never thought you were, but you might have ethnic or religious reasons to abstain.”
“No problems on either score,” he chuckled. “Does this involve a shopping trip?”
“No. Actually, I have boxes and boxes of stuff in the attic. When I moved here, I wasn’t in the mood to celebrate. Now, with Teddy in the house, it doesn’t seem right to ignore the holiday. I wasn’t able to take it all down on my own. Do you mind helping? I warn you...it’s a lot of stuff.”
“Including a tree?”
She smiled beseechingly. “My old one is artificial, and not all that pretty. I thought it might be fun to find one in the woods.”
“Seriously?”
“Well, of course. I own thirty acres. Surely we can discover something appropriate.”
He lifted a skeptical eyebrow. “We?”
“Yes, we. Don’t be so suspicious. I’m not sending you out in the cold all on your own. I have one of those baby carrier things. Teddy and I will go with you. Besides, I don’t think men are the best judge when it comes to locating the perfect tree.”
“You wound me,” he said, standing and clutching his chest. “I have excellent taste.”
“This cabin has space limitations to consider. And admit it. Men always think bigger is better.”
“So do women as a rule.”
His naughty double entendre was delivered with a straight face, but his eyes danced with mischief. Phoebe knew her cheeks had turned bright red. She felt the heat. “Are we still talking about Christmas trees?” she asked, her throat dry as the Sahara.
“You tell me.”
“I think you made yourself pretty clear last night,” she snapped.
He looked abashed. “I never should have let things go that far. We need to take baby steps, Phoebe. Forced proximity makes for a certain intimacy, but I respect you too much to take advantage of that.”
“And if I take advantage of you?”
She was appalled to hear the words leave her mouth. Apparently her libido trumped both her pride and her common sense.
Leo’s brows drew together in a scowl. He folded his arms across his broad chest. With his legs braced in a fighting stance, he suddenly seemed far more dangerous. Today he had on old jeans and a cream wool fisherman’s sweater.
Everything about him from his head to his toes screamed wealth and privilege. So why hadn’t he chosen some exclusive resort for his sabbatical? A place with tennis courts and spas and golf courses?
He still hadn’t answered her question. The arousal swirling in her belly congealed into a small knot of embarrassment. Did he get some kind of sadistic kick out of flirting with women and then shutting them down?
“Never mind,” she said, the words tight. “I understand.”
He strode toward her, his face a thundercloud. “You don’t understand a single damn thing,” he said roughly. Before she could protest or back up or initiate any other of a dozen protective moves, he dragged her to his chest, wrapped one arm around her back and used his free hand to anchor her chin and tip her face up to his.
His thick-lashed brown eyes, afire with emotion and seemingly able to peer into her soul, locked on hers and dared her to look away. “Make no mistake, Phoebe,” he said. “I want you. And Lord willing, I’m going to have you. When we finally make it to a bed—or frankly any flat surface, ’cause I’m not picky—I’m going to make love to you until we’re both too weak to stand. But in the meantime, you’re going to behave. I’m going to behave. Got it?”
Time stood still. Just like in the movies. Every one of her senses went on high alert. He was breathing hard, his chest rising and falling rapidly. When he grabbed her, she had braced one hand reflexively on his shoulder, though the idea of holding him at bay was ludicrous. She couldn’t manage that even if she wanted to. His strength and power were evident despite whatever illness had plagued him.
Dark stubble covered his chin. He could have been a pirate or a highwayman or any of the renegade heroes in the historical novels her sister read. Phoebe was so close she could inhale the warm scent of him. A great bear of a man not long from his bed.
She licked her lips, trembling enough that she was glad of his support. “Define behave.” She kissed his chin, his wrist, the fingers caressing her skin.
Leo fought her. Not outwardly. But from within. His struggle was written on his face. But he didn’t release her. Not this time.
The curse he uttered as he gave in to her provocation was heartfelt and earthy as he encircled her with both arms and half lifted her off her feet. His mouth crushed hers, taking...giving no quarter. His masculine force was exhilarating. She was glad she was tall and strong, because it gave her the ability to match him kiss for kiss.
Baby steps be damned. She and Leo had jumped over miles of social convention and landed in a time of desperation, of elemental reality. Like the prehistoric people who had lived in these hills and valleys centuries before, the base human instinct to mate clawed its way to the forefront, making a mockery of soft words and tender sentiments.
This was passion in its most raw form. She rubbed against him, desperate to get closer. “Leo,” she groaned, unable to articulate what she wanted, what she needed. “Leo...”
He was lost. Months of celibacy combined with the uncertainty of whether his body would be the same after his attack walloped him like a sucker punch. In his brain he repeated a frenzied litany. Just a kiss. Just a kiss, just a kiss...
His erection was swollen painfully, the taut skin near bursting. His lungs had contracted to half capacity, and black dots danced in front of his eyes. Phoebe felt like heaven in his arms. She was feminine and sinfully curved in all the right places, but she wasn’t fragile. He liked that. No. Correction. He loved that. She kissed him without apology, no half measures.
Her skin smelled like scented shower gel and baby powder. This morning her hair was again tamed in a fat braid. He wrapped it around his fist and tugged, drawing back her head so he could nip at her throat with sharp love bites.
The noise she made, part cry, part moan, hit him in the gut. He lifted her, grunting when her legs wrapped around his waist. They were fully clothed, but he thrust against her, tormenting them both with pressure that promised no relief.
Without warning, Phoebe struggled to get away from him. He held her more tightly, half crazed with the urge to take her hard and fast.
She pushed at his chest. “Leo. I hear the baby. He’s awake.”
Finally, her breathless words penetrated the fog of lust that chained him. He dropped her to her feet and staggered backward, his heart threatening to pound through the wall of his chest.
Afraid of his own emotions, he strode to the door where his boots sat, shoved his feet into them, flung open the door and left the
