It Had to Be You (Chicago Stars Book 1)

As Phoebe looked down at the videotape that lay on the passenger seat next to her, she knew that showing up unannounced at Dan Calebow’s house was the stupidest thing she’d ever done. But instead of turning Bert’s Cadillac around and going back home, she peered through the glare of the headlights toward the side of the road trying to find the wooden mailbox that Krystal Greer had told her to watch for. As she looked, she rehearsed what she would say when she got there.

She would be very casual, tell Dan that Paul had shown up with the videotape not long after he’d left the party. She’d known Dan wanted to see the tape before he went to bed, and she’d decided to deliver it since it was such a beautiful night for a drive. No trouble, really.

She frowned. It was one o’clock in the morning, so maybe she shouldn’t say anything about it being a beautiful night for a drive. Maybe she’d simply say she hadn’t been sleepy and had felt like taking a drive to relax.

The truth was, she wanted to see him again before she lost her nerve. She had been deeply shaken by that moment when she’d felt such an overpowering urge to kiss him. Now she needed to see him alone, where they wouldn’t be interrupted, to try to discover what those feelings meant.

She could come up with a million reasons she shouldn’t be attracted to him, but none of those reasons explained the way he had made her feel tonight, as if her body were slowly coming alive. The sensation was both terrifying and exhilarating. He hadn’t made any secret of the fact that he disliked her, but at the same time, she sensed he was attracted to her.

Without warning, she felt tears gathering in her eyes. For years she hadn’t even let herself dream that something like this could happen. Was she being a fool or was there a chance she might be ready to reclaim her womanhood?

Her headlights picked up the wooden mailbox, and she blinked her eyes. There was no name on it, but the number was right, and she braked as she turned into the narrow, graveled country lane. The night was cloudy, with barely enough moonlight to reveal an old orchard. She drove across a small wooden bridge and around a gentle curve before she saw the lights.

The rambling stone farmhouse wasn’t anything like the sleek bachelor’s pad she had imagined. Built of wood and stone, it had three chimneys and a wing off to one side. Steps led up to an old-fashioned front porch that was surrounded by a spindled railing. In the welcoming light that glowed through the front windows, she saw that the shutters and front door were painted a pearly gray.

Her tires crunched in the gravel as she pulled up to the house and turned off the ignition. Abruptly, the exterior lights went out followed by the interior ones. She hesitated. She must have caught him just as he was going to bed. Still, he wasn’t asleep yet.

Snatching the videotape up from the seat before she lost her nerve, she opened the car door and stepped out. An owl hooted in the distance, an eerie sound that made her even more uneasy. As she walked cautiously toward the front porch, she wished it weren’t so dark.

Resting her hand on the railing, she gingerly climbed the four stone steps. In the thick darkness the chirp of the crickets sounded ominous instead of friendly, like creaking hinges in a haunted house. She couldn’t find a doorbell, only a heavy iron knocker. She lifted it, then flinched as it hit with a dull thud.

Seconds ticked by, but no one answered. Growing increasingly nervous, she rapped again, then wished she hadn’t because she knew she had made a terrible mistake. This was embarrassing. There was no way she could explain her presence. What had she been thinking of? She was going to slip away and—

She gasped as a hand clamped over her mouth. Before she could react, a powerful arm grabbed her around the waist from behind. All the blood drained from her head and her legs buckled as she found herself pinioned.

A menacing voice whispered in her ear. “I’m taking you into the woods.”

She was paralyzed with fear. She tried to scream but she couldn’t make a sound. It was just like the night when she was eighteen. Her feet left the ground, and he carried her down the steps as if she weighed nothing. Blackness and panic suffocated her. He dragged her toward the trees with his mouth pressed against her ear.

“Fight me,” he whispered. “Fight hard, even though you know it won’t do you any good.”

The sound of that familiar accent penetrated her panic, and she realized it was Dan holding her captive! Her mind reeled. It was happening again! She had been attracted to him, flirted with him, and now he was going to rape her! Her paralysis unlocked. She couldn’t let this happen to her a second time.

She began a desperate struggle for her freedom, kicking and trying to jab him with her elbows, but he was strong, so much stronger than she, with iron-hard muscles that had been shaped by years of physical conditioning. He hauled her into the woods as if she weighed no more than a child. She tried to scream, but the pressure of his hand on her mouth was merciless.

“That’s good. You’re putting up a good fight, sweetheart. You’re making me work for it.”

She bucked in his arms and tried to scream beneath his palm, but he held her fast. She could dimly make out a round wooden structure ahead, and as he dragged her closer, she saw that it was a gazebo.

“I’m going to give it to you good,” he whispered. “Just the way you like it. Give you that hurt you want so bad.” He hauled her up the steps through an arched opening in the ivy-covered latticed walls. He wasn’t even breathing hard.

“You’re going to be helpless. I can do anything to you I want and you won’t be able to stop me.”

He dragged her into the darkness, and terror clawed at her the same way it had in that hot, dark pool shed so long ago. Keeping one hand clamped over her mouth, he shoved the other under her skirt and reached for the waistband of her panties.

“First I’m gonna rip these off.”

The awful sounds coming from deep in her throat were garbled from the pressure of his palm. She hadn’t wanted this. Please, God, don’t let this happen to her again. Once again, she heard that horrible whisper at her ear.

“Maybe I should start here instead. Is that what you want me to do?”

He released her mouth and grabbed the bodice of her dress in his fist. With one hard jerk, he ripped.

Two things happened simultaneously. A violent scream erupted from her lips. And the hand cupping her breast froze.

“Val?”

He groped her breast. His entire body stiffened. And then he jumped away from her as if she were radioactive.

She began to sob. The amber glow from a yellow bug light mounted on a post suddenly flooded the interior of the small gazebo, illuminating outdoor furniture, a sisal rug, and the fact that he was staring at her in horror.

“Phoebe! Jesus . . . Jesus, Phoebe, I’m sorry, I— I didn’t know it was you. I— Val was supposed to . . .”

Her teeth were chattering and her whole body had begun to shake. Where he had ripped her dress, the bodice gaped, revealing one of her breasts. She clawed at the material, while she backed away, tears running down her cheeks.

“Phoebe . . .” He rushed toward her.

She leapt back, frantically clutching her torn dress. “Don’t touch me!” she sobbed.

He froze and backed away, holding up his hands. “I’m not going to hurt you. I can explain. It’s all a mistake. I didn’t know it was you. I—I thought you were my ex-wife. She was meeting me here.”

“Is that supposed to make it better?” Her teeth wouldn’t stop chattering, and her chest spasmed as she tried to swallow her sobs.

He took another step, and once again she backed away. He immediately stopped moving. “You don’t understand.”

“You bastard! You perverted bastard!”

“Dan!”

Phoebe froze as she heard the sound of a woman’s voice.

“Dan! Where are you?”

Relief washed through her as she realized they were no longer alone. Then she saw the expression of entreaty in his eyes and watched as he pressed one finger to his lips, commanding her silence.

“Here!” she shouted. “In here!”

He dipped his head. “Shit.”

“Dan?” A slim, attractive woman wearing a simple floral cotton dress stepped into the gazebo. “I heard a—”

She broke off as she saw Phoebe. Her gaze flew to Dan. “What’s going on?”

“What we have here,” he said unhappily, “is a case of mistaken identity.”

The woman took in Phoebe’s torn dress and mussed hair. Her eyes widened in consternation. “Oh, God.”

As Phoebe’s terror began to ease, she realized something was happening here that she didn’t understand.

“It was dark,” he told the woman, “and I thought she was you.”

The woman pressed her fingertips to one temple. “Is she discreet?”

“Discreet, hell! She’s scared to death! Can’t you see what I’ve done to her?”

The woman’s voice grew so cool and businesslike that Phoebe immediately hated her. “Who is she?”

“Phoebe Somerville,” he replied, apparently realizing that Phoebe was in no condition to answer for herself.

“The Stars’ owner?”

“One and the same.” He turned back to Phoebe and, speaking softly, said, “This is Valerie Calebow, Phoebe. My ex-wife. She’s also a member of the United States Congress, but, despite that, you can trust her. Valerie is going to explain to you that I wasn’t trying to hurt you, and she’s going to tell you exactly what you walked into.”

Valerie’s forehead puckered in dismay. “Dan, I can hardly—”

“Do it!” he snapped, his expression murderous. “She’s not in any state to listen to me right now.”

She picked her words carefully, her expression stiff. “Miss Somerville, although Dan I are divorced, we have chosen to continue an intimate relationship. We are both rather adventurous lovers, and—”

“Speak for yourself, Val. I’d have been happy with a double bed and some Johnny Mathis tapes.”

“Are you blaming me for what happened?”

“No,” he sighed. “It was my fault. You both have light hair, and you’re about the same height. It was dark.”

“Dan and I had made arrangements to meet here tonight. I had an official function to attend so I was a bit late. Unfortunately, Miss Somerville, he mistook you for me.”

Slowly, Phoebe began to comprehend what had happened, but she could only stare at the woman in bewilderment. “Are you telling me that you wanted him to treat you like that?”

Valerie refused to meet her eyes. “I’m afraid I have to go. I’m sorry you received such a fright. I only hope you understand how delicate this matter is. As an elected official, it would be extremely awkward for me if anyone were to find out.”

“For chrissake, Val—”

She spun on him. “Shut up, Dan. This could put an end to my career. I want her assurance that she won’t tell anyone.”

“Who would I tell?” Phoebe said helplessly. “No one would believe me anyway.”

“I’m sorry.” Valerie gave her an awkward nod and quickly left the gazebo.

Phoebe didn’t want to be alone with him. She was immediately conscious of his oppressive physical size, the muscles straining the too-tight sleeves of his knit shirt. Holding the front of her dress together, she began to move toward the vine-draped opening in the gazebo’s latticework.

“Please sit down,” he said quietly. “I promise I won’t come near you, but we have to talk.”

“It’s all a game to the two of you, isn’t it?” she whispered. “That’s how you get your kicks.”

“Yes.”

“It wasn’t a game to me.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“How could you do something like that?”

“It’s what she likes.”

“But why?”

“She’s a strong woman. Powerful. Sometimes she gets tired of always being in control.”

“She’s sick, and so are you!”

“Don’t judge, Phoebe. She’s not sick, and until tonight, what went on between the two of us had nothing to do with anyone else.”

She started to shake again. “You were going to— What if you hadn’t stopped?”

“I’d have stopped. The minute I felt your—” He cleared his throat. “Valerie’s a little more flat-chested than you.”

Her knees weren’t going to hold her any longer, and she collapsed into the nearest chair. He came toward her cautiously, as if he were afraid she would start to scream again.

“What were you doing here?”

She took a shaky breath. “Paul showed up at the party not long after you left. I— I brought you the videotape you wanted.” She made a helpless gesture as she realized she’d dropped it.

“But I told Ronald not to send it over tonight.”

“I thought— I wasn’t sleepy, and— Never mind, it was a stupid idea.”

“You can say that again.”

“I’m going.” By bracing her hands on the arms of the chair, she managed to rise to her feet.

“You need a few minutes to settle down before you try to drive. I’ll tell you what. I didn’t get anything to eat at the party and I’m hungry. Let me make us some sandwiches. How about it?”

There was a boyish eagerness to please in his expression that alleviated some of her residual fear, but he was too large, too strong, and she hadn’t recovered from those moments when the past seemed to be repeating itself. “I’d better be going.”

“You’re afraid to be alone with me, aren’t you?”

“I’m just tired, that’s all.”

“You’re scared.”

“I was completely helpless. You’re a strong man. You can’t imagine what it’s like.”

“No, I can’t. But it’s over now. I won’t hurt you. You know that, don’t you?”

She nodded slowly. She did know it, but it was still hard for her to relax.

He smiled at her. “I know why you want to rush home. You’re going to wake up your little sister so you can start slapping her around again.”

Mystified, she stared at him. “What are you talking about?”

“Miz Molly and I had an interesting conversation tonight. But I’m not going to tell you about it unless you let me fix you something to eat.”

She saw the spark of challenge in his eyes. He was the coach now, testing her mettle, just as he tested his men. She knew he wasn’t going to hurt her. If she ran away this time, would she ever stop?

“All right. Just for a bit.”

The unfamiliar path was difficult to maneuver in the dark. She stumbled once, but he didn’t take her arm to help her, and she wondered if he knew that she would have fallen apart if he had touched her in the dark.

As they walked, he tried to put her at ease by telling her about the farmhouse. “I bought this place last year and had it renovated. There’s an orchard and a stable where I can keep a couple of horses if I want. I’ve got trees on this place that are a hundred years old.”

They reached the front porch. He bent down to retrieve the videotape she’d dropped, then opened the front door and flipped on a light before he let her in. She saw a staircase off to the left and an archway to the right that led to the side wing of the house. She followed him through it into a spacious open area that was rustic and welcoming.

The exposed stone on the longest wall glowed buttery in the light of the lamps he turned on. The room encompassed a comfortable two-story living area and a cozy, old-fashioned kitchen with a snug loft tucked above it under the eaves. The scrubbed pine floor held an assortment of furniture including a couch in a hunter green plaid with red and yellow accents, soft, oversized chairs, and an old pine cupboard. A wooden bench bearing decades of nicks and scars from tools served as a coffee table and held an old checkerboard sitting next to a pile of books. Chunky wooden candlesticks, stoneware crocks, and several antique metal banks rested on the mantel above the big stone fireplace. She had expected him to be surrounded by marble statues of naked women, not live in this comfortable rural haven that seemed so much a part of the Illinois prairie.

He handed her a soft blue chambray shirt. “You might want to put this on. There’s a bathroom off the kitchen.”

She realized she was still clutching the front of her dress. Taking the shirt from him, she excused herself and went into the bathroom. As she gazed at her reflection in the mirror, she saw that her eyes were large and vulnerable, windows into all her secrets. She straightened her hair with her fingers and rubbed at the mascara smudges with a tissue. Only when she felt calm did she leave the bathroom.

The shirt he had given her hung to mid-thigh, and she rolled up the sleeves as she came into the kitchen where he was pulling a loaf of whole wheat bread and a package of sandwich meat from the refrigerator.

“How about roast beef?”

“I’m not much of a beef eater.”

“I’ve got some salami here, or turkey breast.”

“Plain cheese would be fine.”

“Grilled cheese? I’m real good at that.”

He was so eager to please, she couldn’t help smiling. “All right.”

“Do you want wine or a beer? I’ve also got some iced tea.”

“Iced tea, please.” She took a seat at an old butternut drop leaf table.

He poured both of them a glass and then began fixing the sandwiches. A copy of Stephen Hawking’s A Brief History of Time lay open on the table. She used it as an opportunity to restore some semblance of normality between them. “Pretty heavy reading for a jock.”

“If I sound out all the words, it’s not too bad.”

She smiled.

He tossed the sandwiches into an iron skillet. “It’s an interesting book. Gives you a lot to think about: quarks, gravity waves, black holes. I always liked science when I was in school.”

“I think I’ll wait for the movie.” Taking a sip of iced tea, she pushed the book aside. “Tell me what happened with Molly.”

He braced his hip against the edge of the stove. “That kid’s a crackerjack. I met her inside when I was making my phone call. She told me some pretty hair-raising things about you.”

“Like what?”

“Like the fact that you’re keeping her a prisoner in the house. You tear up her mail, put her on bread and water when you’re mad at her. And you’re slapping her around.”

“What!” Phoebe nearly knocked over her iced tea.

“She told me it doesn’t hurt.”

Phoebe was flabbergasted. “Why would she say something like that?”

“She doesn’t seem to like you too much.”

“I know. She’s like a fussy maiden aunt. She disapproves of the way I dress; she doesn’t think my jokes are funny. She doesn’t even like Pooh.”

“That might be good judgment on her part.”

She glared at him.

He smiled. “As a matter of fact, your dog was cuddled around her ankles most of the time we talked. They seemed to be old friends.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Well, I might be wrong.”

“She honestly told you I slap her?”

“Yes, ma’am. She said you weren’t evil, just twisted. I believe she compared you with somebody named Rebecca. The first Mrs. de Winter.”

“Rebecca?” Understanding dawned, and she shook her head. “All that talk about Dostoyevski and the little stinker is reading Daphne du Maurier.” For a moment she was thoughtful. “How do you know she wasn’t telling you the truth? Adults slap children all the time.”

“Phoebe, when you were standing on the sidelines at the game, you looked like you were going to faint whenever anybody took a hard hit. Besides, you just don’t have the killer instinct.” He turned to flip the sandwiches. “For example—correct me if I’m wrong here—but I’m guessing it’s more than a fickle appetite that made you turn down Viktor’s barbecue that day we ate in your kitchen, not to mention that good sandwich meat I’ve got in my refrigerator.”

This man definitely saw too much. “All those nitrates aren’t healthy.”

“Uh-huh. Come on, sweetheart, you can tell Papa Dan your ugly little secret. You’re a vegetarian, aren’t you.”

“Lots of people don’t eat meat,” she said defensively.

“Yeah, but most of them are on their soapbox about it. You don’t say a thing.”

“It’s nobody’s business. I simply happen to like unclogged arteries, that’s all.”

“Now, Phoebe, you’re wiggling around the truth again. I have a feeling your eating habits don’t have anything to do with your arteries.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Tell me the truth now.”

“All right! I like animals. It’s not a crime! Even when I was a child I couldn’t stand the idea of eating one of them.”

“Why are you so secretive about it?”

“I don’t mean to be secretive. It’s just— I’m not philosophically pure. I won’t wear fur, but I have a closet full of leather shoes and belts, and I hate all those hair-splitting discussions people try to push you into. Some of my reticence is habit, I guess. The housemother at my old boarding school used to make it rough on me.”

“How was that?”

“We once had a showdown over a pork chop when I was eleven years old. I ended up sitting at the dinner table most of the night.”

“Thinking about Piglet, I bet.”

“How did you know?”

“It’s pretty obvious you’re a big A.A. Milne fan, honey.” His eyes were warm with amusement. “Go on. What happened?”

“The housemother eventually called Bert. He yelled at me, but I couldn’t eat it. After that, the other girls came to my rescue. They took turns sneaking my meat onto their plates.”

“That doesn’t entirely explain why you’re so secretive about it now.”

“Most people think vegetarianism is a little kooky, and my kook quotient is high enough as it is.”

“I don’t think I ever met anybody other than football players who invests so much energy in pretending to be tough.”

“I am tough.”

“Sure you are.”

His grin annoyed her. “Just because I wasn’t strong enough to fight you off tonight doesn’t mean I’m not tough.”

He immediately looked so stricken that she wished she’d held her tongue.

“I’m really sorry about that. I’ve never hurt a woman in my life. Well, except for Valerie, but that was—”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

He turned off the heat under the skillet and walked over to the table. “I’ve explained what happened, and I’ve apologized every way I know how. Will you accept my honest apology, or is this going to be lurking around every time we’re together?”

His eyes were so full of concern she had a nearly uncontrollable urge to slip into his arms and ask him if he would just hold her for a few minutes. “I accept your apology.”

“An honest acceptance or one of those female things where a woman tells a man she forgives him for something, but then spends all her spare time thinking up ways to make him feel guilty?”

“Does Valerie do that?”

“Honey, every woman I’ve been close to has done that.”

She tried to slip back into her old role. “Life’s tough when you’re irresistible to the opposite sex.”

“Spoken by someone who knows.”

When she attempted to frame a retort, nothing came out, and she realized that she didn’t have any resources left to play the part she had staked out for herself. “Those sandwiches must be just about done by now.”

He went back to the stove, where he checked the bottoms of the sandwiches with a spatula, then lifted them out of the skillet. After neatly halving them, he returned to the table with two brown pottery plates and sat in one of the captain’s chairs.

For several minutes they ate in silence. Finally, he broke it. “Don’t you want to talk to me about the game today?”

“Not really.”

“Aren’t you going to second-guess me on that double reverse? The sportswriters are going to rake me over the coals for that one.”

“What’s a double reverse?”

He grinned. “I’m beginning to see that there are some definite advantages to working for you.”

“You mean because I don’t have any secret desire to coach the team myself?”

He nodded and bit into his sandwich.

“I’d never do that. Although I do think you might consider opening up the offense more and starting Bryzski instead of Reynolds.”

He stared at her, and she smiled. “Some of Bert’s cronies got to me in the skybox.”

He smiled back. “The reporters were upset that you didn’t show up at the postgame press conference. People are curious about you.”

“They’ll just have to stay that way. I’ve seen a few of those postgame interviews. A person would actually have to know something about football to answer the questions.”

“You’ll have to talk to the press sooner or later. Ronald can help you through it.”

She remembered that Dan still thought she and the general manager were personally involved. “I wish you wouldn’t be so negative about him. He’s doing a good job, and I certainly couldn’t function without him.”

“Is that so?”

“He’s a wonderful person.”

He regarded her intently as he picked up a paper napkin and rubbed it over his mouth. “He must be. A woman like you has a lot to choose from.”

She shrugged and listlessly picked at her sandwich.

“Damn. You’re sitting there looking like a mule that’s been kicked one too many times.”

“Gee, thanks.”

He balled his napkin and tossed it aside. “I can’t stand to think that I did this to you. Where are your guts, Phoebe? Where’s the woman who maneuvered me into taking Ronald back as GM?”

She stiffened. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Like hell you don’t. You conned me. It took me a couple of days to figure out your neat little scam. You and Ronald set me up. He actually had me convinced the two of you were lovers.”

She was relieved to see that he seemed annoyed rather than angry, but she picked her words carefully. “I don’t know why that’s so hard to believe. He’s a very attractive man.”

“I’ll have to take your word for it. But the fact is, the two of you aren’t lovers.”

“How do you know?”

“I just do, that’s all. I’ve seen the way you treat him when you think I’m watching: running your eyes all over him, nibbling on your bottom lip, cooing when you talk.”

“Isn’t that the way women behave with their lovers?”

“That’s just it. You behave the same way with the janitor.”

“I do not.”

“You behave like that with almost every man you meet.”

“So what?”

“Everybody but me.”

He watched her push away her uneaten sandwich. “You try to tantalize me with that man-eater body of yours, but you can’t pull it off very long, and the next thing I know, you’re staring at your feet or foolin’ around with your fingernails.” He leaned back in his chair. “It hasn’t escaped my notice that you stick your chest out for everybody in pants, but lately it seems I can hardly exchange two sentences with you before you’re hunching your shoulders. Now, why is that?”

“You have an overactive imagination.”

“I don’t think so.”

She stood. “It’s late. I have to go.”

He rose, too, and came around the end of the table to touch her for the first time since the incident in the gazebo. He was relieved when she didn’t flinch, but his stomach still clenched when he thought about what he’d done to her.

As she stood before him in his old blue shirt, she looked both beautiful and fragile, and he couldn’t remember ever meeting a woman so full of contradictions. He didn’t want to like her, but it was getting increasingly difficult not to.

He closed his hand over her shoulder. “Are you still afraid of me?”

“Of course not.”

She might not be afraid, but she was skittish, and his conscience couldn’t tolerate that. Lowering his hand, he began very gently to rub her arm through the soft cotton sleeve. “I think you are. I think you’re scared silly I’m going to turn into some kind of deviant and attack you again.”

“I’m not.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I am.”

“Prove it.”

“How do you suggest I do that?”

He didn’t know what devil was prodding him; he only knew his teasing made her smile, and he loved the way her eyes crinkled at the corners when that happened. With a mischievous smile of his own, he pointed to his jaw. “Give me a kiss. Right here. A friendly little smacker like one friend gives to another.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

Her eyes were crinkling, and he couldn’t resist teasing her a bit more, although it wasn’t exactly teasing since he kept thinking about how that incredible body would feel pressed up against his own, which, considering their earlier encounter, wasn’t the best reflection on his character.

“Come on. I dare you. We’re not talking about one of those unsanitary soul jobs. Just a friendly little peck on the cheek.”

“I don’t want to kiss you.”

He noticed that she’d waited a few seconds too long to protest, and those golden brown eyes of hers were as soft as her lips. He was no longer in the mood to tease, and his voice sounded husky. “Liar. All this heat can’t be coming just from me.”

He dipped his head, and the next thing he knew, he was nuzzling the side of her neck, finding a soft spot just below her ear. He didn’t draw her into his arms, but the tips of her breasts brushed his chest.

He heard her sigh. “We don’t like each other.”

“We don’t have to like each other, honey. This isn’t a permanent partnership. It’s animal attraction.” He kissed that alluring mole at the corner of her eye. “And it feels good. You feel good.”

She moaned and leaned against him. He gently cupped her arms, and his kisses moved lower until he found her mouth.

Her lips were soft, neither parted nor sealed, just soft and right. She tasted good, smelled good, like baby powder and flowers. He felt like a randy sixteen-year-old, and as he slid his tongue over the plump curve of her bottom lip, he reminded himself that he’d outgrown her type of woman years ago. Unfortunately, his body seemed to have forgotten that fact.

He deepened the kiss, telling himself that he might be starting to like her, but he didn’t respect her, he didn’t trust her, and if he couldn’t touch those breasts of hers soon, he was going to explode. Except after what had happened in the gazebo, he needed to move slow, but, God, she was driving him crazy.

She pressed against him and made a soft moaning sound that was like a shot of whiskey straight to his veins. He forgot about moving slow. He forgot about everything except this hot little, soft little, eat-me-up baby with the come-to-papa body.

Her lips parted and he plunged inside her warm mouth, but he wanted more. He caught her hard in his arms, felt those cream whip breasts spread against his chest while rockets shot off in his head. And then he had one hand on the sweetest curve of beautiful ass he’d ever touched in his life, and he deepened the thrust of his tongue, but even that wasn’t good enough because he wanted to curl it around her nipples and slide it between her legs and lick the sugar right off her. He was hard and crazy and his hands were all over her, his lunacy fed by the throaty moans she was making and the frenzy of her movements against him.

He wanted her to touch him. He wanted her on her knees, on her back, straddled, spread, any way he could get at her, right here where the heat from their bodies would burn up the floorboards and send them plunging straight down to the fiery center of the earth.

He could feel her wildness matching his, her maniac hands digging into his arms, her hips pushing and thrusting against him, grinding. She was crazy, as crazy as he was, and just as needy. And those sounds, almost like fear, almost like . . .

He went rigid as he realized that she was trying to get away from him, and he was holding her against her will.

“God damn!” He pushed himself away, knocking over a chair in his haste.

Her mouth was swollen and bruised from his kisses. Her breasts heaved and her hair was tousled, as if he’d plunged his hands through it, which maybe he had because he sure as hell didn’t know what he was doing anymore. As he looked into her stricken eyes, he felt sick. He’d been with a lot of women, and this was the first time he’d ever had any trouble sorting out no from yes. The accusation in those tilty-up eyes made him feel like a criminal, and that wasn’t right because they’d gone into this together.

“I’m not apologizing again, goddammit!” he shouted. “If you didn’t want me to kiss you, all you had to do was say no!”

Instead of arguing with him, she lifted her hand in a small, helpless gesture that made him feel like the world’s biggest bully. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Phoebe . . .”

She grabbed her purse and ran from the kitchen, from his house, from the dangerous heat of two bodies on fire.