Everybody kept sending her to doctors. What was all this mania for doctors? "I was in analysis for more than a year. It cost a lot and it didn't do any good."

He let that pass. "How about AA?"

"I've read their literature. They help a lot of people—but there's nothing in it for me." She frowned. "Look, do we have to go through all this? Do you have to reform people all the time?"

"In plain English... Martin, mind your own business."

"Well, yes."

Doug reached for two more slices of ham and began concocting a sandwich for her. "I sort of like you," he said, keeping his voice casual. "I've been wanting to see more of you ever since that first evening. I did ask Erika if you were going with anybody, seriously I mean, and she said no. You don't date very much, do you?"

"No, not very much."

"I can understand it in Erika. She's sort of austere."

Kate smothered her smile. Austere like a volcano, a comet, a firecracker. For the moment the reality of Erika filled the room. Then she was gone again.

Doug was unaware that anything had happened. He poured ketchup on a slice of meat and fitted on the top slice of bread, holding the whole thing carefully so it wouldn't come apart. "Well, anyway I think you're kind of nice. Would you have a date with me some evening?"

"Well—I don't like to plan too far ahead."

"How about Monday night?"

"Not then. Maybe some other time."

The old panic was beginning to rise in her. She jumped up and went to the stove, turned down the burner under the coffee and stood looking as though hypnotized at the shiny percolator. Almost ten o'clock, Friday night. Seventy hours or more until Erika would be home. She began to feel that she would gladly lie awake and lonesome all that time, counting off the minutes and seconds, if she could get this man out of her kitchen. Her head was beginning to ache.

Doug set down his sandwich, and came to stand behind her at the stove. She was afraid to turn around and look at him. She bent to touch the percolator. He moved closer. His arms came around her from behind, his big warm hands pressing against her waist just below the swell of her bosom. His body felt hard and hot against her—male, strange, foreign to her. He smelled of cigarettes and shaving lotion and some indescribable male blend of skin and hair and excitement. She became aware that he was aroused.

She struggled to pull away. He held her tight. He said casually, "I'm not going to do anything to you, silly, I just want to kiss you."

She said sharply, "Don't! Paul, don't do that!"

CHAPTER 23