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“True enough.”

“Let’s put it behind us,” Steffie suggested with a weak smile. “I was wrong to run away. It was…childish.”

“You were angry, too.”

“I’ve never met a man who manages to irritate me the way you do,” she said, consciously echoing his words.

“We always seem to get on each other’s nerves, don’t we?” His grin was warm and gentle, just as his kiss had been. Strangely, Steffie found his smile no less devastating.

“We certainly have a history of annoying each other.” It took her more courage than he’d ever know to refer to the past. But suddenly she hoped they could put that behind them, too.

“I’d never be able to forgive myself if anything had happened to you,” he said.

“I wasn’t really in any danger of Fury throwing me.” Okay, so that was a slight exaggeration, but she had stayed in the saddle.

“It was, shall we say, a memorable way for us to meet again.” Charles’s voice was husky. He moved closer to her and she lowered her eyes, but not before she noticed how his attention seemed to center on her mouth. “There’s one thing I’m not sorry about.” He took another step toward her and raised his hand to touch her cheek. His fingers brushed aside a stray lock of hair. Steffie couldn’t move. She couldn’t think coherently. She could barely breathe.

“I don’t regret kissing you,” Charles whispered.

Then she did move. Trembling, she stepped backward and bolted to the other side of the room.

“Stephanie?”

“Call—call me Steffie,” she stuttered. Her hands were shaking so badly that she jerked them behind her.

“I prefer to call you Stephanie. You’re not a little girl anymore.”

She smiled brightly. Now was the perfect time to convince him how sophisticated she’d become after three years in Europe—sophisticated and experienced. She was sure that was the type of woman he expected, the type of woman he wanted.

“As kisses go, it was very nice,” she agreed in an offhand manner. Was she overdoing it? she wondered. “Yours had a gentleness, and that was unusual. Most men aren’t like that, you know? When they kiss a woman it’s hot and sweaty. They leave a girl breathless.”

“I see,” Charles said, raising one eyebrow.

She placed her hands on her hips, fashion-model style, and tilted back her head, letting her long brown hair swing lightly. “I’m not the same person I was three years ago. You’re right about that. I’m all grown-up now.”

“So it seems.”

“I appreciate the ride home,” she said, walking out of the kitchen. She hoped Charles would follow her because she wasn’t sure how much longer she could maintain this performance.

“Is there anything else these…hot, sweaty men taught you?” he asked in a dispassionate voice. He reached for his iced tea, apparently disinclined to leave quite so soon.

She turned around and smiled serenely. “You’d be surprised.” Deciding to give him the answer he deserved, she rashly went on. “As you might imagine, I met men of all nationalities—students from all over Europe—and I sampled my fair share of kisses.” Mostly chaste kisses of greeting or farewell, but he didn’t have to know that. And then there were Mario’s exuberant hugs…. Mario was only four years old, but Charles didn’t have to know that, either.

Charles scowled, and set his glass down on the counter hard enough to slosh liquid over the edges. He stalked past her. “Goodbye, Steffie,” he said coldly, throwing the words over his shoulder.

It wasn’t until he’d slammed the front door that she understood his words had been meant as an insult. He was telling her he’d changed his mind, reconsidered. He’d seen through her little dramatization and decided he’d been wrong: she wasn’t an adult. She remained a silly, immature girl.

* * *

Steffie wandered between two rows of budding apple trees, contemplating her latest disaster with Charles. The setting sun cast a rosy splendor over the orchard. All her life, Steffie had come out here when she needed to think. This was where she found peace, and a tranquillity that eased her burdens. Since her last meeting with Charles, there’d been plenty of those. And regrets. She hadn’t seen him in several days and that helped. But it also hurt. There were so many unanswered questions between them, so many unspoken words.

Hearing footsteps behind her, Steffie turned to see Norah walking toward her.

“You’ve got to do something!” Norah moaned.

“About what?” she asked when Norah moved three agitated paces ahead of her.

“You’ve got to help Valerie. You can give her advice. You’ve had more experience with men.”