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“How would you know? You met me yesterday.”
Ah, that was the problem. They were back to the same old issue, both of them distrusting the wild, almost violent nature of their physical response to one another. Too much, too strong, too fast.
How was he standing the cold? The night was bitter. She shifted from one foot to the other.
His voice was sharper this time, commanding. “Shut the door, Maddy, or suffer the consequences.”
* * *
She scuttled into the kitchen, her heart pounding. But she was smiling. Grant Monroe was more man than she had ever hoped to find. She rummaged through the cabinets. She would enjoy making him her one and only culinary masterpiece, a banana cream pie but, given the limited ingredients at hand, it would have to be microwave popcorn.
She heated milk and filled a couple of mugs with chocolate mix. He would be cold when he came in—or maybe not, she thought, grinning smugly. She put two bowls of popcorn and the hot chocolate on a plain wooden tray, adding two paper towels at the last minute in lieu of napkins.
When she pushed open the kitchen door, the living room was still empty. She set the tray on the coffee table and curled up in an armchair, avoiding the velvet-decked sofa. She glanced at the clock. He’d been outside twenty-five minutes. She shifted into a more comfortable position.
Fifteen minutes later her smile had faded, and the hot chocolate had cooled. This was ridiculous. She stood up, ready to drag him in by his hair, if necessary.
The door swung open suddenly, causing the fire to shoot up the chimney with bright, dancing flames. Grant filled the doorframe, his jet-black hair tousled from the wind, his cheekbones red with cold. He did not look happy.
Her pseudosmile faded and she took a step backward. “Grant?”
He shut the door and folded his arms across his impressive chest, pinning her with a dark-eyed stare. If tough, no-nonsense masculinity had a poster boy, Grant was it.
She tried a conciliatory smile, but it melted into uncertainty.
He flipped off the lights, plunging the room into firelit intimacy. “Take off your clothes, Maddy.”
