. Never had she felt quite so strongly the sense of being a character in a yet-unwritten book. This tale, though, had a life of its own and she seemed more the reader than the writer of it. The pages filled as she turned them, no outline, no awareness of what might come next.