Free Sorcerer: A Loveswept Contemporary Classic Romance by Ruth Owen Page A

yes,” he informed her stuffily. “I’m asking you to do the same. Are you up to it?”
    “To go bungee-jumping?”
    “No, no. To recreating one of the events you experienced in the simulator.”
    Jill shrugged. “I guess so, but I don’t see how. I don’t exactly have a suit of armor stored away in my closet.”
    “I was thinking of something a little more prosaic.” He put down his notepad and leaned closer, absorbing her once again with his silver gaze. The corners of his stern mouth twitched up, but there was nothing humorous in his smile. “I’m referring to the kiss, Ms. Polanski. I think we should recreate the kiss.”

FIVE
    Jill shot up from the couch and stared at Ian in open-mouthed amazement. “You’ve got to be kidding!”
    “Not at all,” Ian assured her, wondering how she’d managed to divine humor from his perfectly logical request. Perhaps he hadn’t made himself clear. “Of all the events we experienced in the virtual world, the kiss would be the easiest to replicate. You see—”
    “Oh, I see, all right,” she said, propping her hands on her hips. “I invite you in for tea—just tea—and you try to grab some extra dessert.”
    “What dessert?” Ian asked, now thoroughly confused. “You never offered me dessert.”
    “Damn straight I didn’t,” Jill agreed, her brown eyes wide with fury. “I was wondering why you were so interested in my environmental work. Now I see why. You thought that by buttering me up, and then giving me some song and dance about your simulator,you could cop a quick one. Well, I’m not that kind of woman, Dr. Sinclair.” She bent to the table and snatched up the manatee and panda mugs, gathering them in her arms as if to protect them from his touch. “If you’re so keen on
replicating our experience
, you can just go and kiss Dr. Miller!”
    Her terse remarks about Dr. Miller finally clued Ian in as to what she was thinking—though how she could have reached
that
conclusion from his sensible suggestion was beyond him. “Ms. Polanski, you can’t actually imagine that I
want
to kiss you?”
    Instead of comforting her, his remark seemed to upset her even more. Without a word she spun around and headed for the kitchen.
    Bloody hell, what have I said now?
Ian wondered as he rose from the couch and followed her. He stood in the doorway, watching her carefully set the animal mugs in the sink and turn on the water. Unaccountably, he found his gaze straying to her hands, studying their unconsciously graceful movements, and the delicate care she bestowed even on those silly little mugs. It was so like her to treat the small and unimportant things of the world with profound respect. Mugs, manatees, stray cats—they all received her caring attention. But not well-intentioned yet ill-spoken scientists.
    He cleared his throat, suddenly feeling as awkward as a teenager. “Ms. Polanski, I’m not good at expressing myself. I never have been. But if I offended you in any way, I’m truly sor—”
    “It’s not true.”
    For a moment he thought she meant his apology. “Excuse me?”
    “It’s not true,” she repeated softly as she continued to wash the mugs. “I don’t know how much you’ve heard about my background, but what you’re thinking about me isn’t true.”
    Bent over the sink, he couldn’t see her expression. But the defeated slant of her shoulders told him more than her words ever could. Ian didn’t consider himself a sympathetic man, but the weariness, the isolation in her posture, touched him deeply. He’d spent a good portion of his life alone, and knew how wearing it could be on the spirit. But until that moment he’d never thought of popular, outspoken Jillian as ever feeling lonely or unsure of herself.
    “Ms. Polanski,” he answered in a tone as hushed as hers, “the only thing I’m thinking is that I haven’t the faintest idea of what you’re talking about. Which appears,” he added with the ghost of a grin, “to be the