She had been forced to unclasp his hand from her arm in order to
dry it, and when she finished, it returned to its old position.

"But, say, ain't your skin cool," he repeated with renewed
wonder. "Soft as velvet, too, an' smooth as silk. It feels
great."

Gently explorative, he slid his hand from wrist to elbow and came
to rest half way back. Tired and languid from the morning in the
sun, she found herself thrilling to his touch and half-dreamily
deciding that here was a man she could love, hands and all.

"Now I've taken the cool all out of that spot." He did not look
up to her, and she could see the roguish smile that curled on his
lips. "So I guess I'll try another."

He shifted his hand along her arm with soft sensuousness, and
she, looking down at his lips, remembered the long tingling they
had given hers the first time they had met.

"Go on and talk," he urged, after a delicious five minutes of
silence. "I like to watch your lips talking. It's funny, but
every move they make looks like a tickly kiss."

Greatly she wanted to stay where she was. Instead, she said:

"If I talk, you won't like what I say."

"Go on," he insisted. "You can't say anything I won't like."