"Good." He lowered his head and kissed her slowly, deeply, thoroughly, feeling himself begin to harden inside her again. Jesus, he thought, not again, no way, not this quick. Not since I was fifteen anyway. He was more than willing to go with it, though, until he felt her hand against his chest, pushing, and raised his head again. "What?"

"No," she said again, and pushed him off her to wriggle free. She caught him unawares and he rolled into the coffee table, catching the back of his head on a corner.

"Ouch! Damn it!" He grabbed the back of his head. "Didn't we do this already?"

She didn't apologize, just reached for her clothes and skinnied into them as fast as she could.

"Kate." She didn't answer. "Kate," he said, rising to his feet. He'd lost his tie, one shoulder seam of his shirt was ripped, and he had to grab at his pants before they fell down. "What's wrong?"

She gave him a hunted look. "Nothing's wrong. I have to go is all. Where's my other shoe?"

"Kate." He reached for her and she stepped quickly out of range. "Wait."

"No. This can't happen."

"Why not?" he said, starting to get angry again and trying to tamp it down. He'd just had the most exciting sexual experience of his life and now the cause of it was about to walk out the door. He didn't like it. He didn't like it one little bit. "And I'm pretty sure it already did."

"It was a mistake." She swallowed and shoved the hair out of her face. "I shouldn't have thrown the box at you. I—I shouldn't have done a lot of things. I—I'm sorry, I have to go."

"Like hell!" He reached for her again and would have caught her if he hadn't stumbled over her other shoe.

"Oh, good," she said, and scooped it up. Gal hissed from the loft, to which she had retreated when the shooting war began. Kate retrieved her and tucked her inside her parka.

"Kate, don't go!"

The slam of the door was her reply. The cabin shook beneath the weight of her hasty steps on the stairs. Her snow machine roared into life a moment later, followed by a surprised yip, probably from Mutt.

"Shit!" Jim said. His left eye had crusted over so that he could barely see out of it. "Shit," he repeated. "Shit, shit, shit."

He cleaned himself up as best he could, checking his reflection in the little mirror on the kitchen wall. Yeah, he was going to have a shiner. His shoulder was sore, too. He thought at first it was from where she had hit him with the dictionary, until he investigated and saw the teeth marks. He didn't even remember her biting him.