"The Amazons are classified as mythical figures." "Oh. Finally she asked, "If she's a pretend person, why is she in here?" Jillian leaned closer to study the picture in greater detail. He fondly suspected that his beloved daughter would turn out to be more than a handful for some unsuspecting man in her future. And if her primary personality trait was pragmatism, her second was stubbornness. She combined childhood innocence with a startling logic no one would ever accuse his Jilly of being muddleheaded. She was fascinated by his books on archaeology one of his favorite memories was of her, at the age of three, tugging on a book that weighed almost as much as she did, wrestling it to the floor, and then spending an entire afternoon lying on her stomach, slowly turning the pages as she pored over the pictures, utterly oblivious to everything else around her. He knew he was biased, but her understanding and her grasp of the abstract were far beyond what was normal for her age.
"Maybe." Cyrus Sherwood gently stroked his daughter's small round head, lifting her thick, shiny hair and letting the dark strands drift down to fall once more into place. In search of a better means of gender identification, she had soon discovered a much more dependable clue: chests. When she was real little she had sometimes been confused by the length of the hair, until she realized that almost everyone in Daddy's picture books had long hair, boys as well as girls. "What's her name?" Jillian knew the figure was female because of the way it was shaped. She was ensconced on his lap, as she often was, for even though she was only five years old she was fascinated by his tales of long-ago people and faraway places, and had been since she was a toddler. "Who's that, Daddy?" Jillian's small finger poked insistently at a picture in the book her father held. She was doing something so stupid she could barely believe it of herself. Ruthless.įor the first time, she wondered if she had a prayer of resisting him. Brave, too, she mentally added, to give the devil his due. She didn't want him to be sweet, she wanted him to be the Ben Lewis she was accustomed to: shameless, raunchy, and reckless.
He knocked her a bit off-balance with the sweetness of his care. He ended by kissing the nape of her neck. To her surprise, his hands were gentle as he knelt by her and brushed out her hair, then caught it up in her usual ponytail. You're mine, and you're going to admit it no matter how long I have to keep after you." "Getting back to Manaus won't keep you safe from me, sweetheart. He gave a short bark of laughter, a sound totally without humor. Then I'll be out of your life and it won't matter anymore." "I don't have to hold you off forever," she said, a little sadly. She faced him, seeing the force of his arousal in the hard, taut planes of his face.
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