Jingle Bell: Rock Part 15

Baby, It's Cold Outside.

Donna Kauffman.

Chapter One.

Jace Morgan slammed the hood down on his father's old truck, then ducked his head against the driving snow as he trudged back around to the driver's door. At this rate both he and Suzanna would be stuck in town. For the first time since arriving back in Rogue's Hollow the day before, Jace felt like smiling.

Being stuck in the snow with Suzanna York was very probably the best thing that could ever happen to him. Or the worst, he conceded, as he rumbled on down the two-lane country road. He was still a good half hour away from the train station... and his reunion with the woman he'd given his virginity to the summer he turned seventeen. Then walked away from the summer he turned eighteen. Ten years. A lifetime ago. An eternity. So much had happened since that summer, when they'd both had scholars.h.i.+ps clutched in their hands... and dreams held just as tightly in their hearts. Dreams only a college degree could provide. He'd gone west to Indiana State and a basketball career that had ended just shy of the pros, but provided him with the immense pleasure of teaching the stars of tomorrow... both in the cla.s.sroom and on the court. Zan had left their country life in the foothills of the Blue Ridge in Virginia and headed south to Georgia on an academic scholars.h.i.+p.

They'd had plans. Such mature plans. They'd set each other free during their college years, to experience life in and out of the cla.s.sroom. But free or not, they'd vowed to maintain their close friends.h.i.+p, not really believing anyone would ever replace the other in their hearts. Their bond was special, ageless, timeless. Had been from the moment they'd laid eyes on each other, skating on Old Man Ramsay's pond when they were thirteen years old, days after Zan and her mom had moved into the guest house on the Sinclair property in the Hollow. Pretty much from that moment on, Jace couldn't imagine a world without Zanna York in it.

Suzanna, however, had apparently found a world without him a bit easier to conceive. Christmas hadn't even arrived before she'd stopped replying to his letters, was unavailable when he called. He'd realized the hard way that he wasn't as mature as he thought, because his heart had been shattered. And all these years later, he still hadn't figured out how to reclaim every last piece of it.

But he'd long ago a.s.signed that broken heart to one of the many milestones a man had to pa.s.s on the way to adulthood. So what if he'd been an adult for some time now and still couldn't quite shake the feeling that the reason he couldn't give his whole heart to anyone else was because Zan York still held a small piece of it. The most vital piece.

Swearing under his breath now, he focused on keeping the d.a.m.n truck on the road. He should have told Frances he'd book Suzanna a room in town, find some way to get her picked up and delivered home by Christmas Day. Seeing as it was only hours to Christmas Eve and the snow was coming down blizzard strength, with no signs of letting up anytime soon, he knew that was a promise he couldn't have kept. And why he should care was beyond him.

But Frances's phone call had caught him at a low point. Sitting alone in his father's big empty house, his past weighing so heavily on him he thought it might crush him completely, he'd begun having serious second thoughts about taking that job offer. About coming back to Marshall County for good. If only his brothers had made it in before the storm. All four of the Morgan siblings were finally coming home for Christmas. Not all that unusual for some families, but for the Morgan clan, it was downright miraculous. Flung to the four corners of the earth, mostly to get away from their tyrant of a father, they hadn't all been under the same roof in well over ten years.

Sentimentality and a warm holiday spirit had never been enough to draw the siblings back together. No, it had taken the death of their father, Taggart Morgan, to accomplish what love alone never would. In fact, only his oldest brother, Tag, had made it back for the funeral a month earlier, before heading back to the project he was overseeing in some South American jungle. But with the old b.a.s.t.a.r.d finally gone, there was a h.e.l.l of a lot to consider about what to do with the two hundred plus years of Rogue's Hollow legacy left behind.

The snowstorm had stranded his three brothers in various locations, none of them being the train station in Porterville. So he'd been the only one wandering the rooms, staring out across the fields, trying to answer the stable hands and majordomo's questions, when all he had was more questions himself. There were appointments set up for after the holidays, with the lawyers and such. He supposed it would all be settled then, after he and his brothers shared some time alone to come to some of their own decisions.

He stared through the winds.h.i.+eld, as the wipers whipped back and forth, losing the battle to keep the winds.h.i.+eld clear. Frances's phone call had surprised him. He hadn't spoken to her since he'd left for college. Had never, in fact, been back to Rogue's Hollow since. He and his brothers kept in touch via the wonders of e-mail and cell phones, but none of them discussed home and hearth. Probably because none of them considered it such. Home for the Morgan boys had become wherever they hung their hat. And it had been a long time since any of them had hung anything in Rogue's Hollow.

Jace didn't bother wondering how Frances knew he was back home. The Hollow, along with the little town of Highland Springs, was too closeknit a community to hide much of anything from anyone, but it wouldn't have mattered if it were a metropolis; Frances York was a one-woman telegraph system. Jace doubted that had changed much. She'd always been close with her only daughter, and Jace knew she'd be more than happy to share every detail of why Zan cut him off all those years ago, and every last thing she'd done since. Not that he'd ever ask her. Then or now. To say he hadn't thought of it, of her, especially at this time of year, and early summer, would be a lie. Hardly a Christmas or Memorial Day pa.s.sed that he hadn't. But contacting Frances was also opening up a conduit to a whole lot of grief he could do without.

Frances had been bookkeeper to the Sinclair, Ramsay, and Morgan clans over the years. And it was a biological compulsion with her to share every last bit of news and goings on in the Hollow and Highland Springs with anyone who'd listen. He'd left that summer without ever intending to look back, and he hadn't. Not even for Suzanna.

Another dry smile creased his face. Odd how the one thing that had been his ticket out of there-basketball-was now the one thing that would bring him back for good. He shook off thoughts of the job offer he'd received hours after he'd been given the news of his father's death. The timing couldn't have been better, or worse, depending on how he looked at it. His program at the high school in Indiana had just been drastically cut, making him feel even more constrained than he'd already been feeling for some time. A feeler to a local small college in Missouri had dried up, and he'd been pondering his options, feeling restless. Rootless. Maybe even a bit homesick.

He hadn't told anyone he'd accepted the job, not his brothers, not even the school. The school officials knew he was coming back to settle his father's estate, and had simply asked that he give them his decision by mid-January. That would give him time enough to be sure. And to find out what Tag's, Austin's, and Burke's plans were as well.

Right now it was more pleasurable to focus on Zan. What would she look like now? Would he even recognize her? It hit him then. What if he climbed the railroad platform, only to find her standing there with a husband holding her hand, and a couple of tow-headed kids clinging to her coat?

Idiot! He swore under his breath. Sure, he'd thought about that over the years, but not once since Frances had called earlier this evening had it even occurred to him. He hadn't come home expecting to see her, had no idea where or how she spent her holidays. Not for the same reasons, but she hadn't been in any more of a hurry to return to the Hollow than he had all those years ago. She'd been h.e.l.l-bent on seeing the world, conquering what part of it she could. He wondered if she had.

Moving back again, he figured he'd see her at some point but had also figured he'd have plenty of warning. Instead he'd gotten less than an hour to prepare. Prepare for something that, if he were honest, he'd been waiting for since the moment they parted at that very same train station. Married, he thought again. It was definitely possible. He sighed, trying to adjust his whole thought process to that possibility. He just couldn't manage it.

No. Surely Frances would have mentioned if he was picking up a whole family. But hadn't she been the one to suggest taking Taggart's old truck? He'd a.s.sumed at the time that she knew-as only the town gossip could-that he'd driven home in a small sports car, hardly the thing for crossing the county in blinding snow. But maybe-No, he resolutely refused to think it. And a second later he laughed at his own thoughts. Like it mattered. Yes, he wanted to see her again, wanted to bury some long-held demons. But surely he hadn't fooled himself into believing he was going to be burying anything else. Namely himself, as deep and hard into Zanna York as he could.

Of course not.

Which didn't remotely explain why, as the miles crunched beneath the half-bald tires, his heart began to pound, his palms grew a bit damp and sweaty, and his c.o.c.k grew a whole lot hard.

He couldn't seem to find a way to stop picturing that long-ago Christmas Eve, when he'd had Zan beneath him, pushed up to the hilt inside her, all that wet, warm, softness surrounding him, holding him so tightly... just as he held onto her tightly. Like she was everything a man could ever want or hope to have. He'd thought so then. And he'd told her so that night. Had, in fact, told her everything that was in his heart.

Six months later they'd parted. And he'd never said those words to anyone ever again. Sure, over the years there had been women who were special. Women he'd wanted, desired. He'd given his body, his attentions, even his care and concern. But he'd never given up his heart.

By the time he parked in the station lot, his blood was pounding as hard as the snow. The wind cut into his skin as he walked to the platform, but his emotions were what felt ravaged. Filled with anxiety, antic.i.p.ation, and not a little dread, he forced himself to walk slowly, steadily. Not take the platform by storm, as he found he wanted to do, and tear through the cl.u.s.ters of families and other holiday reunions until he found her. Until he could touch her, hold her, taste her. Claim her once again.

Sheer insanity, he told himself. More than once. It didn't seem to want to sink in. But with every step, the hunger increased. Until he wasn't entirely sure what he'd do if she had, indeed, arrived with family and spouse in tow. Get a freaking grip, Morgan, he schooled himself. But his hands were clenched into fists, small puffs of air exploded from his mouth as his breathing grew more rapid, and his strides grew longer and longer. People moved out of his way and he had to force himself not to shout her name. He really was losing his mind, he thought, wis.h.i.+ng he could see the absurdity of his behavior and wrangle it back under control. The rate he was going, she'd take one look at him and scream for help.

Not that it was going to do her any good, some darker voice inside him immediately responded.

He wondered what everyone back in Indiana would think if they could see him now. For that matter, what everyone in the Hollow would think. Jace Morgan. The nice one. The quiet one. The calm one.

Yeah, that was him. Except where Suzanna York was concerned. It had always been that way. And, apparently, no amount of time was likely to change that.

Then the crowds suddenly parted, as if ordained by some higher purpose, and there she stood. There was no doubt it was her.

His heart simply stopped, and the kind of hope he knew d.a.m.n well he had absolutely no right to feel sprang to life inside him anyway. Long thick blonde hair, eyes so dark brown he could drown in them, and a smile as wide as the sky. She hadn't changed at all. And yet, when she turned and spied him standing there, he realized that no matter what foolish ideas he might have, the reality was that she was a stranger to him now. He had no idea who this Suzanna York was, or what she had become.

The second thing he noticed was that there was no man holding her hand, no kids hanging on to her coat. She was alone.

And as he crossed the platform, reality didn't seem to matter. Rational thought even less. Crowds ebbed and flowed around them, pus.h.i.+ng and shoving their way past, but he was completely unaware of it. It was as if the two of them were trapped inside one of those gla.s.s snow globes, set apart in their own little winter wonderland.

And Jace realized right then he was going to turn that globe upside down and shake hard. Ten years ago she'd turned his world upside down and shook his heart so hard it never fully recovered. So while he was home conquering the ghosts his father had left behind, he might as well work on getting this one taken care of, as well. One way or the other.

Chapter Two.

Suzanna blinked the snow from her lashes. It was a mirage. A figment of her imagination. Okay, and maybe the result of a long train ride... and some very hot and wet dreams. She'd known he wouldn't be here. She'd come home several times a year over the past decade... and not once had he, or for a long time, any of the Morgan brothers, been home in the Hollow. It never stopped her from daydreaming. And night dreaming. And basically just plain fantasizing about him. And what might happen if he should suddenly show up back home.

And what he might do to her if he did.

She s.h.i.+vered, and not from the cold and damp seeping through her coat. It was part dread because things hadn't exactly ended well between them, for which she only had herself to blame. And she was dead certain he blamed her, too. The other part, however, was antic.i.p.ation. Which no amount of dread could quash. After all, it had been ten years. Surely no one held a grudge that long.

If she could have laughed at that moment, she would have. The Morgan family was famous-or infamous, actually-for holding grudges. But Jace had always been the easygoing Morgan. He'd left the Hollow rather than confront his father. And he'd let you go, too, she thought now, rather than track her down and demand to know why she'd stopped writing and calling. Why she'd let what they had slip away so easily, so quickly. As if it hadn't been the most important thing in her life.

Only she knew that while her bad judgment, and the choices she'd made because of it, had happened quickly, her regret had lasted forever. Of course, his heart had probably mended ages ago. Hers most certainly should have. But it hadn't Not entirely.

Actually, that spot in her heart still twinged when she thought about him, about their past together, about the future they might have had, had she not so callously tossed it away at the first glimmer of a new love, so dazzling and s.h.i.+ny. So much more mature and exciting, she'd been convinced, than a high school sweetheart from her country town could ever hope to be. Well, she figured the occasional painful tug at her heart was the least she deserved. It had certainly served her well enough as a reminder, because she'd never made the same mistake again.

Which is probably why you're alone at Christmas. Again.

She brushed at the snowflakes that gathered insistently on her lashes, watching, unable to tear her gaze away from the man presently moving through the crowd of holiday travelers.

"It's not him, Zan. Just stop it right now." It couldn't be him. It was simply the memories that this holiday always dredged up. Memories of the nights he'd made love to her, so fiercely tender, so possessive, she s.h.i.+vered a little even now, thinking about it. Yes, she'd probably romanticized it over the years, as only a woman could when thinking back to the first man who'd made love to her, who'd told her he loved her. Only there was a part of her who knew she hadn't embellished one whit.

Even as a young man, Jace Morgan had made love with such natural force and pa.s.sion, had so completely made her body his own that, no matter how silly it sounded, he had totally ruined her for any other man. He was no fantasy. He was the real deal. How foolish she'd been to think she could so easily replace that. When, in fact, she'd never once come close.

No, whoever it was she'd glimpsed through the crowd couldn't be him. He'd never so much as set one foot in Marshall County in ten years. But that didn't stop her heart from tripping over itself. Didn't stop her temperature from rising. Didn't stop her from thinking about what those lips, that tongue, those fingers, had done to every inch of her body- "Oh, for G.o.d's sake," she muttered, ordering herself simply to turn away altogether, before she flung herself at a total stranger and begged him to take her right here on the platform. Snow, strangers, and all.

She knew she shouldn't have packed her vibrator in with all of her other household goods; wondered idly if her mom had ever fixed the head of the hand-held shower ma.s.sager.

Jesus, she hated Christmas. Had for ten years. d.a.m.n you, Jace Morgan, she swore silently, then d.a.m.ned herself. After all, it wasn't his fault.

And then the crowds parted, as if by some greater will. And he was standing there. Right there. Every tall, rangy, muscled inch of him. Jace Morgan, in the flesh, not five yards in front of her. No other man had those dark, tousled bed-head curls, laser blue eyes that pierced her right down to her soul... and that mouth, a mouth made for seduction, a mouth that had seduced her on more occasions than she could count. With words, with deeds. And oh dear G.o.d, the deeds those lips had driven her to perform, to allow him to perform on her...

No, there was only one man who had that mouth.

Her lips trembled; her heart stumbled. And maybe her thighs quivered, just a little. Okay, a lot. "Jace? Is it really you?"

He didn't say anything for the longest time. An eternity of time. Long past the time when they could have skipped the awkward part, laughed like old friends, embraced in a warm reunion, told each other how much they'd changed or how much they hadn't. She could have found some way to douse the firestorm of want and need just seeing him had ignited, a firestorm of need that raged to life so quickly she knew it had never entirely gone out, but had merely been banked. For a long, long time. If only he'd said something, anything, surely she'd have found some way to smile and embrace whatever he was willing to give her, be it a chilly smile or a friendly hug without wanting to claw his clothes off and back him to the nearest wall, demanding he drive himself deep into her... and drive out those d.a.m.n ghosts of Christmas past.

Of course, she should have known if this day ever came that it wouldn't be easy, or smooth, or even worse, anticlimactic. Well, it was definitely none of those things. The word apocalyptic came to mind.

And she wanted badly to take the first step; she knew it was her responsibility, given how things had ended. But her feet were suddenly weighted down like blocks of cement. She wanted desperately to say something that would make it all okay, or at the very least, get the conversation started. But her throat was dry as sand, and her lips wouldn't move.

Why was he here? To pick up one of his brothers? If she could have made herself look away from him, she would turn around and very likely spot Austin, Tag or Burke standing right behind her. Because surely he hadn't been pus.h.i.+ng through the crowd to see her. Of course not, what had she been thinking? He had no way of knowing she was coming home. Nor would he care if he had. Certainly he wouldn't have come out in this awful snowstorm just to pick her up from the station- She broke off in midthought. Oh no. No, her mother wouldn't do this to her. Or Jace. She couldn't have. Even though Suzanna never spoke of him, or any of the Morgans for that matter, her mother had to know Jace wouldn't have been thrilled with this particular little ch.o.r.e. Because of course he would say yes. Despite his father's raging temper, or maybe because of it, Jace had always been so polite, so well mannered, mindful of his elders. The respectable Morgan.

Only, of course, she had known differently.

She had known there was another side to Jace. The side that could only keep things pent up for so long before he needed to find an outlet. And pounding a ball up and down a court could only do so much. Only she saw that part of him that others only saw on a basketball court. Driven, committed, hungry.

She did tear her gaze away then, unable to face him one second longer, shame flooding her anew for how callously she'd treated him all those years ago, the one man who had never been anything but driven, committed, and hungry for her. And for her alone. The man who'd been willing to set her free, asking only that she be faithful to their friends.h.i.+p, to that special bond that went beyond hot s.e.x, beyond infatuation. Beyond even love.

But rather than look behind her, to see who he was really here for, she looked past him, searching in vain for the face of her mother or someone, any familiar face. Someone, she was even more ashamed to admit, who would rescue her, because she couldn't seem to rescue herself. But Frances York did not materialize in the crowd. Nor did anyone else she recognized from the Hollow. No way would her mother have risked driving in this storm. She knew that. In fact, the closer she'd gotten to Porterville and the heavier the snow had begun to fall, she'd pretty much known she'd be staying at a hotel tonight.

As it was, she wasn't sure how Jace planned on making it back tonight either. Which bounced her thoughts back to that hotel... and her gaze back to Jace.

Her throat constricted as the silence continued to spin out, their gazes irrevocably locked. So closed off, she thought, and so d.a.m.n still. That was how he'd learned to escape the wrath of Taggart Morgan. Become invisible. She'd once been the person who saw past that stillness, past the quiet intensity of his even blue-eyed gaze. She'd once been the person, the only person, who ignited the hunger behind it, drove him to be anything but still.

Her thighs locked against each other as memory upon memory pounded through her body. Unwanted, unheeded, but unavoidable. She wanted badly to cling to the thought that it had been a teenage fantasy. Perfection idealized from what could only have been immature l.u.s.t. Staring at him now, she wanted desperately to believe it hadn't really been perfection, hadn't been as wonderful and satisfying as she remembered. They'd been hardly more than kids. Fumbling, pawing, panting- Only they hadn't fumbled. They hadn't pawed. Panting they'd done plenty of. Heated gasps, long moans of ecstasy.

It was no dream. It had been real. She could see every second of it right now in his eyes. He'd taken all of her, possessed her, driven her beyond any point of return. And then had taken her further. It was as if her body had been created exclusively for him, to frolic and cavort with in total abandon, his own personal playground of delights. And he'd reveled in it, in her, all but drowned himself in her. How, in G.o.d's name had. she ever, even for one split second, thought she could replace the boy he'd been then, with any man, at any other time?

And how, in G.o.d's name, did she think she was ever going to be able to explain, to the man he was now, why she'd done what she'd done? Why would he even want her to?

Something of her thoughts must have shown on her face, because his expression faltered, only for a moment, but long enough to give her a brief glimpse of- Dear G.o.d, she murmured beneath her breath. Surely she was mistaken. She trembled, clenched her thighs almost convulsively tighter together, which only served to jack her up even higher. But surely he couldn't want-couldn't think that they would-that she would-after all this time-No, she couldn't even let herself think that. He couldn't harbor those same fantasies, about the two of them together... like they had been before. Could he? She lifted a shaky hand to her lips as he slowly closed the distance between them, his gaze locked firmly on hers.

The closer he got, the harder she trembled. And the more painful the ache grew between her legs. And d.a.m.n if she could do anything to stop it, no matter how foolish she knew it was to think, even for a second, that he wanted what she wanted. For all she knew he was going to shake her, wring her neck, or worse, push right past her and keep on walking without looking back. She knew she deserved any or all of that.

And yet every quivering part of her cried out for him to just grab her, take her, make it all go away. All the years, the pain, the shame and regret, the questions left unanswered for far too long.

She saw the fury, even the hollow edges of pain, in the tight brackets of his mouth, the pinched corners of his eyes, the tic in his clenched jaw. But it wasn't until he was right up in her personal s.p.a.ce that she saw what else was there. The hunger, raw and palpable. The heat, as raging as her own. The desire that had pushed him to the edges of his control, just as it had hers.

And she let herself believe, no matter that she knew she had no right, that for now, for this moment, it was okay to give in to all those things she found roiling up inside him, inside herself. To believe that the girl who had once ignited the need deep inside a lonely boy just might be the woman who, even for a moment or two, could unleash that hunger once again in the man. Only this time she vowed she wouldn't screw it up.

Her fingers, shaking badly, left her lips and lifted, seemingly of their own volition, toward his. Wanting to prove for certain that he wasn't a ghost of Christmas Past. Before she finished making a fool of herself by grabbing him... and begging him to be her Christmas Present.

Chapter Three.

Sweet Jesus, he burned to simply take her. It was like time stood still, only it was a man's hunger he felt now. And she looked more than woman enough to handle it. Of course, throwing her down on the snow-covered platform and ramming every achingly hard inch of himself deep inside of her was probably not the best way to say h.e.l.lo after ten years.

But it didn't keep him from imagining it, just the same.

He managed to stop just shy of grabbing her and hauling her up against him, not entirely sure if he touched her in any way that he'd be able to let her go again until they were both naked, sweaty and very satisfied. He didn't dare let her touch him either.

He curled his fingers inward as he forced himself to take a step back, jerk his gaze from hers and nod at the bag at her feet. "Is that all the luggage you have?" The question sounded raw, forced, but his throat had dried up and it was the best he could manage. Given the surprised look on her face, it had probably come out a bit more gruffly than he'd planned, too. Well, too d.a.m.n bad. She was looking at him like he was a four-course meal and she hadn't eaten in a month. And he was thinking that being her personal buffet was a d.a.m.n fine idea.

So it was a testament to his well-schooled control that he wasn't tossing her over his shoulder and storming off across the snow-covered parking lot He was doing the best he could just to maintain here. A thousand questions matched the thousand feelings rampaging through him, and she wasn't exactly helping matters any.

She jerked back from him, fumbled somewhat nervously with her bag and finally managed to click the handle up. "I-I can manage."

G.o.d, just hearing her voice all but leveled him. How many times had he heard that throaty voice in his dreams? Hundreds, thousands, he'd lost count. And right at the moment it was like pouring lighter fluid on an already lit fire.

She straightened, putting the bag between them, like some kind of a s.h.i.+eld. He could have told her she'd need to do a d.a.m.n sight better than that if she planned on him keeping his hands to himself. But then she was forcing a smile, through lips that trembled just slightly. That lower one was all but begging him to tug at it with his teeth, just enough so he could open her mouth, dip his tongue inside, tangle with hers and- "I take it my mother rooked you into this little ch.o.r.e?" she managed.

He could have told her it was no ch.o.r.e. Keeping his hands off her, his mouth off her, his body from wanting to drive as deeply inside of her as it could possibly bury itself... now that was a ch.o.r.e. "She was worried about you."

Suzanna looked up at him, as if wondering if he'd been worried about her, too. Now or at any time over the past ten years. If he'd even thought about her at all. He waited a second, wondering if she'd finally ask him. Anything. Because he'd be d.a.m.ned if he was going to be the one to breach the giant dark hole that was the past ten years of life between them. It was hers to explain away. Not his to beg questions of.

She didn't.

And he wasn't sure if he were angry... or relieved. Because now that she was standing here, and he still wanted her so badly his teeth all but ached with it, he found himself thinking that maybe, just maybe, there were some answers he might not want to hear.

"We'd better get on the road if you want to get back to the Hollow tonight," he said. "Snow's not supposed to let up until sometime late tomorrow." He thought about the long drive ahead of them. Just the two of them, stuck in Taggart's old truck, alone save for the sound of the winds.h.i.+eld wipers and the whistle in the heater fan. And wondered how in the h.e.l.l he was going to make it back without hearing some of those answers or finding some other way to occupy her mouth.

He reached for the handle of her bag, which brought him close enough to smell the scent she wore. Something spicy. And it hit him right in the solar plexus. That scent, it was so Zanna. No flowers or fruity scents for her. No, she always went for the exotic, the darker scents. Apparently that hadn't changed. He tried not to pause, not to inhale so much as another whiff. Much less turn and bury his nose in all that long, thick hair of hers. Jesus, he really needed to get a d.a.m.n grip here. And not on her. "I'll take this," he said, all but grunting the words. He looked at her shoes, wondering why in the h.e.l.l she hadn't worn boots, or anything with more traction than the low heels she had on. He gritted his back teeth, and danced close to the edge of his control. "It's slippery; take hold of my elbow."

She didn't fight him for the bag, but she wasn't quick to take his offered arm, either. "Still the gentleman, even when you're obviously furious about all this."

That stopped him. He felt a fury all right, a fury of need, a fury of desire. A fury of confusion about everything she was making him feel. But he didn't think that's what she meant. She thought he was angry. At her, at this errand he'd been forced to run. "I didn't mind coming," he said, choosing his words with care. "I just want to get back." He tugged her bag to his side, but instead of moving out of her personal s.p.a.ce and keeping his mouth shut, he stayed right where he was, and asked, "What makes you think I'm mad at you?"