Free A negotiated surrender by Jayne Castle Page B

something slightly different. And then she realized the vase of Gary's flowers and its contents were gone.
    When Slade reappeared, crossing the patio and stepping through the open window, she was waiting for him.
    "What have you done with my flowers!" she snapped, glaring at the way he was dusting off one hand against the other.
    He looked back at her blandly. "They were starting to wilt. Nothing worse than dying flowers, you know.
    Very depressing."
    "The hell they were! They were fresh last night and this morning! Slade York, I won't have you interfering in my private life just because I've agreed to let you try your courting technique on me! Do you understand?"
    "Let's go, honey, I don't want to miss the good flying weather!"
    "But my flowers… !"
    "It's too late," he assured her kindly, taking her resisting arm and leading her swiftly out the front door.
    "Even if you could retrieve them from the garbage, you wouldn't want them now. Your neighbor had pizza last night. The flowers landed on top of the leftovers!"
    "Of all the nerve! If this is any sample of your new, improved approach, let me tell you, I don't…"
    The rest of her words were cut off as she found herself pushed lightly onto the Mercedes seat and the door shut in her face. In the short span of time it took Slade to lope easily around the front of the car and open his own door, Calla knew her sense of humor was rising to meet the situation.

    The thought of laughing at his antics was unnerving, to say the least, but Calla barely managed to restrain the grin that tugged at her lips.
    "If you want flowers, I'll buy you some more," he promised lightly, slanting a glance at her profile.
    "The first thing you're going to have to learn about 'courting' me, Slade, is that I'm not fond of jealous, possessive men. Neither emotion indicates a great love so don't try telling me any different. Jealousy and possessiveness are only signs of…"
    "Please don't call me a little boy again," he interrupted quietly, his tone at that suspiciously neutral stage once more. Out of the corner of her eye Calla saw his fingers tighten on the wheel.
    Unaccountably, she decided to back off from her goading remark. Whether she did so out of fear or because she suddenly found herself not wanting to ruin the afternoon with an argument, she couldn't have said. Neither reason was very satisfactory and she worried about it all the way to the airport.
    "It looks like a toy!" Calla exclaimed sometime later as she stood eyeing askance the sleek little sailplane as it rested on the tip of one aluminum wing. A single wheel under the belly appeared to be the only concession the designers had made toward providing landing gear.
    Slade grinned proudly as he flipped open the clear cockpit cover, exposing seats arranged in tandem.
    "Don't worry, it flies like a bird."
    "It's about the size of one," Calla remarked as she lowered herself precariously down into the rear seat.
    "Are you sure I won't put a foot through the hull? It's like getting into a canoe for the first time!"
    "If you do, you better believe I'll send you the bill. This sailplane is my most valued possession. Outside of you, that is," he added with a wicked grin that Calla thought it best to ignore. "Here, buckle the shoulder harness."
    He leaned inside the cockpit to adjust it for her. Once again Calla kept her mouth shut, refraining from pointing out that she knew how to deal with seat belts.
    She glanced apprehensively around the runway, where the little plane sat waiting patiently. Ahead of them a Cessna 180, looking much more like a vehicle designed for flying, stood waiting for the signal.
    "Is that towrope the only thing that guarantees we get airborne?" Calla demanded, glaring at the cord that connected the Cessna and the sailplane.
    "For someone with a background in technology, you're not displaying much faith in the wonders of aeronautical theory," Slade complained, climbing into the front seat and buckling his own harness. He