White Christmas: Woman Hater / The Humbug Man. Diana Palmer

      “No.” She reached up, sliding her arms around his neck. Her mouth was soft, parted and waiting, tempting his. “Oh, no, I want it, too!”

      “Nicky …”

      It was a groan, her name on his lips. He bent, half lifting her up to him. But this time, he didn’t try to hurt her. This time, he was achingly gentle. His hard mouth slowed and softened on hers, and he kissed her with a subdued passion that aroused all her protective instincts. Poor, tormented man, she thought. So much love in him, all wasted on the wrong woman. And now he was driven to hurt back, out of fear that it was going to happen again. But it wasn’t, she thought, her heart blazing with compassion. It wasn’t, because she’d never hurt him.

      She closed her arms tight around his neck and opened her mouth for him, drawing it over his as she was learning he liked it. Her tongue teased at his full lower lip and he made a sound that corresponded with the tautening of his body.

      “I’m sorry,” she whispered against his lips. “I don’t … know much about this. I’m sorry if I did it wrong.”

      He lifted his head again. He was breathing roughly, and his eyes had a haunted look. The hand in her hair caressed gently. “You really are a virgin, aren’t you?” he murmured with a tenderness he wasn’t aware of.

      “I guess it shows,” she whispered dryly. She looked down at his shirt, missing the sudden shocked delight in his eyes. “I haven’t had a lot to do with men in the past few years.”

      He brushed the curly hair away from her face, touching her with pure wonder. Yes, this was what he’d been uneasy about, this vulnerable side of her that attracted him. He’d tried so hard to avoid this confrontation. Ridiculous, really, when it was inevitable that he was going to feel her warmth in his arms, savor the soft nectar of her mouth. He’d known she was nearby, back at the corral. He’d sensed her somehow. “Why were you watching me?” he asked.

      “I don’t know. I needed to.” She shifted, burying her face against his broad shoulder. “You disturb me,” she whispered shakily. “It frightens me.”

      “It shouldn’t.” He held her, rocked her. His mouth touched her forehead in a kiss as gentle as the arms that held her. “I won’t hurt you again.”

      She nuzzled her face against him. “It’s very exciting, being kissed like that,” she whispered shyly.

      He smiled. “Is it?” He tilted her chin up and searched her eyes. “Then let’s do it again,” he whispered into her open mouth.

      It was wilder this time, hotter, more unbearably sweet. She gave him her mouth and melted into the hard contours of his body with a soft moan. It wasn’t until she felt the tautening, felt the sudden urgency in the mouth devouring hers, that she realized things were getting out of control.

      She put her hands against his wildly thudding chest and pulled her lips away from his. “No,” she said shakily.

      He bit at her lower lip, his head spinning. “No?”

      “You’re a man … and experienced,” she whispered. “I’ve never … and I can’t. I’m sorry.”

      He was breathing roughly, but he didn’t seem to be angry. He brushed his mouth over her eyes, closing her eyelids. “Do you want to?” he whispered, smiling.

      “What a ridiculous question. I expect you know the answer,” she said dazedly.

      “I suppose I do, at that.” He sighed, wrapping her up against him. “Hold tight. They say it passes, eventually. I can’t vouch for it, of course. I’m not in the habit of drawing back at this point.”

      “Oh, I’m sorry,” she moaned.

      “I won’t die.” He nuzzled his cheek against hers, rocking her. His arms had a faint tremor, but his breathing was calmer now and his heartbeat had stopped shaking them both. “What a potent little package you are. I didn’t plan this. I meant to … hell, I don’t know what I meant to do. Scare you, maybe.”

      “You did.”

      He laughed. “Like hell I did, you were with me every step of the way. I could have laid you down in the grass and—”

      “Hush!”

      He drew back then and looked down at her, frowning, his eyes wary and searching. She was flushed, and her eyes had an unnatural brightness, as if she were holding back tears.

      “What are you so afraid of?” he asked quietly, touching her eyelid gently to release a long, silver tear. “It was passionate, but still just a kiss. I didn’t even try to touch you in any way that would have offended you.”

      “It isn’t fear,” she whispered. She lowered her eyes. How could she explain to him the intensity of her feelings, the aching tenderness she was beginning to feel for him?

      “Are you afraid of intimacy?” he asked very quietly.

      She lowered her eyes to his chest and closed them. “I’m afraid of getting involved. Just as afraid as you are,” she added. And it was true. She’d given her heart to Chase—she’d almost given her body to him. And he’d betrayed her trust. How could she risk it again?

      “Why?”

      She looked up at him. “Why are you?” she countered, searching his quiet eyes.

      He bent and touched her forehead with lips that were breathlessly gentle. “I loved her,” he whispered, “in my way. It was the first time I’d ever felt more than a physical hunger for a woman. When she walked away from me, I wanted to die. I swore I’d get over it, but I don’t know that I really have. The scars go deep.”

      She touched his face gently, running her fingers slowly along his hard cheek. Amazing, how exquisite it was to be near him.

      “I got thrown over by my fiancé,” she confessed. “He decided he wanted a rich girl, and I wasn’t …” She almost added “anymore” but she caught the word in time.

      He searched her soft green eyes. “You didn’t sleep with him,” he said, gazing at her intently.

      “That’s hard to explain.” She stared at his top shirt button. It was undone, and thick dark hair peeked out against his tanned skin. “I wanted the first time to mean something. What hurts the most is that I never felt that way about him. I thought I loved him, but I never thought about sleeping with him.”

      That was the truth. Seeing how fast living had ruled her parents’ lives had soured her on that part of life. Intimacy had become to them as careless as handshakes, and Nicole had determined that it would be treated more reverently in her own life. Perhaps, in retrospect, that was one of the reasons Chase had left her. He’d pushed her toward intimacy more and more after their engagement, but she’d resisted stubbornly. And now, standing close in Winthrop’s arms, she was savagely glad she’d resisted.

      There was more to it than that, he knew, but she wasn’t volunteering any more information. He studied her quietly, thinking how much like him she was. He ran his finger down her cheek. Secretive, too, but he’d get more of an explanation eventually. It was insane to be so pleased that she was still innocent. It excited him, as sophisticated women never had.

      “I could eat a moose,” he said conversationally. “Why don’t we rush back to the house and raid the freezer? Can you cook, in case Mary decides to try out for the Rockettes one day?”

      She laughed at him. His humor had surprised her. Was this the real man? Had that cold veneer finally melted away? “Yes, of course I can cook. Why would Mary want to try out for the Rockettes?”

      He shrugged. “She threatens it once or twice a winter. She saw them on television once and was sure she was just the right height, even though her legs were a bit large. I haven’t taken her seriously in past years, but as I get older, my stomach worries.”

      “Don’t you worry, Mr. Christopher, I’ll take care