Willow (DeBeers 1)

I stared at him. Was he serious?

"Who else would decide on the spur of the moment to stop pursuing her career and go searching for a disturbed woman?" he continued.

"I'm not starching for a disturbed woman. I'm searching for my mother, the woman my father loved with all his heart. The man who wrote that diary was almost another man. I wish I could have known him that way, and I want to spend time with my mother because, through her. I think I can."

"He's dead. gone. What difference can it make now?"

"All the difference in the world to me," I said, the tears now burning under my lids.

This is sick." He shook his head. "What am I supposed to do, wait around here while vou go playing psychological detective all over the country? I thought we had a relationship," he moaned. How small he suddenly sounded to me, the man I once thought resembled my father, the man of strength and confidence and intelligence.

"I can't believe you don't understand." I said. I ground away the tears with my small fist. "I'm disappointed in you."

"You're disappointed in me? That's a laugh." He stood up and paced for a moment, glanced at me, and then stopped. "You'll feel differently in the morning," he decided, "It's all too traumatic at the moment."

"I don't think so. Allan."

"We'll see." I recognized the little smirk that invaded his face whenever he was becoming sexy. He stepped closer and reached out for me.

"I'm really very tired. Allan,"

"So? Let me help you revive yourself." "I just need a good night's sleep, I think."

"You always sleep better after we make love, Willow," he reminded me.

I started to shake my head when he seized my hand and pulled me up and into his arms.

"Allan, please," I said. He gagged my next words with a kiss and kept his lips hard against mine to drive down any resistance.

"C'mon," he urged, tugging me toward my bedroom. "Let the doctor take over. Dr. Love Machine."

That was his nickname for himself.

He pulled me along.

"I don't feel right doing this now. Allan. It's too soon."

"Nonsense. The only way to get back with the living is to live."

"My heart won't be in it. Allan."

"That's all right. There are other parts of you that will," he said smugly.

"Stop it. Allan. I don't like you when you act like this."

"Like what? Loving you? Wanting you? What is wrong with you?"

He paused. and I pulled my hand from his.

"Nothing is wrong with me except I just lost my father and I'm feeling terrible about it. It takes time to get over a great sorrow. Fortunately for you, you haven't experienced anything like this yet. Your family is intact."

"Practicing your amateur psychology on me already, huh?" he said with a cold grin. "Just practice it on yourself. Tell yourself how much you need this, need me, want me, and let go." he urged.

He embraced me again, kissing me on the neck and lifting my sweater at the same time until his hands were over my breasts. He moaned and then dropped his arm under me and lifted me, holding me like a child.

"Allan. don't..."

He placed me on my bed, and before I could turn away, he was beside me, kissing me and fumbling with the zipper of my skirt. I seized his wrist.