ng time； hasn't it？〃
〃I don't want your pity！〃
〃Pity？〃 His features tensed。 〃I don't deal in pity。 I've seen enough of
it in the past year to make me sick。 No； Anne； if you can't recognize a
basic physical need； then you're deluding yourself〃 His gaze narrowed。
〃Let's just say I took my reward for playing nursemaid to a bad…tempered
tomboy。〃
She gasped in dismay； but he was on his way out of the room； which was
probably just as well。 That way she didn't have to eat crow； because he
was right。 She would be lying if she refused to admit that she liked his
kiss。 She had been physically roused by a physical act。
But it had been only a kiss； only a kiss in the midst of bizarre
circumstances。 e next week； the cottage； the kiss； the man would all
be memory。
Gradually； she calmed。 She began paring and slicing apples； piling skins
on a piece of paper towel； turning the slices into a large glass pie
plate and sprinkling them with cinnamon。 Her supplies were dwindling；
but she found adequate amounts of flour； butter； and sugar for the
topping。 Once the pie was in the oven； she spotted the unused apples。
She washed each； polished it to a high gloss； and set it in a dish in
the center of the table。 It wasn't until the dish was filled that she
saw Mitch eyeing her from the doorway。
She was quickly defensive； 〃Is something wrong？〃
〃