Follow a Stranger

“What are you doing?” he asked, with an odd

emphasis.

“Trying to sleep,” she snapped. Was it impossible to

stand still in any relationship? she wondered. One

always seemed to move either forward or back, certainly

in a friendship with the opposite sex. With Marc she

moved between hostility and attraction. Were the two

interchangeable? Like two sides of one coin? Today,

again, she did not like him.

“Last night,” he said conversationally, “I had a rather

startling discussion with Jean-Paul.”

Kate closed her eyes, straightening her leg again.

“Oh?” She tried to sound bored, even indifferent.

“He was unofficially betrothed to Pallas,” Marc said

softly, “but last night he told me he had changed his

mind.”

“Really?” Kate yawned, flapping her hand over her

mouth in a lazy gesture, her body stretching pleasantly

with the movement. “Well,” she went on, “Pallas is

rather young for a man like Jean-Paul, I suppose.”

Marc moved like a spring uncoiling, a hand on each

side of her, bending to whisper forcefully. “What do you

know of a man like Jean-Paul—you only met him

yesterday!”

She could not pretend to be sleepy now. She lay

staring up at him with a suddenly dry mouth. He was

very close to her, his dark face tense and menacing, the

strong muscles in his brown shoulders rippling as he

pressed his hands down on the sand. He looked very

handsome, very dangerous, and more attractive than she