Page 75 of Conrad

A log fell in the fire, sparks hitting the hearthstone, the burning wood rolling to the edge. He got up to push it back and groaned.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I landed on my hip. It’s fine. I’ve had harder falls before.”

She joined him as he braced his hand on the mantel and grabbed the poker. Now she took it from him. “Sit down.” Using the poker, she moved the log back onto the pile, then drew the metal screen across the opening. Set it back.

He hadn’t sat down. And she was right . . . there. So close he could reach out and pull her to himself . . .

So easy. So right. No questions, no tangles . . . and his thought was probably written across his gaze because her eyes widened and she swallowed . . .

“What’s happening here?” she asked softly.

“Whatever you want to happen,” Conrad said, his heart thick in his chest.

“Oh, this is a bad idea,” she said, and stepped up to him.

* * *

Slow down. Stop—stop?—

She heard the words in her head, but they had nothing on the pull of Conrad’s devastatingly blue eyes, the way he searched her face, the desire that flickered deep inside his gaze. And she might not be a professional PI, but she could certainly unravel his intent.

Maybe thiswasn’ta game.

It certainly had stopped feeling like a game when he’d looked at her, his gaze intense, and said,You are not a mess. You’re smart, and brave, and a man would be crazy not to fall in love with you.

Terribly, she’d wanted him to say,Like me. A guy like him could fall for her.

But he hadn’t. Because he’d made promises not to fall for her, right?

She, however, had broken her side long ago, maybe. But right now, she didn’t care. Not with the fire flickering behind her, the fact that he’d saved her from a blizzard, that he’d made her feel like he’d taken off the body armor, let her see his heart.

“Whatever you want to happen . . .”

This. This was what she wanted to happen. She put her hands on his chest—his amazing, sports-built chest—and then slid them around his neck, clasped her hands behind him, her heart banging, her breath held.

He smiled up one side, then the other, and it lit his eyes, the sun bursting forth from a storm. “Okay,” he said, put his arms around her, lowered his mouth to hers.

Softly. Sweetly. Touching her lips like a whisper, his beard a little scratchy on her skin. She just sank into the touch of him, the way he pulled her in, increasing his ardor. She tightened her arms around his neck, and he pulled her closer, diving in, nudging her mouth open, deepening his kiss.

Of course kissing Conrad would be like being swooped up, captured, taken away, her breath caught, her heart leaving her body to reach for his. He was heat and power and light, and then she simply stopped thinking and gave herself over to his kiss.

It had been years since she’d kissed a man—her last boyfriend a boy, really, trying too hard to get it right.

With Conrad it justfeltright?—

She pulled back, breathing hard, met his eyes.

He frowned. “Are you okay?”

“This isn’t . . . I mean . . . yes. But are you okay? Are you sure this is what you want?”

His gaze ranged her face, and a soft rumble left his chest. “Yes,” he said almost in a groan. “But yes, maybe . . . just . . .” He drew in a breath. “Maybe we take a break in the action here, because . . .” He leaned away. “I don’t want to get carried away.”

Carried away. As in straying too far from the pretense of their relationship?

He touched her hair, drew his fingers through it, grabbed a lock of it. “You are way too beautiful to be in my arms.”

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