“You have to be dressed to eat pizza? That’s a new one on me.”
“All right then, I’m not hungry.” Her voice rose. “If you don’t mind, I’d really appreciate an evening by myself. But—you can leave Maple.” She was shocked by how much she didn’t want him to take the puppy.
In usual Jackson style, he didn’t budge. “Why do you want an evening by yourself? So you can cry on your own?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Panic flickered at the edges of her composure. “I’ve had a shower and washed off my makeup. The light in here is just—”
“You’ve been crying, Kayla. What I’d like to know is why. Is it because of that damn family and their Christmas tree? Or something else?”
“I’ll drop Maple round to your mother in the morning.” Putting Maple down on the rug, she walked toward the door, assuming Jackson would follow.
He didn’t.
Jackson O’Neil was about as easy to manipulate as a solid lump of rock.
He strolled across the room and sat down on the sofa. Stretched out those long, muscular legs as if he was settling in for a long evening of entertainment. If he felt at all awkward that he might be intruding, it didn’t show.
Kayla felt a rush of frustration. “Jackson—”
“I’m not leaving.”
“But—”
“I’m partial to the occasional horror movie myself, although I generally prefer psychological thrillers to all that blood and guts and chopping that goes on in some films. So—” he tickled Maple with his toes “—are you going to tell me why you were crying or am I going to have to torture you to get your confession?”
Irritation mingled with something much, much more dangerous. “I found out Santa doesn’t exist.”
“He exists. I know it for sure because his reindeer left a hell of a mess on one of the trails last year. He also knocked a piece out of one of the chimneys. I blame my mother for leaving out too many cinnamon stars. By the time the guy had eaten them he was too fat to get back on his sleigh. Come and sit down and bring the pizza with you. We’ll finish the movie together.”
“I’m not in the mood for company.”
“Too bad, because I am. I’m nervous.” He was all power and strength. The least nervous-looking individual she’d ever encountered. “And given that you’re responsible, the least you can do is make that right.”
“I make you nervous?” She was willing to bet this man had never been nervous of anything in his life.
“You scared me with all that screaming—I need time to get my courage back before I walk home. I can’t be alone right now.”
“Yeah, right—” she eyed the muscles of his shoulders “—because you’re so fragile, obviously.”
“I’m scared of the dark, terrified of loose popcorn and frightened out of my wits by screaming women. Either you put some lights on right now or you’re going to have to hold my hand.” He rose to his feet and she took a step backward wishing, not for the first time, that Jackson O’Neil wasn’t so damn sure of himself.
But he didn’t approach her. Instead he scooped up Maple and the blanket and carried the puppy through to the bedroom, leaving the door slightly ajar while Kayla watched in bemusement.
“What are you doing?”
“She’s too young to witness what we’re about to do.”
“We’re not about to do anything.” Her heart was pounding harder than when he’d emerged from the darkness. “This is not a good idea.”
“I think it’s the best idea either one of us has had in a long time.”
“You should go home, Jackson.”
“What I should do and what I often choose to do aren’t the same thing. Ask any one of the teachers I had growing up.” He was standing right in front of her now—lean, athletic and powerful.
She stared at the blue-black stubble that shadowed his jaw. And that proved to be a mistake because she just wanted to reach out and run her fingers over it. And she wanted to stand on tiptoe and press her face to his, feel that male roughness scrape the sensitive flesh of her cheek.
“You should go before we both do something stupid.” Her voice came out like a croak, and the corners of his mouth flickered into a smile.
“Go ahead. Do something stupid.”
Everything he said flustered her, and she wasn’t used to feeling flustered.
“I’d be using you,” she blurted out, “to fill this one night because I’m lonely. Do you really want to be used?”
“Hell, yes.” His laugh was deep and sexy. “How soon can you start?”
“You’re a client.”
“I don’t hear either of us talking about work right now.” His hand slid behind her head and into her hair, and his eyes were suddenly gentle. “So you’re lonely, Kayla Green?”
There was a long, pulsing silence.
“Yes.” It was a simple truth, but a truth she never admitted.
“Because it’s Christmas?”
“No. But it’s worse at Christmas. There’s nothing quite like being surrounded by family groups to remind a person they have no one. Not even someone to argue with or be irritated with.”
“I know people who will be happy to irritate the hell out of you. Anytime you want to spend time with them, just say the word.” His fingers were in her hair. His mouth close to hers. The gentleness had gone. His tone was rough and his eyes dark, the sexual chemistry so intense she couldn’t breathe. It pulled at her, melted low in her belly and fired her nerve endings.
“This would be a mistake.” She locked her hand in the front of his sweater, and his arm came around her waist.
“Mistakes are what make us human.” He spoke the words against her lips and then he was kissing her, his mouth hard and hungry, and she kissed him right back because he was all she wanted and needed. There was nothing in her head except this moment, and she slid her hands under his sweater, moaned as she felt the warmth of his skin and the ripple of male muscle under her palms.
“You feel good—” Frustrated by the barrier created by his clothing, she tugged, pulled, and he broke the kiss long enough to yank the sweater over his head along with the T-shirt he was wearing under it. They both staggered but he locked her against him again, and she slid her hands over his shoulders, feeling the hard swell and dip of muscle. “You’ve lifted a lot of logs in your time.”
“All part of the job.” With rough, impatient hands he parted her robe and inhaled. “If I’d known that was what you were wearing underneath there’s no way our conversation would have lasted as long as it did.”
She licked at his lips. “I’m not wearing anything.”
“That’s what I mean. Hell, Kayla—” With a groan, he backed her against the wall, trapping her between the smooth wood of the cabin and the hard heat of his body. And now, finally, she could see him properly. See the contours of those powerful shoulders, the dark curling hair that shadowed his chest, the swell of his biceps and the strength of his forearms as he pinned her there.
For a few indulgent seconds they just looked at each other.
She was breathing rapidly and so was he, his eyes so dark they no longer seemed blue.
“What happened to your underwear?” His voice was thickened and rough, loaded with the same tension that held