"That's my problem," she said. ''You're not the only one with a conscience."
"You'd think I was," he broke in with the self-deprecating humor that was surfacing nowadays.
''You see. Matt, I've been kind of mad at myself for being attracted to you from the first. I thought maybe I was being shallow, reacting just to surface, or I was on the rebound from Max.
And I felt guilty, like I was married to Max, and shouldn't be looking at another man so soon. But I've been looking, oh yes, and kicking myself, which is really punishing, considering my high-heel collection. And now that I know more about you, I can also worry if I'm interested because you're sexually inexperienced, and I can be in control, which is ego-building after the Max let-down, and if it's fair to follow up on my inclinations."
He frowned. "Relationships are hell, aren't they?"
Temple laughed. "You got that right. At best, we're all hoping to be honest and trying to be true. But we're only human."
"So," he said, "you haven't answered my major question."
"Women aren't used to saying these things first. It's more flattering that way. But, speaking from raw instinct, without letting scruples get in the way, yes, I'd sleep with you, especially if it didn't involve much sleeping. Besides, I feel an obligation."
He looked shocked for the first time during this rather shocking conversation. "Obligation?"
"Now that I know so much about you, I feel it's my duty to ease you into the real world. I wouldn't want you getting hurt by somebody else."
"I'm an act of charity? I don't think I'm flattered."
"Then we're even," Temple said.
"This is . . . hypothetical," he added. ''I don't honestly know how I'll react to the pressure of an intimate adult relationship. The intensity of the feelings, the sensations, scare me sometimes."
"Yup. Typical adolescent male. Tell you what." Temple gently withdrew her hand from his.
Matt looked worried. He should. She was having another one of her bright ideas.
"Why don't we zip back into our handy-dandy time machine and go back to post-prom night.
It's the last summer before we go off to college and nobody in the world is bothering us. But we're a couple of square kids from Podunk and we do have a few primitive rules. Just necking, no petting. Just nice romantic kissy-face, which girls are crazy about anyway, so you want to learn it right for the future anyway, and we have all summer to practice."
''Won't that be . . . hard on you?"
''It should be hard on you, and then some. But it's been done before and hasn't hurt anyone.
This is the nineties. Fools don't rush in like they used to, and, besides, getting there is all the fun.
Believe me."
Temple finally fulfilled one of her favorite fantasies. She edged closer and put her arms around Matt's neck, gazing deeply and playfully into his eyes. She wet her forefinger and ran it smoothly over his lips, upper, then lower.
"I promise," she swore tenderly in the instant before their: mouths met, "to be gentle."
Chapter 43
Mass Approval
Temple awoke Sunday morning Scarlett-O'Hara style.
First she blinked at the creamy white ceiling dappled in morning light, aware of surfacing from a long, dreamless, restful sleep.
Second, she slowly absorbed where she was--safe in her own bed ... as her mind dredged up memories of where she had been before this.
Her eyes fixed with fuzzy focus on the glittering clutter atop her dresser, then sharpened with returning memory. Oh, yes. . . Oh . . . my. All right!
Her mind backed up to replay surprising or particularly memorable moments. She was smiling. And giggling. And her toes were wriggling under the summer weight blanket.
Only then did Temple realize that a movie camera mounted on the ceiling would capture a fairly good replay of a famous scene from Gone With the Wind: the one when Scarlett wakes up the morning after Rhett had stormed up the crimson carpeted staircase with her in his arms.
No staircase. No crimson carpet. No Clark Gable. Best of all, no overtones of overriding anybody's inclinations. Other-wise, Temple decided with a luxurious yawn and stretch, her own personal scenario from the previous evening was definitely movie material.
An annoyed growl interrupted Temple's state of lazy satisfaction. She peered over the rim of her covers to see the black blur that was Midnight Louie waddling across hummocks of blanket, head lowered and green eyes angled at a possessive slant.
Temple's inconsiderate stretch had dislodged him from a comfy position at her feet.
Unrepentant, she pushed her feet into the spot he had vacated, now toasty warm. Lazily, Temple watched him resettle on the other side of the bed, which was virgin territory, being unoccupied.
She frowned. Louie would not take kindly to additional bed partners, not that any were imminent. Yet. Perhaps he had become a bit spoiled.
At the moment he was lounging on his side, fanning formidable claws as if to remind her of their recent usefulness on her behalf.
She sat up and leaned near to bring the big cat into focus. She admired the black velvet sheen of his forelegs, the almost steely pearl-gray-and-pink gleam of his talons as his cherry-red tongue darted between them to wash between his toes.
"You aren't the king of the queen-size mattress, Louie," she reminded him. "You are a guest, not a host. You happen to have hit me between engagements, but that doesn't mean that I intend to sleep alone for the rest of my natural life."
He looked up from his industrious grooming, the round green eyes staring at her as if to say.
You are not ''alone'' when I am here.
She held her tongue. After Louie's heroic role last night at the Crystal Phoenix, he didn't deserve being reminded of life's cold realities.
Temple stretched again, restraining herself so the covers I were not unduly agitated on Louie's side of the bed.
Honestly! Who ran this joint? Her, or the cat?
The bedside phone caroled as if in answer, an affirmative to the last alternative.
Temple squinted at the clock's red rectilinear numbers formed from dotted lines. She couldn't quite decipher these segmented numbers without her glasses, which were probably enthroned on the bathroom sink atop a pile of cotton balls bearing what was left of her makeup.
Still, the numbers' vague, fiery configuration suggested that it was damnably early on a Sunday for anyone to call. Unless . . .
She snatched the red shoe phone from the table.
"Hello," she said.
"Hello," he said.
Amazing what such simple syllables could convey all by themselves. Temple's Scarlett smile revived as she snuggled down in the pillow with the phone.
"Did I wake you?" Matt asked, perfectly polite and patently anxious.
"Not at all."
Mornings after were always awkward for all but the seriously jaded. Temple reflected. She stir-fried her brain looking for the just-right thing to say and help him out.
Before she could do more than lightly saute her little gray cells. Matt went on without her.
"I wonder if you'd be interested in going somewhere with me today."
Temple wound the coiled red phone cord around her forefinger, speculating on their destination. "What did you have in mind?" '
"Actually, I just remembered that I promised someone ... Sister Seraphina at Our Lady of Guadalupe. Would you go to mass with me this morning?"
Mass. Temple blinked and wished she had her glasses on so she could see the ramifications more clearly. Church was not the destination with which she had been stoking her always suggestible (and now seriously sensual) mind. Not exactly . . . romantic. In fact, a Catholic mass was rather scary to one of her cheerfully agnostic temperament.
"What time is it?" she asked while whipping her errant thoughts into a totally unforeseen direction.