~ Mannequins ~
By Fujin
Chapter 3
Loving Roger, the dark clothed negotiator, gave Dorothy's heart wings to fly. It
was all the encouragement and support she needed to develop her personality all the more
and let her restrictions go. She was a beautiful butterfly learning to spread her
magnificent wing of crystal and gold under the watch of another. Knowing that she had
his love, she felt more secure, that it was all right to try to please him with a smile and a
softly whispered giggle at supper. Dorothy did want to please Roger, much to her
unacquainted confusion. She knew he was pleased with her when she smiled, so she did
it as often as she could; and she knew that he was satisfied when he heard her humming,
so she hummed a pointless tune whenever she was tickled by the melody. With Roger
love, she felt like she could so anything and always end up pleasing him. As the days
passes she grew bolder in her experiments.
"Dorothy?"
"Yes, Roger?" She looked over at him from across the long table.
Before he continued, Roger watched her for a moment, his eyes still as dark at
midnight. Dorothy made a face, her brow wrinkling with bafflement, as a deep crimson
blush swept across her snow-white cheeks. He looked as if he could stare her all night
and still not become bored. She looked down at her plate of food; most of it was gone.
She was learning more and more to eat her dinner even though she couldn't taste it.
Roger still didn't say a word. Did he forget what he was going to say? That made
Dorothy smile to the tabletop. Roger was never at a loss for words. She had learned that a
long time ago. Words were needed in his profession. Words were crucial to him. The
rights words could persuade; the wrong words can condemn. Still when he continued his
tirade, Dorothy came undone with confusion.
She looked back up at him, planing to ask if he was all right. But the words and
her good intention were shamefully lodged in her throat. Lord, he was such a handsome
louse. Just looking at him, his dark eyes glazing at her as though looking at her soul,
made her knees go weak. Thankfully she was sitting down. It was a strange feeling, but
Dorothy trusted Roger. He said it was a normal feeling, perfectly all right to feel and to
have. He said it was…love. Did she love him? Yes, even she herself admitted that to him.
That night she had confronted him about the feeling…love…she found him alone
in his study. Good. Then she knew she couldn't resist the urge to tell him what she was
feeling. The room was barely lightened, save the glow of a small lamp on Roger's desk,
so she was in the shadows when she walked quietly into his room and closed the door
behind her. Roger was busy writing something in a book, work no doubt, to look up at
her immediately. So she waited, her beck pressed against t the door and her hands locked
together behind her back. Even though she knew that Rule #3 was never to disturb him
when he was in his study she didn't think she was going against the dictum. Roger could
never turn her away.
"What is it, Dorothy?" Roger finally asked, looking up at her as he put the book
away. He leaned back in his chair and strength, closing his eyes.
She felt light-headed then, so light-headed that she though she would fall to the
ground. She leaned more against the door, craving for its reliable support. She
remembered the night when he had kissed her. He held her in his arms while Dorothy's
palms praised his hard muscles in his arms and gentle touch as he stroked her face. She
loved the feel of him. And that's why seeing him stretch took her breath away. He had
such a magnificent build.
"Dorothy."
"Huh?" Good Lord, she was so flushed that she had forgotten why she was in here
in the first place. The humiliation all but caused her cheeks to brighten all the more. And
it was all Roger Smith's doing!
He flashed a smile, looking quiet amused at her stupefaction and gestured for her
to take a chair before his desk. Even though she didn't trust her legs for her life, she
moved quickly to sit down, thinking that it was better than standing. Once she was sitting,
Roger moved to the corner where a tiny bar stood in the shadows. She watched him, still
in a daze. He started to pour something into a glass and immediately stated, "Your
turning into a drunk, Roger Smith."
His warm chuckle warmed her heart but she could have smacked herself. Lord, he
was turning her mind into pudding. But she doubted that he knew that he was the cause of
her sudden muddle.
"This is not for me. Rather I believe you are in need of a drink."
"I don't drink alcohol," she quickly countered.
He turned around and smiled. "It's just water," she said, smiling as he handed her
the cool glass.
"Oh...thank you." She took the glass and quickly drained it, or at least half of it,
before placing it on the desk before her.
He smiled again down at her and moved away. But he didn't sit down. No, he
walked to the fireplace and started to stack some logs in the black mouth. She watched
him. What was he doing now? Did he know how warm it was in his study?
"What are you doing, Roger?"
"What's it look like?"
"You are making a fire. But why are you making a fire?"
"You looked cold."
"I did?"
"Your hands were shaking when I handed you that glass."
"They were?" Dorothy quickly shot a glare at her hands, indeed they were
trembling something fierce. With a frown, she curled her hands into fists and hid them in
her nightgown's long black skirt.
"Yes," Roger replied, amusement in his voice. "They were."
"I'm not cold. Please stop toying with the logs. I need to talk to you." She
couldn't keep the agitation from her voice. "It is a very important matter I wish to
confront you about."
"All right, Dorothy," he replied, climbing to his feet and leaning against the
hearth. Her crossed his arms over his chest and looked at her. "I'm all ears."
"That's a horrid expression," she scolded with a face of disgust.
He smiled at her. "What is the important matter you wished to discuss with me,
Dorothy?"
She turned around in her seat, giving him her back, before she said, "As you can
tell, when I've been around you lately I become…addled and uncertain of things." She
glanced back to see if he was listening to her. When she saw him nod she continued,
"Even though I don't believe I'm capable of becoming sick I do believe I am, Roger. And
you should know that I think you are the cause of it all."
"What are your symptoms?"
"Pardon?"
"What are your symptoms?" he patiently restated.
"Oh…For instance whenever I think of you I get…butterflies in my stomach.
Then I become light-headed and forget what I'm doing. When I see you my heart beat
picks up and I feel so dizzy, like I'm going to fall down after spinning around and
suddenly stopping to stand still. I get lonely when you are not around and when you are
around I become happy and sing. Does this make any sense to you, Roger? I think I'm
sick. Maybe I'm dying."
"Don't say that." The cold anger in his voice so startled her that she forgot, once
more, what she was talking about.
"Say what?"
"That you are dying. That isn't possible. I won't let you die."
Dorothy thought that was so nice of him to say that and quickly thought to
appease his anger. "Thank you," she murmured with nothing else to say. Then she
immediately shook her head and added, "Then I'm sick. It is not logical to feel this way."
"Don't say that either," Roger order. "You are perfectly fine."
"None of your books give me any answers," she remarked him, looking at him
over her shoulder. "But since you say I'll perfect fine do you know why I'm feeling this
way?"
Dorothy saw him nod before pulling himself away from the fireplace to stand
behind her. She sighed softly when he placed his hands on hers shoulders, this thumbs
gently rubbing her blades.
"Then what is it?" She sounded breathless.
"You are in love."
"What?!"
"You are in love," he told her once more. "Dorothy, maybe there is something
wrong with you. Most of what I say I have to repeat again. I think your hearing it going."
"That's not funny," she scolded, hearing the laughter in his husky voice. "You
just took me by surprise. I'm not deaf."
"What?"
"You do try someone's patience, Roger Smith."
He laughed again and squeezed her shoulder in an affectionate gesture. Dorothy
sighed again and before she knew it reached up and clasped one of her hands around his.
They didn't speak for a little while but after a moment, however, Roger returned them to
the subject.
"Why were you surprised that I said you were in love?"
She shrugged. "I didn't know I was capable of that emotion."
"Are you disappointed?"
"Disappointed about what?"
"That you are in love."
Dorothy visibly winced at the vulnerability she recognized in Roger's voice.
Surely he couldn't…no, that was impossible, wasn't it? How could he? Dorothy took a
deep breath and whispered, "I am not."
His hold on her shoulder's immediately relaxed. "It is perfectly normal to feel all
the things you feel, Dorothy. It's normal to be in love but just as long as your love is
meant for me."
"What are you saying?"
"Do you love me, Dorothy?"
She would have fallen flat on her backside if she had been standing up, so faint
she had suddenly become. She couldn't think, couldn't remember what he had asked her
for a moment. Her stomach began to flutter as it had many times before and she had to
close her eyes for a moment to regain her control, taking in deep breathes to steady her
nerves. It was so unlike her to lose herself so quickly. But thanks to Roger, she was
losing herself more and more. She should have been furious with him. But she wasn't.
"I believe I am in love with you Roger," she whispered to him after a moment.
"Why else would I be feeling the way I do around you."
The element of surprise was on Roger's side however, for one moment she was
sitting and the next she was in his arms. He looked down at her, his dark eyes bright with
such a sigh that chill ran up and down her spine. A lock of dark hair had fallen over his
pale brow and his soft lips were parted. He looked such like a handsome devil Dorothy
couldn't resist the urge to run her fingers over his bottom lip, then up his cheek to his
brow to push back the toppled black tress away from his skin.
"I don't think you know what power you have over me, Roger," she whispered to
him, his face inches from hers.
His arrogant smile made it hard to breathe. "I think I do, miss Dorothy," he told
her before he added, "You do please me."
She made a weak attempt to smile at him. "Thank you."
Roger ran a hand across her cheek gently and grinned when he saw her close her
eyes and lean into his touch. Before she opened them, he bent down to place a kiss on her
red lips. Then Dorothy couldn't think at all.
Dorothy sighed over the memory; her eyes had a dreamy look to them, when
Roger's impatient cough disrupted her fanciful thoughts.
"Dorothy."
She all but glare at him. "What it is, Roger? I had been waiting for you to
continue but it seemed that you had forgotten what you wanted to say to me."
"I didn't forgot," he told her with a frown.
"Then what is it that you wish to tell me?" she asked, sweetly baited her long dark
lashes at him. With a smile, she noticed that Roger couldn't resist her quick-witted charm
and he promptly forgot to say what he had in mind for a moment. She laughed, pulling
Roger from his daze.
"You are wanton, Dorothy," he told her, smile overcoming his frown. "Utterly
wanton."
Even though it was crude to call a gentle lady wanton, his open teasing made her
made her beam with hauteur and smile at the more. No, she wasn't angry at all. In fact it
made her feel very human to be teased, just like when she hummed or smiled. It felt so
human to do those things.
"You are the one who I always call a louse," she quietly reminded him.
"Compared to you I'm merely a coquette."
Roger smiled at her, and with fork in hand, pointed it across the table to her, at her
fingers. "Coquette or not, Dorothy, you are still a member my of my household. Have
you all ready forgotten Rule #1 to wear black and only black at all times? Where did you
get that paint on your fingernails?"
"You don't like it?" she asked, self-consciously raised her blood-red painted nails
to her eyes. "The color matched my hair."
"I'd like it if the coloring was black," Roger told her.
"I like it red," she argued, look at him through her lashes. "The woman said it
looked good on me."
"What woman?"
Dorothy gave him a look that suggested he was as slow as a cow. "The woman at
the shop that I bought it at, Roger," she said slowly for his sake. "I told her it must be
black but she said I already had too much black on. She said I'd look as if I were
attending a funeral if I got the color in black."
"Take it off."
"Pardon?"
"Take it off."
She was suddenly at a loose for words. Envious she glared at him. How can a
mere human have all the right words to saw while an android had trouble finding them at
the moment? It was so unfair. "But…why?" So confused was she, that she didn't have
time or the sense to remove the hurt and perplexity from her voice before she spoke. She
winced at her own flawed voice.
"Because it is not black," he told her.
"But…but…I like it." That was such a feeble attempt to defend herself. "I only
wanted to please you." She said that lost part so softly she doubted that his ears would
pick up her comment.
"So what if you like it? Dorothy, if I only just one slip go under my nose then all
chaos would come. Do you understand? You still have to follow the rules. Even I do. I
follow all of them."
"You have a brown jacket in your wardrobe, Roger," she told him. This time her
voice was like ice, hard and controlled, as it had been before when she had no concept of
human emotion. "And what of that?"
"I need that on cases, Dorothy," he told her, trying to keep his voice mild.
"Besides I don't need to explain myself on your behalf."
Dorothy shot him a glance that could have made any other man's blood run cold.
"Do you have a phobia of the color red? Does red remind you of something? It reminds
me of blood, of pain. Why do you think my fathers made my hair red? So that every time
I look at myself in a mirror I see blood and remember how my people have died because
of me? I hate the color red, I really do. I don't even bleed yet I still see it when I see
red…"
"Stop that foolish talk this instant, Dorothy," Roger all but shouted out at her. She
wasn't offended though. She merely looked at him and stood up. Inside however even she
was appalled by her words. What she had said had really managed to unnerve her. Was
this the inner self of her being talking? She didn't want to know. It frightened her.
With a little bow, she whispered, "I will no longer ware anything else but black,
sir. Please forgive my transgression. I know I have displeased you."
"Dorothy," he called for her as she left the dinning room. But she acted as if she
hadn't heard him, as if she were deaf to the world. He watched her go and when she was
out of the room, he finally bowed down to his anger. He slammed his fist onto the
tabletop, overturning a vase of flowers.
"Damn it!"
~*~*~*~
Jan 23,
Dorothy has become far more expressive with her feelings. She smiles more often
and sings when she is alone. She has accomplished in picking up happier melodies on the
piano and I am relieved to wake up on the happier note in the morning. She has a hatred
for the color red. I was surprised at that. Until tonight I didn't know she was capable of
hating anything. But I know now. And I know she must hate me. But hatred builds
character for her. So I will do nothing to suppress her hatred.
Recently her experiments have become bolder. She is expressing herself more
clearly. She in more human now that she was when I first saw her. I can only be patient
and see where her newfound self takes me. I am most curious. This can't continue
forever. One day she will be completely human, in her mind set at least. Then I won't
have any need of her.
Roger Smith
~*~*~*~
If she knew how to weep she would have been in hysterics by now. Still learning
the works of the eye, only tears came further to slid down her pale cheeks. She sat idle
before the roaring fireplace in her room, the smell of burning fingernail polish making
her nose tremble but she didn't move. Long before the crimson color was wiped away
from her nails and the bottle thrown into the fire in a fury of anger. In a daze she watched
the hungry fire struggle to devour the small bottle, hypnotized by the ravenous light and
awesome heat.
Roger still didn't come for her. She wanted to weep and throttle him at the same
time. He knew he had hurt her with his words, why did he come to beg forgiveness? Was
he angry with her also? What had she done? She merely spoke her mind, results in being
that she creeped both of them out by her words. She should have said nothing and did
what he commanded her to do. But did he want her to speak her mind? First he said it
was right for her speak her mind, then he turned right back around and said it was wrong.
She was so confused. What did that man want from her? She only wanted to please him
The clock stroke 1:00 in the morning when her door opened a crack and in
popped Norman's head. He, no doubt, had been recently asleep. She wasn't startled at his
sudden appearance or the way he looked in on her without knocking. He however was.
When he saw her form sitting in front of the fireplace after his eyes had roamed about the
rest of the room, his cheeks became red and he stuttered an apology.
"Do forgive me, Miss Dorothy," he told her. "I didn't know that you were up…I
was on my way to the kitchen when I spent something burning…I was curious
and…afraid when I noticed it was coming from your room…I didn't know that you were
up or else I would have knocked."
"It's all right," she replied, looking back at the fire. "Sorry I woke you. I was just
burning my fingernail polish."
"What was that?"
"I was burning my fingernail polish," she repeated. "I bought it in the color of red.
But Roger doesn't like it. I can't wear it anymore, it serves no purpose, so I'm getting rid
of it."
"Why?"
"It's red," she replied, her voice emotionless. "Not black."
"Oh…um…I don't think that burning it is the safest thing to do with it…Dorothy,
are you crying?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"I'm sad."
"I could tell that, dear," Norman gently told her. "But why are you crying?"
"Roger hurt me."
Norman frowned. He should have thought about that. Norman knew something
had happen in the dining room while he was in the kitchen. Roger was in a foul mood and
Dorothy was unusually shut up in her room for the remainder of the night when she had
been staying in the parlor reading or playing that piano for the last two weeks. He wanted
to confront Roger about it but knew it was too personal.
"May I ask why he hurt you?"
"I spoke my mind at dinner. Then he told me not to. All week he has been telling
me that I should voice my opinions when I did it scared me. I'm so confused now. I only
wanted to please him."
"May I be of any help, Miss Dorothy? I hate to see you in such a state. You are
like a daughter to me and I care greatly for your well-being." Inwardly he thought that
she shouldn't please anyone with the exception of herself. Roger didn't, he hated to
admit, know what pleasing someone meant even if it came up and kicked him in his rear
end.
Dorothy rubbed her tears away. "No thank you, Norman," she whispered.
"Talking to you has made me feel much better. I thank you for your listening." It was a
lie though, a terrible lie that made her feel all the more sad and lonely at heart. Talking
about all her troubles made her relive all the petulance and pain again.
"All right then," Norman said, pulling back his head. "I be sure to bring you up
some left over chocolate cake from desert. Will that be all right with you?"
Dorothy didn't have the heart to refuse his kind offer by saying no. Though she
could discern chocolate from dirt she said that would be lovely and waited patiently for
him to close the door before burying her hands to cry.
Norman heard her in the hallway. With a frown he tossed aside the notion on
getting the cake and decided to retrieve something that would make Dorothy feel much
better than food. He went after Master Roger. Taking in mind that refusal was not
acceptable. Roger broke her heart and he would see to it that Roger mend it.
~*~*~*~
She was still crying when Roger opened her door. She was such in a sorrowful
state, that she didn't even hear her door open or the quiet steps that passed over the dark
threshold of the doorway. With her face buried in her knees and her legs pressed against
her slender form, she was all but there. Her mind had taken her to a place of deep remorse
and hurt she doubted if she could ever return to the earthy plane.
Dorothy was miserable; miserable because of Roger; miserable because she knew
that she no longer had his love; miserable that Norman didn't even remember to return to
her. Was she that unimportant? That notion made her want to cry all over again but she
didn't have strength too. Her head pounded as if someone were taking a hammer to her
skull and she was so tired, her eyes painfully throbbed because she had been crying for so
long. Her throat ached because of the urge she to scream she constantly held in. She just
wanted to go to bed, hid in the satin sheets and go to sleep and never wake up. She would
be safe in her bed, safe from the demons that haunted her mind, safe from Roger and his
horrible love. Look what he had did to her! Before nothing could faze her; she was
strong! Now a curt word passed to her and she was sobbing like a baby deprived of its
mother. She was disgusting, lonely…human. For an instant she wished she still continued
to act like an android. At lest then nothing could hurt her the way Roger was able to hurt
her now.
Still it pained her to know that if she still were an android she wouldn't be able to
enjoy life the way she could now. She could discern soft things from rough things; satin
sheets from dry firewood. She could be lifted up by a blithe melody and she could feel
the grace of dancing when she spun around in wide circles as carefree as a child. But with
the good came the bad. Words had the power to hurt her more, touches could invoke pain
and discomfort, anger and lust, looks to tear a man down, rendering him weak against the
cruel world of monsters.
But she had never thought of the downside of it all. She was just concerned in
pleasing Roger and herself, so concerned that she didn't to see the bad. And when she
had Roger love, she knew that whenever the bad came, he would be there beside her,
helping her in anyway he could. He was Dorothy's support, without him she would easily
crumple to the floor, a forgot mess to be left alone in the darkness. She was without him
now and she knew that she was a mess, a vulnerable mess. She was an easy target to
monsters.
"Roger, you have made me weak," she whispered softly. Staring into the fire, she
did see the shadow by the door stiffen. "I hate you. I hate being human. I hate myself."
"I don't hate you." The deep voice had spoken so suddenly that Dorothy visibly
jumped with fright. Wide-eyed her sight shot to her doorway and she clung to her legs.
"Who's there?" she demanded, voice quivering from fear and tears.
"It's me," a voice said before a shadow moved into the warm glow of the fire.
"Roger."
She immediately turned her nose up at the sight of him and looked away, freeing
her legs so that she could wipe the tears away from her eyes and face. She would not give
him the satisfaction of seeing her cry like a simpleton. Roger stood where he was for a
moment before walking closer to her, his movements slow and graceful.
"Stop!" she ordered, one hand shooting out to stop him form coming any further.
"Don't come any closer."
"Why?" She could tell that the angry order had surprised him.
"Because you will get a shoe thrown at you or I might at well kill you, Roger
Smith," she replied. "If you valued your life, you stupid man, you would stay put or
leave. Come any closer, you will be a reckless man."
"So I'm stupid and reckless an I?" She didn't see his smile.
"Not just that but arrogant, crude, mean, and a playboy," Dorothy shot out.
"Dorothy, it is passed midnight," he told her, tired rubbing his faces with his
hands. "I have no times for your games."
"Games! Fine then leave!" she screamed at him. "Go away, you bothersome
louse. So sorry that my problems bore you and make you tired. Please leave immediately
or I'll throw you out. I never wanted you in my room to begin with. You crept in here as
sneaky as a ghost. Leave."
"I can't," Roger told her quietly.
"Why?"
"Norman threatened to paint Big O pink if I didn't help you," he answered.
"So your just here out of pride," Dorothy murmured. "How like you. I can't
believe I loved you."
"Loved me?" Roger seemed genuinely shocked. "You mean you don't any
more?"
"My love in my love. I can decide who I love and how and when," she told him,
her voice turned into haughty fire. "It's my decision and I don't love you anymore,
Roger."
"You shouldn't do that, Dorothy," he told her. "If your love moves so quickly, if a
word or and action makes your love more so, your love is hollow, skin-deep. You'll
cheapen yourself if you do it that why."
"But, Roger, it that that way of your game?" she innocently asked. "The rule you
go by? You go from woman to woman. You never stay with them long. As unsteady as
wind your affection is."
"I've never loved them, Dorothy," he told her in a whisper.
She looked at him, her eyes turning from steel to satin in an instant. "Never?"
"Never. Don't you trust me?"
"I trust you," she answered before she could stop the words. "But I don't know
why."
"Blind faith?"
"I doubt it, Roger. I'm more intelligent than that."
"Why don't you love me anymore?" she was unprepared for the change of topics,
unprepared for the hurt she heard in his voice. He confused her. What was he trying to
do? Make her daft. "I still love you," he told her.
"I…"Dorothy had never been so enervated. She didn't know what to say. She
glanced cautiously at him, fearing to see him because if she did she knew she couldn't lie
to him. His magnificent eyes would compel a savage criminal to tell the truth. His eyes
locked onto hers, pulling her to him. She couldn't look away. He had her.
"I still love you, Roger," she whisper, her voice hardly audible. "But the truth is
that I want to throttle you at the moment."
"Why?" he asked, continuing to stand.
"Because…" Tears came into her blood-shot eyes, brimming over the edge to roll
down her pale cheeks. As if in a daze, she looked away, all her hurt and pain etched onto
her face. He was there by her side in a matter of second. One moment he was looming
over her the next he was on his knees behind her, wrapping her arms about her shoulders
and hauling her against his chest. Where in the world did he learn to move?
"Because what?" he murmured into her ear as a slender finger brushed away her
teardrops.
"Because…because you hurt me, Roger…I only wanted to please you."
"You do please me," he told her, his voice fervent. So strong was his conviction
that she didn't doubt him. "Are you talking about what happened at dinner?"
She nodded. "I just wanted to be a normal human girl," she confessed. "I thought
you would he happy with my efforts. I'm trying to understand everything, all at once. I
though…I thought it would help me."
"Dorothy…" he sighed against her ear. His warm breath made her shudder. "You
will never be a normal human girl."
"I won't?"
"No, you are too beautiful and perfect," he murmured, pressing his lips against
her white neck. "Humans have flaws but you don't."
"I do too, Roger," he argued. "I have two. Unlike you I'm not afraid to admit that
I do have flaws."
"What is the first one?"
"You."
He laughed, a warm husky sound that made her want to kiss him.
"Whenever I'm around you you bring out the worst in me," she told him. "But
you also manage to bring out the good. When I'm around you I feel so lovesick it's
pathetic." She felt him smile against her throat.
"What is the second one, Dorothy."
"I…I scare myself," she softly murmured. "What I said about the color red at the
dinner table really scared me. I shouldn't have said anything. It was terrible of me too."
"You were only speaking your mind."
"You said it was foolish talk," she corrected him.
"I was angry, Dorothy. I say absurd things when I'm angry. I didn't mean to upset
you. Really, I had no intention."
"Are you sure?"
"Don't you trust me?"
"Yes."
"I'm sorry I made you so upset about the paint," he continued. "I'm so use to have
everyone follow my orders I didn't think that you were trying to express yourself."
"It's my fault," she said. "I just wanted to feel…pretty I suppose. It was different
with it on my fingers. I just wanted to know what would feel like…"
"Sweetheart, you are already pretty," he replied, turning her head to a side so that
he could kiss her face. Dorothy immediately blushed but kissed him back immediately.
"Do you love me, Roger?" she asked.
"Yes," he told her. "Do you love me?"
"Yes. Are you still mad at me?"
He shook his head. She sighed and relaxed, leaning into his embrace all the more.
"Thank you," she whispered.
"Any time."
His laid-back attitude made her smile. She closed her eyes and rested the back of
her head against his shoulder. She sighed once more when she felt one of Roger's arms
wrap tightly around her middle, his hand spanning the gentle flare of her hip, the other
arm held her shoulders. His touch sent chills up and down her spine but his loving
embrace warmed her. She didn't open her eyes when he leaned down to place a kiss on
her lips.
"You are so sweet," he murmured as his lips trailed from her mouth to her chin
and then her neck.
She sighed, her hands moving up to play with his hair. She felt so light-hearted
and loved in his arms, so safe and wanted. She never felt happier. Yes, loving Roger did
give her heart wings.