"No, I won't," she panted. "If you don't trust me enough to——"
"Trust you? Why should I trust you? You're a crook! And you're sore on me. Don't you suppose I know it? Hold on! Keep those two little hands where I can see 'em."
She looked at him indignantly. "Do you think I'd be silly enough to—try any funny work—here?"
"Do I think so? Don't make me laugh. There's a fortune in that golf bag and—come now! Put those two hands outside your cloak, one on top of the other. That's right. Now leave 'em there. I'm not taking any chances with you."
"This is a fine way to win a girl," she protested, but as if frightened, she left her neatly gloved hands crossed obediently before her.
"Don't you worry about the winning part," he laughed.
She faced him angrily. "You'll never have a chance to——"
But he did not let her finish. Clasping her again in his arms, he held her, struggling desperately, and, as he saw an opening, pressed his lips to her flaming cheeks, to her white forehead, and, finally, as his strength conquered hers, to her unwilling red mouth.
"There! I told you I would," he triumphed. "A man don't have to trust a girl to kiss her. We'll watch each other, Jenny, when we're doing business, but, say, this is pleasure, and—once more—God, I like your lips!"
He held her, unresisting now, his mouth crushed down upon hers, and, even as he feasted on her sweetness, he was sufficiently master of himself to note that her two hands were still crossed before her on her cloak.