Must Love Mistletoe

and not the other way around.

She could carry off this serenity thing. Be it, even. She could.

Until she felt Dan’s hand on her elbow. “Tracy-”

She whirled with a screech, as if he’d burned her. “Get your hands off me.”

He lifted them, surrender style. “I just want to talk.”

“No.” She backed away.

He stalked forward.

Her heart hammered against her breastbone as she retreated down the hall. “Come back some other time.”

“Now is the time.” His voice was hard, his gaze intent on her face. It had been years since she was aware of how strong he was. Though he wasn’t a particularly tall man, his build was powerful, thanks to solid shoulders, lean hips, sturdy legs. He’d been working out, that was obvious.

Bastard. Probably bench pressing bunnies at that Sodom and Gomorrah he called home.

No, he’d just called here home. Anger shot through her bloodstream like a drug. She started to tremble under its all-consuming influence.

“Tracy.” Her gaze dropped from his face to the sinews in his arm as he held out a hand to her. “Now.”

“No.”

He took a step forward, and she whirled again. Ran.

Get away. Get free. Panting already, she sprinted down the hall, hearing his heavy footsteps behind her.

“Damn it, Tracy!”

No. Damn him. Damn him for making her miserable. Angry. Alone.

Catching the baluster at the bottom of the stairs in her hand, she swung herself around and took off up the steps. Yesterday her knees had been creaking. Today she felt supple, strong. A gazelle. A lioness.

A woman running from heartache and all the other emotions that were trying to catch up with her.

Her pulse was pounding in her ears as she gained the upper hall. Dan was still behind her, determined.

To bow her. Break her. Make her cry.

Never. Never never never.

Her first husband had torn her skin off her bones on his way to shattering her heart. She wouldn’t be so vulnerable again.

The master bedroom doorway was in sight. The double doors locked and there wasn’t a key to open them. Dan was too civilized, surely, to break them down.

Just three…more…steps.

She flew through the doorway even as Dan’s big hand clamped down on her shoulder. With a wrench she yanked away from his touch.

But it was too late to lock him out of the bedroom.

Her gaze trained on his face, she backed off again, putting the king-sized mattress between them while he stood, unmoving, at the entrance to the room.

Her chest heaved, her breath stuttered in and out of her lungs.

The tension in the room stretched like taffy between them, but it was nothing so sweet. Tracy licked her suddenly dry lips.

And Dan’s gaze shifted from her face to focus on her mouth.

Heat skittered up her spine. Tracy’s glance darted to the right, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror over her dresser.

We need roses in our cheeks and highlights in our hair.

Her face was flushed from her race, and it had disheveled the wispy ends of her new haircut. The way her breasts were moving against the T-shirt she wore-tight, another item borrowed from Bailey-made her look like a woman who was less angry than…wanting.

From somewhere, a thought burst in her brain. She looked like a woman ready for sex.

Her gaze jumped back to Dan. There was a new tightness across his cheekbones, a new kind of watchfulness in his eyes.

A new quality to the tension in the room.

Who needs a man? What are they good for?

All at once, Tracy remembered.

He took a measured step into the room. Another.

She clutched one corner of the four-poster bed, her knuckles going white. “What do you think you’re doing?”

His hands went to the hem of his polo shirt and in one swift movement, he stripped it off.

Definitely working out. His shoulders were smooth, round hills of muscles that led to his tan chest that tapered to the flat skin of his belly. Tracy swallowed as his hands pulled at the buttons on his 501s.

Don’t retreat, she told herself. Don’t give him the satisfaction.

“I don’t know what you think is going to happen here.”

“You know exactly what I think is going to happen.” The dark, hard thread in his voice sent a hot shiver down her back. “Take off your clothes, Tracy.”

In broad daylight? The neighbors, their son-

But he was away at college and she wasn’t a mother first and foremost any longer. She was…

“Take them off, Trace.”

At Dan’s command, a brand-new, sexual flame inside her leaped. The heat running down her spine spread, burning every inch of her skin, making it feel tight and too small for what she was trying to hold inside.

Excitement. Arousal.

He was naked now. This man-this stranger in her bedroom-drew closer, his penis jutting toward her with the same aggressive attitude she could see on his face and hear in his voice. Her knees went rubbery again.

Reaching out, he caught the end of her T-shirt in his fist. Then he yanked her close to his nakedness, his other hand biting into the skin at her waist as he jerked her shirt over her head.

“I want you.”

His eyes widened.

She realized the words were hers.

“Then unhook your bra. I want to see your breasts.”

Her fingers trembled as they found the hooks behind her back. Dan’s gaze didn’t move off her face until her bra dropped to the Oriental carpet with an almost silent plop. Then he palmed her shoulders with his hands, squeezing a moment before slowly moving them down her torso to cover her breasts.

Making a cup of his hands, he plumped them for his inspection.

Between her legs she felt swollen, aching, empty.

His thumbs rasped across her nipples and she gasped. Her eyes closed.

“Look at me,” he ordered, his voice harsh.

Her lashes flew open and instinct made her try to move back. His hands tightened their hold on her breasts.

“You’re not going anywhere. You’re not looking at anything but me. You will see me. Know me.” His nostrils flared. “Fuck me.”

Tracy’s heart slammed against her breastbone. He’d never said that word to her before. Never called what they did together a four-letter word.

It excited her, she realized. Maybe she’d found someone else to be instead of Mother! Someone sexual. Excited. Exciting.

Dan rubbed her nipples again. “Take off your pants.”

He didn’t stop touching her breasts as she obeyed. Once nude, she had a moment of doubt. The divorce diet had turned her bony in some areas and saggy in others.

But he was focused on her mouth again, and he leaned over to kiss her, the first thrust of his tongue as strong and sure as she’d always thought her marriage. He shifted his hands to her hips and drew her flush against his