He broadened his stance and crossed his arms over his chest. “What insult?” he asked, his voice spine-shiveringly low.
“You said you’d be in my bed to make sure James wasn’t. You might as well have slapped my face, if that’s what you think of me. I do not bed-hop, Michael MacBain. I have too much respect for myself, even if you obviously don’t.”
He stared at her, his eyes narrowed against the sun. He suddenly uncrossed his arms and opened them wide, holding them out to expose his broad chest as he slowly started walking toward her.
“Throw it,” he said, nodding at the snowball in her hand. “Take your best shot, Libby,”
he softly urged, continuing to walk toward her.
Libby tightened her grip on the snowball and took a step back. “I-I don’t want to throw it. I want you to trust me.”
“I do,” he said, his pace unhurried, his gaze locked with hers, his arms still spread to provide her with a perfect target. Libby suddenly felt like prey being stalked. She opened her hand, let the snowball fall to the ground, and took another step back.
“I never meant to imply you would sleep with him,” he continued. “It’s James I don’t trust. The man just came clear across the country to find you. He has an agenda.”
“But that’s just it,” she said, somewhat desperately, as she continued to move back. “It doesn’t matter if he does or not. I can deal with James.”
She looked over her shoulder, trying to judge if she could make it to her truck before Michael could catch her. Lord, what had she been thinking, throwing snowballs at him?
He suddenly stopped. “Ya won’t make it,” he said softly, reading her intention. “Come here, Libby.”
Did he think she was nuts? There was a smudge of slush on his jacket where her snowball had hit him. And he was telling her to walk into his trap?
But he just stood there, his arms held out from his sides.
Libby rubbed her damp palms on her jeans. He was driving her crazy. If he wasn’t kissing her senseless, he was insulting her, inflaming her, or confounding her so much that she wanted to scream. In an almost perfect repeat of the afternoon he’d asked her to go riding, he was telling her to come to him, not moving, not saying anything, just waiting for her to concede.
She was damned if she did and stupid if she didn’t. This man had somehow engaged her heart while she’d been busy guarding it from him. But if he thought she belonged to him, then he damned well belonged to her, too.
Libby ran and threw herself against his chest. He wrapped his strong arms around her and buried his face in her hair.
“I did not mean to insult ya, Libby,” he whispered into her ear, squeezing her so tightly she squeaked.
“I’m sorry I threw snow at you,” she apologized between kisses to his face. “Did I hurt you?”
His laugh shook her. “Nay. But ya did give me a very nice compliment.”
Libby leaned back and blinked at him. “How?”
“By showing me you trust me, lass. Ya feel safe enough to let loose your temper, knowing I would never hurt ya.”
She blinked again. He was right. She smiled, kissed his chin, and laughed out loud.
Yeah. She hadn’t given it a thought that he might retaliate.
“I’m not a violent person,” she replied. “I don’t usually throw things at people.”
“Ya have a good arm. And aim,” he said, kissing her on the nose. He let her slide down the length of his body, and Libby gasped the moment her belly rubbed over the bulge in his pants.
“You’re surprised?” he drawled, setting her away. “I cannot hide how ya affect me, Libby.”
She immediately began studying one large button on his wool jacket. “Did you leave so early this morning because you had brought four condoms and only got to use one?”
she asked in a whisper, keeping her head down so he wouldn’t notice how red her face had become.
He lifted her chin with his finger, and Libby looked into his tender, warm pewter eyes.
“I wasn’t counting, lass. Nor was I expecting to use even that one. I left because I didn’t want Robbie waking up before I got home. I don’t want the boy building fairy tales in his head about us.”
Too late!Libby wanted to shout. She was already building fairy tales of her own.
“Now, how about I follow ya home, and you can introduce me to your mother?” he suggested.
“You can meet her tomorrow. After the explosion.”
“Oh, but I’d rather meet James today,” he said, leading her to her truck again. “I can give him a ride back to the hotel.”
“He’s an old family friend, Michael. How am I going to explain that he can’t stay at my house when there are four empty bedrooms upstairs?”
He picked her up, set her back in her truck, and turned her chin to face him. “You’ll think of something,” he said in deadly seriousness. “Or I will.”
“You’re being unreasonable.”
He arrogantly nodded agreement. “Aye. But not as unreasonable as I will be if he stays.”
And, without further discussion, he softly closed the truck door and turned and walked back up the dirt road.
Again, Libby stared out the windshield at Pine Lake. But she found herself smiling this time, as Grace MacKeage’s words of warning whispered through her head.
Old-fashioned. Protective. Possessive.
Yeah. That was just what this doctor needed.
He didn’t care to be indebted to Greylen MacKeage, but he did appreciate the heads-up Grey had given him that morning about Libby’s visitors. Michael reached his truck parked on the main road and got in, fastened his seat belt, and rubbed his hands over his face.
He wasn’t surprised Libby’s mother had come looking for her, but what in hell was her old boyfriend doing here?
What a mess. He’d told Libby that she belonged to him now, and the woman had not meekly, or graciously, welcomed his claim. Michael knew his authority over her was tenuous at best. They weren’t married. He couldn’t even say they were dating according to modern ways. Making wild, passionate love in the back of a truck parked in a garage was not a date.
No, the only thing Libby had agreed to was a discreet affair. Michael did believe she considered affairs exclusive things, with both parties committed to each other. But that was where his rights ended. Affairs today meant monogamous sex and nothing more—
no interfering in each other’s life, no formal contract, no recourse if one behaved in a way the other did not like.
He didn’t want a modern affair with Libby. He wanted the right to follow her home, meet her mother, and kick James’s ass all the way back to California.
Michael’s right palm itched for the feel of his sword, and he held up his empty hand and stared at it in silence. It had been years since he’d wielded his sword with intent, and he was shocked that he wanted to now.
Shocked, maybe, but not surprised. For reasons he couldn’t explain, Libby stirred his baser instincts. A need beyond his ability to comprehend made him want to possess her completely.
With a twist of the ignition, Michael started his truck and pulled onto the paved road behind Libby’s Suburban as she drove past. He rubbed his still itching right hand over his face to wipe away the beads of sweat gathering on his brow. Michael’s heart slammed into his ribs, and his muscles tensed with the instinct to flee.
How could he do it? How could he care for another woman? If he gave his heart to Libby and then lost her, he might not survive this time.
And he had to survive—for Robbie.
Aye. It was a hell of a mess, because it was too late.
Because Libby had managed to capture his heart with a simple, well-aimed snowball.
Chapter Seventeen
There was a rental carparked in her yard, and she could see her mother sitting in the front passenger seat. James was standing on the porch, his hands on his hips, the collar of his dress coat turned up against the cold, and an impatient scowl on his tanned face.