side of the davenport to help her.
His long fingers smoothed the quilted surface with the expertise of a soldier who’s been trained to keep his bunk in inspection-ready order. A sheet snapped and billowed in the air between them, and above it their glances met, then dropped. Images of the movie’s love scene came back to titillate Theresa, while they tucked the corners of the sheets in, and Brian’s hands pulled it far more expertly than hers, for hers were shaking and seemed nearly inept.
“Tight enough to bounce a coin,” he approved.
She glanced up to find him looking at her instead of the sheet, and wondered what this man was doing to her. She had never in her life been as sexually aware of a male as she was of him. Men had brought her nothing but shame and intimidation, and she’d avoided them. Yet here she stood, gazing into the green eyes of Brian Scanlon over his half-prepared bed, wondering what it would be like to do with him the things she’d seen on a movie screen.
Redheads look ugly when they blush, she thought.
“The other sheet,” he reminded her, and abashed, she turned to find it.
When the bed was finally done, she found her pulses leaping like Mexican jumping beans. But there still remained one duty she, as hostess, must perform.
“If you’ll come upstairs, I’ll give you clean towels and washcloths, and show you where the bathroom is.”
“Jeff showed me after supper.”
“Oh. Oh ... good. Well, feel free to shower or ... or whatever, anytime. You can hang your wet towels over the sink in the laundry room.”
“Thank you.”
They stood one on either side of the bed, and she suddenly realized she was facing him fully for the first time without shielding her breasts. Not once since she’d met him had she noticed him looking at them. His eyes were fastened on the freckled cheeks, then they moved up to her detestable red hair, and she realized she’d been standing without moving for a full thirty seconds.
“Well ... good night then.” Her voice was soft and shaky.
“Good night, Theresa.” His was deep and quiet.
She scuttled away, racing up the stairs as if he were chasing her with ill intent. When she was settled into bed with the lights out, she heard him come upstairs and use the bathroom.
Put a pillow over your ears, Theresa Brubaker! But she listened to all the sounds coming from beyond her bedroom wall, and two closed doors, and envisioned Brian Scanlon performing his bedtime rituals and wondered for the first time in her life how a husband and wife ever made it through the intimacies of the first week of marriage.
Chapter Three
THE FOLLOWING MORNING, Theresa was awakened by the thump-thump-thump of Amy’s stereo reverberating through the floor. Rolling over, she squinted at the alarm clock, then shot out of bed as if it was on fire. Ten o’clock! She should have been up two hours ago to fix breakfast for Brian and Jeff!
Within minutes she was washed, combed, dressed in blue jeans and a loose white blouse with a black cardigan slung across her shoulders and buttoned beneath the blouse collar.
Her parents had gone to work long ago. Jeff’s door was closed, and the sound of his snoring came from beyond. It appeared Amy was still in her room, torturing her hair with a curling iron while Theresa tried to tame her springing curls by smoothing a hand over the infamous tail that bounced on her shoulders.
She crept down the hall to the kitchen but found it empty. The basement door was open—it appeared Brian was up. She was filling the coffeepot when he, slipped silently to the doorway leading directly to the kitchen from one side of the living room.
“Good morning.”
She spun around, sending water flying everywhere, pressing a hand to her heart.
“Oh! I didn’t know you were there! I thought you were still downstairs.”
“I’ve been awake for a long time. Routine is hard to break.”
“Have you been sitting in there all by