On her feet was a pair of gold sandals of some undetermined material.

"I should twist your faithless head off," she said. "In fact I've been keeping some plasma on ice just in case I decide to murder you in cold blood."

"This is hardly the greeting I expected," Marc said, nursing his ear.

"Of course not," Toffee said. "You expected me to fawn on you. You wanted me to chuck you under the chin and stroke your brow. Well, if I ever do, it will probably be with a ball bat."

"I'm darned if I see what you're so sore about," Marc said injuredly.

"You don't?" Toffee said. "I should be content, I suppose, just because you're here! Well, I'm not. I saw what you were thinking about me a while ago."

"What I was thinking?"

"Good old Toffee!" Toffee sighed. "Keep her repressed. Let her languish. Let her rot. Who cares that this is the first day of spring and everyone else is enjoying it?" She traced the curve of his jaw fatefully with her finger. "I ought to bust you one."

"But I was having so much trouble...." Marc protested weakly.

"Trouble!" Toffee said. "You just thought you had trouble."

Marc met her insinuating gaze with a sense of inner trembling. "What do you mean by that?" he asked.

"Guess," Toffee said. "Just guess."

"You wouldn't materialize, would you? You wouldn't...."

"Give the man a cigar, a baby doll and a kick in the pants," Toffee said lightly. "You got it right on the first try."

Marc paled. "But you can't!" he said. "Not now!"

"Can't I?"

"But you mustn't!"

Toffee lowered herself sinuously to his side and leaned close to him. She observed him amusedly through langorously lowered lids. "You're going to see a lot of me, lover," she crooned, "in more ways than one. If you want a word of sound advice, just relax and enjoy it. That way, you won't get quite so messed 

 Prev. P 10/64 next