“I used to play when I was a kid, but I’m awfully rusty.”
“So am I,” he lied. She was giving in. He breathed again, and swallowed a solid lump of guilt. Zoe didn’t know what was coming, and what he had in mind was neither honorable nor fair. Another time, he’d exercise those principles.
Now he watched her lithe form lean over the table as she concentrated on the break. She was good. Balls scattered every which way, two so close to pockets that a breath of air would have nudged them in. More important to him was watching a little color come back into her cheeks. Maybe she didn’t really want to play, but she couldn’t live on that razor’s edge of tension forever.
“Darn,” she said. “You’d think one of those would have gone in.”
“They should have,” he agreed, casually aiming his cue. He dropped the four ball into a corner pocket, then used a bank shot to land the six in the side. “Must be my lucky night,” he mentioned.
“I’ll have my chance.”
“You bet you will.” And while she still believed it, he plopped the two, ten and twelve balls neatly in various pockets. Zoe was taking a sip of wine when he slowly hung up his pool cue.
She cocked her head. “It’s still your turn.”
“I won my five minutes,” he said gently. “That was all I wanted.”
“But the game isn’t over. I haven’t had a chance to catch up-”
“I’ll give you a chance to finish this game or start a new one some other time,” he promised her. “But not just now. These five minutes of total dominion are mine. Come here, Zoe.”
Odd, but her legs turned to lead and her heart was strangely pounding. “Now, wait a minute…”
The man could cross a room faster and more quietly than a tomcat on a spring night, and he was suddenly standing in front of her. Behind her was the pool table, which had about as much give as a brick wall. “No talking,” he murmured. “While you’re under my dominion, I make all the rules. You agreed to those terms, remember?”
“But I never thought you meant-”
“Shh.” He took the pool cue out of her hand and laid it on the table.
“This is not fair,” she declared mutinously. And to prove it, she remained an iceberg when he bent down to smooth his lips over hers.
He raised his head and smiled…and then stopped smiling. His voice was little more than a mesmerizing whisper. “For five minutes, I want you to relax. That’s all. You’re as tense as a kitten stranded on a limb. For five minutes, I want you to believe there’s someone waiting to catch you if you fall. For five minutes, I want you to let go…”
His fingers threaded through her hair, and his thumb brushed the line of her jaw. She intended to move. All of this was nonsense, just a silly game. The man had no real dominion over her, no real control. She could move if she wanted to. Any time she darn well pleased.
But when his lips touched hers a second time, his mouth was warm and mobile. The smell and shape and power of him surrounded her, and that kiss just kept coming. He tasted of wine, and his mouth moved with such alluring tenderness over hers, inviting her to share a cold winter night, teasing her with temptation…Her breasts tightened under her nightgown, and a shock of heat warmed the private parts of her body. Still, she didn’t move.
He murmured, “Your arms are just dangling there, Zoe. Put them around my neck.”
“Rafe-”
“I still have four minutes left. What on earth are you afraid might happen in four short minutes?”
Well, damn the man. A kiss, she supposed, was hardly worth the effort of fighting it. And four short minutes wouldn’t mean the end of the world.
She lifted her arms, and immediately felt the lance of a very different kind of kiss. His mouth took hers with devastating thoroughness. His hands possessively swept down her spine, and he molded her hard against him. Her heart was suddenly galloping inside her chest. Hunger, loneliness, the intimacy of his dark, dark eyes…he’d have her believe she was the first woman he’d touched in years. The only woman that he wanted to touch.
It was a trick, Zoe knew. A trick of time and place that she so quickly felt like that kitten on a high, shaky limb. Her fingers clutched for a hold on his neck, but not because she didn’t know better. Rafe understood too much for her sanity…but not enough. From the moment she’d met him, she had felt stranded on an emotional limb…and she was alone. No one could help her. No one would catch her if she fell.
For this moment, though, she couldn’t seem to move away. His soft tongue found a willing mate. She was lonely, too, and frightened-and all the emotional upheaval of the past week poured into a response she couldn’t control. He had the total dominion he wanted. She was afraid…of so much. And she had to hold on to someone.
His hand traced the shape of her breast, and her emotions became a shambles. There was something dangerous about a man who kissed so thoroughly that the earth moved. He wouldn’t make a safe, easy lover. He wanted too much. He took too much.
He gave too much. His hands protected as they claimed. His lips gave warmth as they sapped the will from her. His body shielded her even as it tempted her toward danger. He made it far too easy to believe that she could fill his world, banish the loneliness, and when he finally lifted his head, she still wanted to believe. His eyes were a searing blue, luminous with need. The way he looked at her was more intimate, more knowing, more possessive than even his touch had been. “You’re beautiful,” he said softly.
She shook her head.
“Yes.” He stroked her hair. “I knew you’d be fire. And sweetness. I didn’t know how much. Lord, you’re so giving.”
“I’m not,” she breathed. When he said nothing, she stepped back from him. “Rafe, this can’t happen again.”
She wanted an answer, but got none. He made no move to stop her from leaving the room, but she could feel his eyes on her back until she was out of his sight. A shiver chased up her spine as she climbed the stairs.
Long after the household was totally still, she lay wide awake in the darkness.
Chapter Four
At 5:45 the next morning, coffee was perking and so was Zoe. Wearing a favorite striped shirt tucked neatly into jeans, she’d already set the table for four and was dipping bread into egg batter for French toast. Although she suspected that no sane human being would choose to be awake at this ungodly hour, she felt ready for anything.
Her whole problem the night before, she’d told herself, was exhaustion. When she was overtired, a woman would be prone to exaggerate things…like magic, for example. Like the impact of an embrace. Like the empathy and caring that had miraculously seemed to spring up between two relative strangers.
At two o’clock in the morning, she’d still been reading herself the riot act. Rafe already had a woman, and Zoe was smart enough to understand the dangerous relationship of chemistry, convenience and forced proximity. More important than that, she seemed to have totally forgotten the only reason she was here, which was to ease the kids into Rafe’s life. She wasn’t about to forget that again. No more kisses. No more total-dominion games. No more hums.
“Good morning!” She greeted the pair of mop-haired redheads in the door.
Parker was trailing his blanket; Aaron was just behind him. Both had managed to put on overalls and shirts, but they had shared socks. Each wore a blue and a red one.
“What’s for breakfast, Snookums?” Parker asked.
“French toast. Sound good?”
Aaron squinched his nose. “I hate French toast.”
“Ah…” Without the least hesitation, Zoe scooped the French toast off the sizzling griddle and plopped it into the disposal. “Scrambled eggs, then.” She added several more eggs to what had been the beginnings of French-toast batter and congratulated herself on being flexible. Nothing could throw her if she didn’t let it, another principle she seemed to have forgotten yesterday.