One Night Before Christmas. Robyn Grady

      By the time he had brought down the last box and stored away the stairs, Phoebe was elbows-deep into a carton of ornaments.

      She held up a tiny glass snowman. “My grandmother gave me this when I was eight.”

      He crouched beside her. “Is she still alive?”

      “No. Sadly.”

      “And your parents?” He was close enough to brush his lips across the nape of her neck, but he refrained.

      Phoebe sank back on her bottom and crossed her legs, working to separate a tangle of glittery silver beads. “My parents were hit by a drunk driver when my sister and I were in high school. A very kind foster family took us in and looked after us until we were able to graduate and get established in college.”

      “And since then?”

      “Dana and I are very close.”

      “No significant others in your past?”

      She frowned at the knot that wouldn’t give way. “What about your family, Leo?”

      He heard the unspoken request for privacy, so he backed off. “Oddly enough, you and I have that in common. Luc and I were seventeen and eighteen when we lost our parents. Only it was a boating accident. My father loved his nautical toys, and he was addicted to the adrenaline rush of speed. We were in Italy visiting my grandfather one spring break. Dad took a friend’s boat out, just he and my mom. On the way back, he hit a concrete piling at high speed as they were approaching the dock.”

      “Oh, my God.” Her hands stilled. “How dreadful.”

      He nodded, the memory bleak even after all this time. “Grandfather insisted on having autopsies done. My mother wasn’t wearing a life jacket. She drowned when she was flung into the water. I took comfort in the fact that she was probably unconscious when she died, because she had a severe head wound.”

      “And your father?”

      Leo swallowed. “He had a heart attack. That’s what caused him to lose control of the boat.” Repeating the words stirred something dark and ugly in his gut. To know that he was his father’s son had never pained him more than in the past few months.

      Phoebe put a hand on his arm. “But wasn’t he awfully young?”

      “Forty-one.”

      “Oh, Leo. I’m so very sorry.”

      He shrugged. “It was a long time ago. After the funerals, Grandfather took Luc and I back to Italy to live with him. He insisted we attend college in Rome. Some would say we were lucky to have had such an education, but we were miserable for a long time. Our grief was twofold, of course. On top of that, Grandfather is not an easy man to love.” He hesitated for a moment. “I don’t tell many people that story, but you understand what it feels like to have the rug ripped out from under your feet.”

      “I do indeed. My parents were wonderful people. They always encouraged Dana and me to go for any goal we wanted. Never any question of it being too hard or not a girl thing. Losing them changed our lives.”

      Silence fell like a pall. Leo tugged at her braid. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to take us down such a dismal path.”

      She rested her head against his hand. “It’s hard not to think of family at this time of year, especially the ones we’ve lost. I’m glad you’re here, Leo.”

       Ten

      She wasn’t sure who initiated the intimate contact. Their lips met briefly, sweetly. The taste of him was as warm and comfortable as a summer rain. She felt the erotic river of molten lava hidden just beneath the surface, but as if by unspoken consent, the kiss remained soft and easy.

      Leaning into him, she let herself be bolstered by his strength. One big arm supported her back. He was virile and sexy. She couldn’t be blamed for wanting more. “Leo,” she muttered.

      All she said was his name, but she felt the shudder that ran through him. “What?” he asked hoarsely. “What, Phoebe?”

      A million different answers hovered at the tip of her tongue.

      Undress me. Touch my bare skin. Make love to me. Instead, she managed to be sensible. “Let me put some music on to get us in the mood for decorating.”

      “I am in the mood,” he grumbled. But he smiled when he said it and kissed the tip of her nose. Then he sobered. “To be absolutely clear, I want you in my bed, tonight, Phoebe. When the little man is sound asleep and not likely to interrupt us.”

      His eyes were dark chocolate, sinful and rich and designed to make a woman melt into their depths. She stared at him, weighing the risks. As a financial speculator, she played hunches and often came out on top. But taking Leo as a lover was infinitely more dangerous.

      He was here only for a short while. And though Phoebe had made peace with her demons and embraced her new lifestyle, she was under no illusions that Leo had done the same. He was anxious to return home. Coming to the mountains had been some sort of penance for him, a healing ritual that he accepted under protest.

      Leo would never be content to stagnate. He had too much energy, too much life.

      She touched his cheek, knowing that her acquiescence was a forgone conclusion. “Yes. I’d like that, too. And I’m sorry that we can’t be more spontaneous. A new relationship should be hot and crazy and passionate.” Like this morning when you nearly took me standing up. Her pulse tripped and stumbled as her thighs tightened in remembrance.

      Leo cupped her hand to his face with one big palm. “It will be, Phoebe, darlin’. Don’t you worry about that.”

      * * *

      To Phoebe’s surprise and delight, the afternoon became one long, drawn-out session of foreplay. Leo built a fire so high and hot they both had to change into T-shirts to keep cool. Phoebe found a radio station that played classic Christmas songs. She teased Leo unmercifully when she realized he never remembered any of the second verses, and instead made up his own words.

      Together, they dug out a collection of balsam-scented candles, lit them and set them on the coffee table. During the summer, the trapped heat in the attic had melted the wax a bit, so the ones that were supposed to be Christmas trees looked more like drunken bushes.

      Phoebe laughed. “Perhaps I should just throw them away.”

      Leo shook his head. “Don’t do that. They have character.”

      “If you say so.” She leaned down and squinted at them. “They look damaged to me. Beyond repair.”

      “Looks can be deceiving.”

      Something in his voice—an odd note—caught her attention. He was staring at the poor trees as if all the answers to life’s great questions lay trapped in green wax.

      What did Leo Cavallo know about being damaged? As far as Phoebe could see, he was at the peak of his physical strength and mental acuity. Sleek muscles whispered of his ability to hold a woman...to protect her. And in a contest of wits, she would need to stay on her toes to best him. Intelligence crackled in his eyes and in his repartee.

      Leo was the whole package, and Phoebe wanted it all.

      Gradually, the room was transformed. With Leo’s assistance, Phoebe hung garland from the mantel and around the doorways, intertwining it with tiny white lights that sparkled and danced even in the daytime. She would have preferred fresh greenery. But with a baby to care for and a cabin to repair, she had to accept her limits.

      Leo spent over an hour tacking silver, green and gold snowflakes to the ceiling. Far more meticulous than she would have been, he measured and arranged them until every glittering scrap of foil was perfectly placed. The masculine satisfaction on his face as he stood, neck craned, and surveyed his handiwork amused her, but she was quick to offer