One Night Before Christmas. Robyn Grady

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СКАЧАТЬ scooting out from under his leg and standing. “Put the ice on it,” she said, sounding breathless and embarrassed. “I’ll be back.”

      * * *

      Phoebe sank into the rocker in Teddy’s room, her whole body trembling with awareness. The baby curled into her shoulder as she rubbed his back and sang to him quietly. He wasn’t hungry. She had given him a bottle barely an hour ago. His only problem now was that his mouth hurt. She’d felt the tiny sharp edge of a tooth on his bottom gum and knew it was giving him fits. “Poor darling,” she murmured. Reaching for the numbing drops, she rubbed a small amount on his sore mouth.

      Teddy sucked her fingertip, snuffled and squirmed, then gradually subsided into sleep. She rocked him an extra five minutes just to make sure. When he was finally out, she laid him in his crib and tiptoed out of the room.

      Her bed called out to her. She was weaving on her feet, wrapped in a thick blanket of exhaustion. But she had told Leo she would come back. And in truth, nothing but cowardice could keep her from fulfilling that promise.

      When she returned to the living room, it was filled with shadows, only a single lamp burning, though Leo had started another fire in the grate that gave off some illumination. He was watching television, but he switched it off as soon as she appeared. She hovered in the doorway, abashed by the sexual currents drawing her to this enigma of a man. “How’s the foot?”

      “See for yourself.”

      It was a dare, and she recognized it as such. Her legs carried her forward, even as her brain shouted, Stop. Stop. She wasn’t so foolish this time as to sit down on the sofa. Instead, she knelt and removed the makeshift ice pack, setting it aside on a glass dish. Leo’s foot was bruising already. A thin red line marked where the sharp corner of the door had scraped him.

      “How does it feel?” she asked quietly.

      Leo sat up, wincing, as he pulled his thick wool sock into place over his foot and ankle. “I’ll live.”

      When he leaned forward with his forearms resting on his knees, he was face-to-face with her. “Unless you have an objection,” he said, “I’m going to kiss you now.” A lock of hair fell over his forehead. His voice was husky and low, sending shivers down her spine. The hour was late, that crazy time when dawn was far away and the night spun on, seemingly forever.

      She licked her lips, feeling her nipples furl tightly, even as everything else in her body loosened with the warm flow of honey. “No objections,” she whispered, wondering if he had woven some kind of spell over her while she was sleeping.

      Slowly, gently, perhaps giving her time to resist, he cupped her cheeks with his hands, sliding his fingers into her hair and massaging her scalp. His thumbs ran along her jawline, pausing when he reached the little indentation beneath her ear.

      “God, you’re beautiful,” he groaned, resting his forehead against hers. She could feel the heat radiating from his bare chest. All on their own, her hands came up to touch him, to flatten over his rib cage, to explore miles of warm, smooth skin. Well-defined pectoral muscles gave way to a thin line of hair that led to a flat belly corded with more muscles.

      She felt drunk with pleasure. So long...it had been so long. And though she had encountered opportunities to be intimate with men during the past three years, none of them had been as tempting as Leo Cavallo. “What are we doing?” she asked raggedly, almost beyond the point of reason.

      He gathered handfuls of her hair and played with it, pulling her closer. “Getting to know each other,” he whispered. His mouth settled over hers, lips firm and confident. She opened to him, greedy for more of the hot pleasure that built at the base of her abdomen and made her shift restlessly.

      When his tongue moved lazily between her lips, she met it with hers, learning the taste of him as she had wanted to so badly, experimenting with the little motions that made him shudder and groan. He held her head tightly now, dragging her to him, forcing her neck to arch so he could deepen the kiss. He tasted of toothpaste and determination.

      Her hands clung to his wrists. “You’re good at this,” she panted. “A little too good.”

      “It’s you,” he whispered. “It’s you.” He moved down beside her so that they were chest to chest. “Tell me to stop, Phoebe.” Wildly he kissed her, his hands roving over her back and hips. They were so close, his erection pressed into her belly.

      She was wearing her usual knit pajamas, nothing sexy about them. But when his big hands trespassed beneath the elastic waistband and cupped her butt, she felt like a desirable woman. It had been so long since a man had touched her. And this wasn’t just any man.

      It was Leo. Big, brawny Leo, who looked as if he could move mountains for a woman, and yet paradoxically touched her so gently she wanted to melt into him and never leave his embrace. “Make love to me, Leo. Please. I need you so much....”

      He dragged her to her feet and drew her closer to the fireplace. Standing on the bearskin rug, he pulled her top over her head. As he stared at her breasts, he cradled one in each hand, squeezing them carefully, plumping them with an expression that made her feel wanton and hungry.

      At last looking at her face, he rubbed her nipples lightly as he kissed her nose, her cheeks, her eyes. His expression was warmly sensual, wickedly hot. “You make a man weak,” he said. “I want to do all sorts of things to you, but I don’t know where to start.”

      She should have felt awkward or embarrassed. But instead, exhilaration fizzed in her veins, making her breathing choppy. His light touch was not enough. She twined her arms around his neck, rubbing her lower body against his. “Does this give you any ideas?”

       Eight

      Leo was torn on a rack of indecision. Phoebe was here...in his arms...willing. But some tiny shred of decency in his soul insisted on being heard. The timing wasn’t right. This wasn’t right.

      Cursing himself inwardly with a groan of anguish for the effort it took to stop the train on the tracks, he removed her arms from around his neck and stepped back. “We can’t,” he said. “I won’t take advantage of you.”

      Barely able to look at what he was saying no to, he grabbed her pajama top and thrust it toward her. “Put this on.”

      Phoebe obeyed instantly as mortification and anger colored her face. “I’m not a child, Leo. I make my own decisions.”

      He wanted to comfort her, but touching her again was out of the question. An explanation would have to suffice. He hoped she understood him. “A tree demolished one of your cabins. You’re caring for a teething baby, who has kept you up big chunks of the past two nights. Stress and exhaustion are no basis for making decisions.” He of all people should know. “I don’t want to be that man you regret when the sun comes up.”

      She wrapped her arms around her waist, glaring at him with thinly veiled hurt. “I should toss you out on your ass,” she said, the words holding a faint but audible tremor.

      His heart contracted. “I hope you won’t.” There were things he needed to tell her before they became intimate, and if he wasn’t ready to come clean, then he wasn’t ready to have sex with Phoebe. He hurt just looking at her. With her hair mussed and her protective posture, she seemed far younger than he knew her to be. Achingly vulnerable.

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