Midsummer sorcery

"Open the door, Nance!" Fletcher shouted.
"I don't want to talk to you," she said firmly.
"If you don't open this door by the count of five, I'm going to start singing 'Roll Me Over in the Clover' at the top of my lungs!"
"You wouldn't dare."
"One... two... I would definitely dare... three... four..."

She flung the door open, and he pulled her to him, lifting her off her feet and carrying her inside, kicking the door shut behind him.
"What do you want, Fletcher?"
"You're beautiful in the moonlight, Nance. It's pouring over you like a silver waterfall."
"Fletcher, I don't want you anymore. It's too late," she said, but her voice was trembling.
"That won't work, you know," he said, pulling her closer. "Love doesn't go away if you ignore it or deny it. It's there in your heart, in your soul. It's a burning need inside you—a need to be one with that person. Are you burning, Nance?"
"Stop it, Fletcher," she murmured, struggling to escape his grasp. But it was too late.
He kissed her.