There was a hint of tears in her voice. ‘Very well, then. “Is that so? Who says?” He demanded, his eyebrows arching as he looked at her with puerile glee. A little darling? Lord in heaven, he had taken leave of his senses. He saw what he had done only as it related to Ruth. Probably she mistook you; probably she thought you cared. She said that your mother was only fifteen when she went to live with them. He devoured her with his eyes too, his shyness not able to disguise his furtive glances at the curvy outline of her breast against the imitation silk, his memory still exquisitely tortured by her movements in the miniskirt. Her hands wove through his black hair, luxuriating in its thickness. You’ve got me.
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