This wasso not right. Michael wasn’t on his knees—she was. He was standing, and she was kneeling on the picnic table, and still he towered over her. And since his hands were busy holding her tightly against him, Libby knew he hadn’t brought flowers or chocolates.
She didn’t want to kiss him back, just on principle. He’d left without saying good-bye that morning, and now he hadn’t even said hello before kissing her. He had some nerve, accusing her of running away.
But he tasted so nice. And he felt so warm and solid. Libby sighed into his mouth. She was such a hussy whenever he touched her, so easy and wanton and instantly turned on.
So she gave up, opened her mouth to his, and melted.
He was so damned sexy, only a dead woman would be unaffected. Libby wrapped her arms around his waist, inside his unbuttoned jacket, and snuggled against him. She tilted her head back, pushed her tongue into his mouth, and tasted pleasure.
Visions of last night rose in her mind—their naked bodies rubbing together, the feel of him entering her, the explosion of sensations that had followed. Why hadn’t she thought to put one of his condoms in her purse this morning? She wanted to feel him inside her again. Right now. Right here.
Libby broke the kiss and buried her face against his chest.
“Good morning,” he said with a chuckle, his chin resting on her head, his chest rumbling against her still tingling lips.
“You left without saying good-bye,” she muttered.
His arms tightened around her. “I’m sorry ya had to wake up alone, lass, but I wanted to get home before Robbie got up.” He leaned back and smiled down at her. “Ya looked so peaceful, sleeping like a babe, I didn’t have the heart to disturb ya.”
“I was a block of ice when I woke up,” she complained, not willing to let him off the hook.
He kissed her nose and pulled his jacket more firmly around her, snuggling her against him as if he could make up for the chill she’d experienced.
And the sad thing was, it was working.
“I’m sorry. I should have carried ya inside.”
As apologies went, Libby decided this was a fair one. He was a guy, after all. And what did guys know about romance?
“I’m buying a new bed,” she told him. “The truck just isn’t going to work.”
“Aye,” he said with another chuckle, setting her away. He zipped her jacket up to her chin and tucked the hood more warmly around her ears, holding the edges so she had to look at him. “I can see where ya feel awkward about Mary. And if a new bed will help, I’
ll move her old one to the attic.”
“How did you find me?” she asked, pulling away and climbing off the table. She looked up and frowned at him.
“I thought you were starting to cut Christmas trees today.”
“I left a crew of four men,” he said, sitting down on the picnic table, facing her. “John’s supervising them. And how I found ya is unimportant. Have ya seen your mother yet?”
“No,” Libby said, blushing at the admission that she had run from her as well. “I was just about to head home, figuring she and James have found the house by now.”
His expression hardened. “Ya told me ya weren’t running from a man,” he said with quiet menace. “Am I going to have to drive him off?”
“You are not! I dated James for a while, but that was a hundred years ago. You leave him alone. His being here is not any of your business.”
He stood up, took hold of her hood again, and leaned down as he lifted her face to his.
He said, very softly, “You are my business now, Elizabeth Hart. Last night made it a fact. And,” he continued even more softly when she tried to pull away, “you will accept the claim I made last night.”
“Wh-what claim?”
“That you belong to me now.”
“Are you getting philosophical again or just being contrary? We’re having an affair, Michael. And women stoppedbelonging to anyone when they got the right to vote.”
“Ya can’t change the laws of nature, lass,” he said, suddenly smiling. “Nor can ya deny your own nature. Ya can try, Libby, to pretend it’s nothing more than a simple affair between us, but you’re only fooling yourself. I was there, remember? Ya gave yourself freely and completely, and I accepted.”
“Well, of all the… Michael, you can’t just decide I belong to—”
He stopped her protest with another searing kiss that Libby felt all the way down to her toes. The confounding man tasted better than a dozen gooey glazed doughnuts, and Libby was torn between wanting to punch him and wanting to devour him.
Devouring won, probably because one of Michael’s hands had found its way under her jacket and was caressing her breast. He ran his thumb lightly over her nipple, and Libby sucked in her breath.
“Stop doing that,” she muttered when she finally got her mouth back. “You can’t just kiss me whenever you don’t like what I’m saying.”
He tapped the end of her nose. “I can,” he told her. “It’s one of the privileges of belonging. You can do the same, lass, when ya don’t care for what I’m saying.”
“Even married people don’t belong to each other,” she instructed, only to realize she was talking to his back. Michael had turned and was walking to her truck. Libby ran to catch up. “And having an affair doesn’t even come close,” she continued. “So stop acting like a caveman. What are you doing?”
He was holding her truck door open for her. And before she could protest, he picked her up and plopped her down in the front seat behind the steering wheel.
It was quicker than using the apple crate.
“I’ll follow ya home, and you can introduce me to your mother,” he said, handing her the seat belt. “And James,” he tacked on with a glare. “And then the four of us will discuss tonight’s sleeping arrangements.”
“What do you mean, arrangements?”
“I mean, if James stays, so do I.”
“Excuse me?”
He took hold of her chin and made her look directly into his steel-gray eyes. “He stays at the hotel, Libby. Or I’ll be in your bed tonight, making sure he isn’t.”
“Of all the absur—”
He kissed her again.
“Cut that out,” she sputtered the minute he pulled back.
“Drive careful,” he told her, completely ignoring her glare. “They’re hauling logs today,” he reminded her, closing the door and walking up the dirt track that led to the main road.
Libby stared out the windshield at Pine Lake, cursing under her breath and licking the taste of Michael off her lips. Dammit. How was she going to explain to her mother that she hadn’t been here a week and had already gotten herselfbelonging to an immovable mountain of man? All she needed now was for Father Daar to show up for dinner.
Maybe she could ask the priest to turn them all into frogs.
Suddenly, Michael’s statement about making sure James wasn’t in her bed dawned on Libby. She opened the door of her truck, jumped out, and started running after him.
“Hey! Wait!” she hollered, trying to get his attention.
When he didn’t stop, Libby picked up a palm-sized piece of snow and threw it at him.
It hit him smack in the center of his back. By the time he’d turned to face her with a look of disbelief, she’d thrown another snowball at him, this one hitting him in the chest.
“Are ya toying with my temper so I’ll kiss you again?” he asked, his expression fierce, his stance threatening. “Or do ya have a death wish?”
They were standing about thirty paces apart, and he was glaring at the third snowball in her hand. Libby glared back.
“No,” she told him. “I’m trying to control my own temper. I do not care for the insult you just gave me.”