She flushed. "Who told you that?"
The anger seemed to leave him as suddenly as it appeared and he slid back into the armchair, looking tired somehow.
"Cole. One day when we were working on the car, he told me his dad walked out on you for his twenty-year-old girlfriend. He abandoned all of you to move to Europe with her. Cole calls him Dick the Prick, by the way. Sounds pretty apt, from what he's told me."
A startled laugh escaped her. Oh, Richard would hate that. "It's apt. Believe me."
She had never heard Cole say anything derogatory about his father and she couldn't quite fathom him telling Seth all that. From the way Cole had treated her since Richard had moved to France, she had been certain he blamed her for his father's defection. What was it about Seth that made Cole trust him with the truth? Her son had opened up to this man in a way he hadn't to the family therapist they'd seen after the divorce, or to her, or to his grandfather.
She didn't understand it, but she could only be grateful for the comfort it gave her to know that perhaps her son didn't hate her after all.
"Until the day Richard told me he was leaving, I had no idea he was cheating on me. I was completely oblivious. I thought I had the perfect life, the perfect marriage. You wouldn't believe how smug and self-righteous I was. I even used to give relationship advice to my friends! And all the time, my husband was sleeping with another woman."
"You think that automatically makes you a lousy judge of character? Because you made one mistake? Because you didn't know your husband was cheating? Maybe he was just a master manipulator."
She definitely could see that now, but at the time she'd been completely oblivious to it. What if Seth was doing the same thing to her and she was too blind to see it?
"Maybe you are, too. How do I know you're not cut from the same cloth, that you won't say anything, do anything, to charm your way into a woman's bed?"
She regretted her words as soon as she said them, especially when his eyes darkened with some emotion that looked suspiciously like hurt. "Is that really what you think?"
"I don't want to think that," she whispered. "When I'm with you, I want to believe every word you tell me. It's when I step back that all the doubts crowd in and I can't understand what we're doing here. Why would a man like you even want to be with me?"
His laugh sounded raspy and rough. "You have no idea what you do to me, do you?"
She blinked, then her heart seemed to flutter when he stood up and pulled her to her feet as well.
"Fine," he growled. "I'll show you."
He kissed her and the heat in it scorched her right to her bare toes. She curled them into the carpet and just held on, swept into the firestorm he stirred inside her.
After those first fiery moments that left her nerve endings ablaze, he gentled the kiss and his mouth was achingly tender.
"I want you, Jenny," he said softly against her mouth, sending tiny ripples of need through her. "But if this was only about sex, I could have done something about it weeks ago."
Though she felt boneless and weak from his kiss, somehow she marshaled enough strength to give him a skeptical look. "You're so sure about that?"
In answer, he kissed her again, until her hands wrapped around his neck and she had to hold on tight to keep from melting onto the carpet.
"Pretty sure, yeah," he murmured, with a supreme confidence she couldn't deny, given the evidence she had just provided him.
"You tremble every time I touch you. Did you know that? Even if I just happen to brush up against you when we're walking somewhere. That's an incredibly arousing thing for a man, to know he has that kind of effect on a woman."
Her face burned. She thought she had hid her reaction so well. It was the height of humiliation to learn he'd known all along.
But his eyes were anything but gloating. "You have no idea how hard it's been for me to keep my hands off you these last few weeks. If this had just been about getting you into bed, we would have been there a long time ago. But if nothing else, that alone should tell you that you mean more to me than that. I haven't pushed you. I've been patient and low-key and noble, while I've been burning up from the inside out."
"Seth—"
Whatever she wanted to say was lost against his mouth when he kissed her again, this time with a slow and gentle tenderness that made her eyes burn with emotion.
"I care about you, Jenny. Not just you but Morgan and Cole, too. There's something between us. Something I've never known before, something I don't quite know what to do with. You scare the hell out of me and that alone ought to tell you this is different than anything I've ever experienced. I've never been afraid of any woman. Well, not since Agnes Arbuckle, my junior-high English teacher."
She smiled, trying to imagine him sitting in a classroom giving book reports and learning to diagram sentences.
"You scare me, too," she murmured, but she defied her own words by tugging him closer and kissing him.
Despite everything, in his arms she felt safe from the storms outside, from the howling wind of her own uncertainties and the lashing, pounding ice crystals of self-doubt.
They stood for a long time wrapped around each other while the fire sparked and hissed. All those tender, frightening emotions of that night in her garage came rushing back and she was helpless against them.
She wasn't sure how—everything seemed a blur but his mouth and his hands and his strength—but somehow they ended up in the bedroom of their suite.
He lowered her to the mattress of the canopy bed, and she shivered as his big, powerful body pressed her into the thick, fluffy comforter. Next to all his hard muscles, she felt small and feminine and wanted.
He gazed at her in the glow from the firelight, his eyes glittering, then he kissed her again and she surrendered to the magic.
He trailed kisses down her neck and she moaned, writhing as he unerringly found every one of her most sensitive spots—and a few she'd never realized were there.
"You smell so good." His voice was rough and aroused. "There's this meadow up in the high country where we take our cattle. In early summer it explodes with wildflowers. Lupine, columbine, Queen Anne's lace. A hundred different colors. There's nothing I love more than riding a horse across it just after a rainstorm, when everything smells fresh and sweet and gorgeous."
He trailed kisses to the V-neck of her sweater, then up the other side again. "Every time I'm near you, I feel like it's June and I'm standing in the middle of that meadow with the sun warm on my face."
Oh, he was good. Everything inside her seemed to stretch and purr and she finally had to slide her mouth to his, just to stop the unbearably seductive flow of his words.
For long moments, they touched and kissed and explored, until she was breathless, trembling with need.
Finally, when she wasn't sure she could bear any more, Seth rolled onto his back, breathing hard.
"We're going to have to stop here, sweetheart. After a month of foreplay, I'm just about at the limit of my self-control where you're concerned."
She shifted her head on the pillow and studied him, those gorgeous eyes hazy with need, those sculpted, masculine features that made her ache just looking at him.
"Stop it," he ordered darkly.
"What?"
"Looking at me like that. You're not making this easier. Sometimes it's hell trying to do the right thing."
He was right. They should stop teasing each other before they passed the point of no return.
She knew making love would be a mistake right now, that she would have to face a mountain of regrets in the morning.
But this might be her only chance with him. Despite his tender words, she knew she couldn't hang on to him for long. Soon enough, she would return to real life. To parent-teacher conferences and doctor appointments and the responsibilities that sometimes seemed more than she could bear.
But for now they were here alone together, sheltered from the storm in this romantic room.
Sh
e wanted to live. For once, she wanted to throw caution into the teeth of that blizzard and grab hold of her dreams.
She smiled and reached to touch his face, her fingers curving along his jaw. "Why don't we just stop trying, then?"
He gazed at her for a long, charged heartbeat and she thought for a moment he would be noble and walk away. Then he made a low, aroused sound and kissed her with a ferocity that took her breath away.
He'd been holding all this back, she realized, stunned to her soul as he nipped and tasted.
The hunger rose inside her and she needed closer contact between them. With fingers that trembled, she worked the buttons of his shirt, until all those hard muscles were bared to her hot gaze and her exploring fingers. She smoothed a hand over his chest and was stunned by the rapid pulse of his heart.
He let her touch and explore him for a long time. Finally, his eyes heavy-lidded, he pushed her back against the pillows and pulled off her sweater in one smooth motion, leaving her only in her bra and slacks.
She had to wonder if some subconscious yearning for just this had compelled her to wear something besides her usual no-nonsense white underclothes. Instead, she had picked a pair of black tap pants and a matching lacy bra. She could only be glad for the instinct when his eyes darkened.
"Well, well," he said, his voice low, rough. "Who would have guessed the elementary school principal likes naughty underwear? I think there are hidden depths to you, Ms. Boyer."
She could feel herself blush and cursed her redhead's skin, especially when so much was exposed.
He didn't seem to mind. "You have the most incredible skin I've ever seen," he murmured, then his mouth dipped to the V of her bra. "Pale and creamy, like fresh, warm milk. Except when you blush, then it makes me think of strawberries. Plump, juicy strawberries melting in my mouth."
"I get sunburned just walking to the mailbox. It's a redhead's curse."
She completely forgot her train of thought—why she could possibly think her complexion woes might be of interest to anyone—when his hands reached the front clasp of her bra and he slid the lingerie away from her body.
Suddenly she wasn't convinced this was such a good idea.
Why hadn't she thought this through a little better? Sexy lingerie could only take her so far in situations like this.
She was thirty-six years old and had given birth to two children, one now a teenager. Her stomach hadn't been flat for fourteen years and right about the time she hit thirty, she'd started needing underwires in her bras.
That blasted self-doubt suddenly came rushing back and she wanted to yank the comforter over her. She couldn't compare very favorably to all the sweet young things he was used to.
She braced herself to meet his gaze, suddenly afraid of what she would see there.
She wasn't prepared for the blazing tenderness in his eyes, for the heat and the hunger that seared her.
For a moment, something stunned, almost overwhelmed, flickered in his eyes and she would have given anything to know what he was thinking. He didn't say anything to assuage her curiosity, just continued to gaze at her until she couldn't bear it anymore.
She pulled him to her and lost herself in the storm.
A long time later, after he had divested them both of the rest of their clothing and they had teased and tasted until they were both trembling with need, he framed her face in his hands and kissed her with more of that aching tenderness.
She wrapped her arms around him and held on, their gazes locked, as he entered her. Her entire body seemed to sigh a welcome and she arched to meet him.
"You scare the hell out of me," he repeated softly.
"What?" she teased on a moan, feeling more powerful than she ever had in her life. "A big strong man like you afraid of a little thing like me?"
He repaid her by thrusting deeper until she felt every muscle inside her contract. With one more arch of his body, she climaxed suddenly and wildly, gasping his name as wave after wave of sensation poured over her.
His mouth found hers and his kiss was fierce and possessive as he swallowed the rest of her cries. He gave her only seconds to recover before he thrust into her again. To her astonishment, her body rose instantly to meet him again.
His breathing was ragged as he reached between their bodies and touched her. She exploded again in a hot fireburst of sparks and this time he followed her, his mouth hard on hers as he found release.
* * *
He awoke in the night to find himself in a strange bed with a warm woman in his arms and the smell of rain-washed wildflowers surrounding him.
Jenny.
They were snuggled together like spoons, her sweet little derriere pressed against him and his arm resting across a very convenient portion of her anatomy.
He shifted on the pillow so he could see her, that wispy red-gold hair, the delicate line of her jaw, her creamy skin that tasted every bit as delicious as it looked.
A strange tenderness welled up in his chest like the hot springs in the high country above the Cold Creek.
He wasn't used to this complete sense of rightness he experienced with her in his arms.
It was odd for him. He'd always been a little uncomfortable spending the entire night with a woman and was usually pretty good at finding excuses to go home before this particular stage in the game.
But he couldn't imagine a single place on earth he would rather be at this moment than right here with the snow still drifting down outside and Jenny warm and soft in his arms.
She was still asleep. He could feel her breasts rise and fall in an even rhythm against his arm, and he tightened his hold, astonished at the contentment pouring through him.
Was this what his brothers woke to every morning? If so, he wondered how the hell either of them managed to climb out of bed at all.
He'd been with his share of women. More than his share, probably, if truth be told. Right now, he saw all those other encounters for what they were. A desperate, pathetic search for exactly this kind of tenderness, for the close connection he and Jenny had shared.
Everything that had come before seemed suddenly tawdry and cheap and he was ashamed of himself for thinking those quick encounters could ever make him happy.
They might have offered momentary pleasure—he couldn't deny that—but it was like the tiny glow from a birthday candle compared to the million-watt floodlights of joy burning in him with Jenny in his arms.
He didn't have a name for all the emotions pouring through him. He suspected what they might be, but he wasn't sure he was quite ready to admit to them yet.
His arms tightened around her again, and at the movement, she stirred.
"Sorry," he murmured in her ear. "I didn't mean to wake you."
"Is everything okay?" she asked, her voice rough from sleep.
He kissed the long, slender column of her neck and felt that slow, astonishing tremble.
"Oh, much better than okay. Everything is perfect."
Chapter Fourteen
Jenny wasn't sure how many times they made love in the night. She couldn't seem to get enough of this wild heat between them.
This was probably number four. Or maybe five. She wasn't sure, she just knew she had awakened some time before to find sunlight streaming through the window and Seth beside her, his face shadowed with stubble and a certain warmth in his eyes she'd come to know well in the night.
"Looks like the storm's stopped," he said.
They would have to leave soon, she knew, but for now the man she loved with a fierceness that shocked her was here in her arms, and she wasn't ready to let him go.
She kissed him, her hands tracing the hard planes of chest then heading south. She was enjoying the anticipation curling through her—the way his stomach muscles contracted as she touched him—when suddenly her cell phone went off.
During a bored moment a few weeks ago, Morgan had programmed it to play a vocal version of Jingle Bells for the ringtone and they both stared at it as the merry litt
le tune chirped through the room.
"I should get that," she finally said when the singers had sung the first verse and started jingling all the way.
"Do you have to?" He kissed the spot just below her ear he had somehow discovered drove her crazy and she groaned.
She had a wild urge to abandon good sense and let the thing ring, but already that world she feared so much was intruding on their haven. She was a woman with responsibilities and she couldn't just throw them out the window—no matter how much she might want to.
With a deep, regretful sigh, she reached for her phone on the bedside table. "It might be Dad or one of the kids. I have to see."
He sighed and slid away slightly, though he stayed far too close for her to keep a coherent thought.
She didn't recognize the incoming number but she answered it anyway, hoping the caller couldn't hear that ragged edge to her voice.
"Hello?"
There was a pause for three or four seconds. "Jen? Is that you?" she finally heard and her heart sank as she recognized Marcy Weller's voice.
She sat up, pulling the sheets around her.
"Hi Marcy. How are you?"
Her assistant gave a crazed-sounding laugh. "Oh, just dandy. I'm only in charge of planning a dinner party for fifty people in ten hours and the caterer has to pick today of all days to go flaky on me."
The faculty party. She hadn't given it a thought since the day before. How much power did Seth hold over her if he could make her completely forget something she'd been obsessing about for weeks?
In an effort to shore up the sagging morale at the school and to try yet again to make a connection with her staff—some of whom were still resentful the school board had brought in an outsider—she'd decided to dig into her own savings to throw a party for the faculty and staff at the school. Marcy had offered her parents' large, elegant house as the venue since they were traveling during the holidays.
Her vivacious assistant had taken over the party planning, handling all the details and leaving Jenny only to worry.
Which she'd forgotten to do for the last twenty-four hours.
She gathered her thoughts and tried to sound professional and composed. "What do you mean? What's wrong with Allen?"
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