a couple of throw pillows off the sofa, Dawson joined her. Eve wasn’t the only one who refused to back down from a challenge.
“So, how’s the cocoa?” he asked.
“Good.” She sipped it as if to back up her pronouncement, leaving a fine layer of froth on her upper lip, which she then licked off.
He resisted the urge to groan, but not the urge to touch her. “You’ve still got a little …” He traced her top lip with the tip of his index finger.
“All gone?” she asked.
“I think so.” Still staring at her mouth, he said, “Sorry that I couldn’t find any of those little marshmallows to go in it.”
“That’s all right.” Her lips curved. “It was a tall order. You don’t strike me as the sort of man who drinks hot chocolate with little marshmallows.”
He shook his head. “Not often, no.”
“Of course, you didn’t strike me as the sort who would tackle me in the snow, either.”
“I didn’t tackle you. I tried to break your fall,” he said.
“Yes, but I only fell because you chased me.”
“I only chased you because you threw a snowball at me. Two, in fact,” he reminded her. “And I did give you fair warning before you fired a second time.”
She took another sip of her hot cocoa and gave him a considering look. “Okay. I’ll give you that. Of course, I’m going to want a rematch. And the next time I can promise you I won’t be wearing a pair of high-heeled boots that are far more suited to fashion than they are to function.”
“Too bad. I really like those boots.” He tortured himself with a glance at her bare feet.
“I loved them.” Her lips pursed. “They’re probably ruined now.”
“I’ll buy you another pair,” he offered magnanimously.
“That’s nice of you, but no need. It was my own fault.”
“Agreed,” Dawson said and enjoyed watching her scowl. “So, what will you wear for our rematch?”
“A pair of waterproof hikers and my ski bibs and down parka.”
“You ski?” he asked, marginally surprised.
“Not really, but I look absolutely amazing in the outfit. Like something out of a magazine.” She winked.
Dawson didn’t laugh, though she’d obviously intended the words as a joke. “I don’t doubt it. I’m beginning to think you’d look amazing in just about anything.”
He allowed his gaze to skim over the curves that were partially obscured by thick folds of terrycloth.
“I … I … hmm.”
He rather liked knowing that he’d made Eve tongue-tied since the woman had had that effect on him more than once in the past couple of weeks. Though he knew he was playing with fire, he said, “I like what you have on at the moment.”
She coughed and recovered enough to joke, “What? This old thing?”
“You know, I never really cared for that robe … until now.” He knew he’d never put it on again without thinking of Eve and remembering just how provocative she looked with firelight and curiosity reflected in her eyes.
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
He set aside his mug. She followed suit.
“You should,” he said.
The space between them diminished fractionally with each breath they took until their faces were mere inches apart. He smelled chocolate, was eager to taste it, but he knew that wasn’t the reason he suddenly felt so starved.
“Your hair is still damp,” he murmured, reaching up to run his fingers through the loose tumble of curls.
“Dawson.” Eve sighed his name and closed her eyes, and just that fast he knew he was doomed. But as he followed her down onto the fire-warmed rug, it felt far more like a resurrection than it did an execution.
He started at her neck, nibbling the spot just below her jaw where he could feel her pulse beating.
Life. It was right there under his lips, inviting him, enticing him.
And so he moved lower, alternately kissing and nipping his way down to the curve of her shoulder. Her skin was soft and as smooth as satin. When he pushed the robe off her shoulder, it all but glowed in the firelight.
He glanced up to find Eve watching him. Her expression was serious. Her dark eyes were wide and still filled with questions. Dawson wasn’t sure he could give her any of the answers she sought. Come right down to it, he had plenty of questions himself.
He started with the most pressing.
“Are you sure?” he whispered.
She paused a moment, an eternity. When she finally nodded, he stood and helped her to her feet. They didn’t speak a word as, hands clasped, he led her through the quiet house back upstairs to his bedroom.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
EVE woke to blaring rock music and a man’s heavy arm draped possessively over her waist.
She smiled at the ceiling. Life was good.
The electric guitar was gearing up for its solo before Dawson finally stirred. He reached out a hand to swat off the alarm clock that sat on the bedside table. The only problem was that Eve was in the way. His eyes opened as he realized this. His gaze was bleary at first and then clouded with what she recognized as lust.
Oh, yeah. Life was good.
She stroked his scratchy face, reveling in its distinctive masculine feel. “Good morning.”
“That remains to be seen.”
“Oh?”
He rolled on top of her and murmured something into her hair that she couldn’t quite decipher. Not that it really mattered. Words weren’t necessary at that moment. Eve understood Dawson’s meaning perfectly.
An hour later, they were both out of bed, showered and dressed. Her clothes had dried. Her leather boots definitely were worse for the wear, but then she’d expected that. Thankfully, Dawson had found a new toothbrush for her in his linen closet, and Eve kept some makeup essentials in her purse. Without the taming effect of a flat iron, her hair had gone curly, but there was no help for that. She brushed it back as best she could and secured it in a ponytail. Satisfied that she looked presentable, Eve ambled downstairs.
It was Saturday, which meant Dawson’s housekeeper had the day off. Eve was grateful for that. The last thing she wanted to do was run in to the older woman while wearing the same outfit she’d had on the evening before. She wasn’t old-fashioned exactly, but neither was she
