Ever since he had first seen her, Sam Lincoln had felt fascinated by Marissa Erinson. She was a pretty girl, but that by itself wouldn't have garnered his interest to the extent that he now felt. Several of the girls in his regular circle of friends were prettier. Still, besides the fact that he had known most of them for his entire life, they seemed so insubstantial. If Sam had pressed them from one side or the other, he could have successfully manipulated most of them to whatever purpose he desired. Either he could manipulate by pressuring them or by directing their resistance.

Unlike those women, however, Marissa held an odd mixture of malleability and immovability; she was flexible yet inflexible at the same time. Sam felt that he could have pressured and persuaded her all day to no avail, but if he shed one tear, she would move heaven and hell to ease his pain. Not that Sam ever felt any pain, too intent on accomplishing whatever task he undertook, but Marissa's combination of characteristics managed to draw his interest and hold it.

From where he stood, watching her barrel across the square, head down against the misting rain, Sam enjoyed the view. Her hair, which she thankfully had kept long, curled in wisps where the dampness had soaked the surface. Though she wore the same styles as his friends, albeit of lesser quality cloth, the clothing seemed to cling to her curves in all the right places.

The first time he had encountered Marissa, Sam had thought to toy with the helpless new girl, test her to see whether she merited respect. Though he had tormented her, she had resisted his attempts either to rile her or humiliate her. Quite a feat for a girl alone in a strange city. Each subsequent time he had met her, though Sam would have liked to have engaged her in a more serious discussion, his friends had surrounded him, and he had no desire to lose face in front of them, pretty girl or no.

Now, though. Now Sam stood less than fifty feet from her, and both of them were alone. For some odd reason, the last couple of times Sam had encountered Marissa, he had seen Tony Garner loitering around, and Tony would have noticed if Sam had paid the slightest bit of attention to Marissa. Tony never missed anything. Of course, Sam possessed the same skills for observation, a fact which made him quite useful to the McReynolds brothers.

Sam had noticed Tony's presence, but he couldn't discern his purpose for being there. Had Tony followed Sam, spying on the campaign of a political rival? Or, as it had seemed to Sam, had he interrupted Tony's covert following of Marissa. With any other guy, Sam might have wondered what he wanted with the young woman, but Tony was a boy scout, too self-righteous to ever entertain any salacious ideas. The wily youngest son of Paul Garner more likely held some stupidly noble intention; protect a girl's virtue rather than look for an opportunity to compromise it. Sam sneered at the thought.

Still, despite Tony's ridiculous nobility, Sam had easily noticed the intensity of Tony's expression any time he caught sight of the girl. Tony may have subverted any lustful thoughts toward Marissa Erinson, but he definitely felt some attraction for her. All the more reason that Sam should take advantage of his current opportunity to talk to her alone. Sam hadn't made up his mind about what to do with the girl, but he certainly didn't want Tony to interfere with any potential plans.

Not only that, Sam thought with another sardonic smirk, but he would derive a lot of enjoyment by denying Tony the pleasure of the girl's company. Sam adopted a casual stance before drawing attention to himself.

"Marissa!" Sam cried out across the square.

At the sound of Sam's voice, Marissa burrowed her head farther under her scarf and pretended not to hear him.

"Marissa!" he insisted as he darted toward her. "Wait up!"

When he reached her, he punctuated his greeting by reaching his hand out and grabbing hers, arresting her forward motion with such insistence that she felt her arm yank back like a rubber band. Once again, Sam Lincoln had presumed to touch her without her permission; he seemed determined to make it a habit. As soon as she gained control of her momentum, she pulled her hand away from him, feeling completely discombobulated by his lack of propriety.

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"What are you doing out in this?" Sam wondered with more amusement than scolding. "Seems like an unpleasant time to make an excursion."

Rather than answer, Marissa managed an almost catty response.

"Where is your crew, Sam? Couldn't find anyone to follow after you today?"

She couldn't tell if she had offended him, but after all she had seen of him, she didn't really care. Marissa didn't have time for him today; she had a mission. More than anything, Marissa needed to have the dilemma out with Barbara and Mario, and she had determined to do so immediately. If Sam continued to delay her, he would find out about her rarely exercised determination.

"Now, Marissa. That's hardly kind of you. I've watched you dole out all sorts of generosity around town. Can't you spare a little for me?"

From where they stood under a large sycamore tree, the mist seemed to have dissipated a little. Marissa looked up into Sam's face. As he had hoped, she wore a confused and unsure expression. The appeal to her compassion had hit home.

"I would expect you to return the favor," she shot at him, holding her head skeptically askance.

Sam did his best to paint a stricken expression on his face, and if Marissa's guilty countenance meant anything, he succeeded. "I know we didn't get off to the best start, and I apologize," he crooned. "I don't know what came over me that first day, and if you knew how I chastised that horrible girl when she asked you about the slaves!" He let disgust paint his face. "I hate that one of my friends said something so ignorant and hurtful."

Still untrusting, Marissa just peered up at Sam, taking a step back from his too close presence.

He had sidled in so close to her that she could feel the moisture in the air heating up between them. Somehow, he managed to maintain a look of sincerity while he waited for her response rather than give in to his urge to demand her attention. If he had lost his control for even a moment, Marissa would have noticed, but lulled by his apparent honesty, she began to relax her distrust.

As if he could see her mental lapse, Sam ducked his head and reached to take her hand once again. He kept his eyes to the ground, feigning humility, and tried to ooze gentlemanly concern into his touch. "If you're willing, I would love to discuss what happened over dinner. I could come by the bookstore tonight, and you and I could go to Calloway's for a bite to eat. I just know that if you heard what I have to say, you would find out that we have a lot in common." The lie rolled off his tongue easily.

To Marissa's relief, the mention of Calloway's wrenched her from the stupor of guilt that had begun to cloud her reason. She never liked to criticize, and she had let that fact shame her into allowing Sam's liberties. Whether he had intended the slight or not, the reference to Calloway's erased her forgetfulness. Just because Marcel's had proven acceptable did not mean she would begin frequenting seedy establishments.

"I'm sorry, Sam. I couldn't." Marissa once again removed her hand from his. "I have a really important appointment I have to keep tonight, and I just can't miss it. I'm afraid I'm busy most evenings, or maybe I could have found the time." She hoped that she didn't sound too dismissive of him, but if he thought she would ever go to Calloway's with him, he didn't know her.

For an instant, an expression of rage seemed to flash across Sam's countenance, but it fled so quickly that Marissa felt no certainty that she had seen it. Very likely she had imagined it, she assured herself. She looked up into Sam's attentive gaze, and a bit of her guilt returned.

"Maybe instead, we could meet for lunch at some place along my work route. I'm sure I could spare a half an hour." Marissa hoped that the compliment would lessen the sting of her refusal, and as she watched the emotions flit across his face, she thought maybe it had, despite the momentary return of the anger.

"Well," he allowed, "it's Tuesday, so let's plan on meeting Thursday at Harland's Deli. I think I would find some of the things you have to say very interesting."

She stared up skeptically into Sam's eyes. Though she wanted to refuse, Marissa had reached the end of her resistance; so much persistence handed her more than she could withstand. "Okay," she agreed. "I'll have a short lunch break at 11:30." The time constraints would give her an out if he tried to elongate their meeting. Marissa had a recurrent delivery at 12:15 on Thursdays, and she would have to leave by twelve to make her delivery. She offered a weak smile for Sam. "I'll see you Thursday."