Page 51 of Baby It's Cold Outside

Tamara’s gaze locked with his as he extended his hand to hers. “Shake on it?” he said.

She looked down at it, big and male and capable. A hand that had witnessed who- knew-what in a place so far removed from snowy Vermont she couldn’t even begin to comprehend it.

Could she just let herself go like that? Give into temptation? Forget that Luke was Georgia’s brother? That he was younger than her? That their lives were different in so many ways?

Except he’d made a point of telling her they weren’t that different, that his experiences while deployed had added up to a lot of living. She looked up into his steady blue gaze and believed him. She could see the shadows lurking there, the maturity in its depths.

“It’s just a kiss, Tamara.”

Tamara looked at his hand. A little kiss couldn’t hurt, right? It was New Year’s Eve for crying out loud. Even Georgia would forgive her that, surely?

She slipped her hand in his and felt his touch everywhere. “On one condition.”

“Name it.”

“Dates eight and nine better blow my mind because I gotta say, the rest have been kind of lame. No more grilled cheese sandwiches or gridiron.”

Luke chuckled as he shook. “Deal. Lucky for me I have a whole other game to think of something.”

Tamara felt her hormones stir and pulled her hand away lest the temptation to throw the next eight hours out the window became too much and she gave him more than the kiss he was asking for. She turned to the television as traitorous thoughts entered her head.

Oh God! Do not think about boinking Georgia’s brother. Do not think about boinking Georgia’s younger brother.

“Who’s playing now?” she asked, her voice high and breathy.

Not that Tamara paid much attention to the game. A football fan she wasn’t, and one was just about her limit, but she could hardly deprive a full-blooded American male his football fix. Especially not one who probably hadn’t been privy to that many where he’d been the last nine months.

So her attention wandered. To the way his T-shirt fit snugly around his biceps

. The way his forehead scrunched when he yelled at the television. The way he balanced his beer in his lap, snuggled in tight to his groin. The way his lips fitted against the mouth of the beer bottle as he took a sip. Which led to the way those lips were going to fit against hers. Which led to him kissing her.

Deep and wet and hungry.

Frankly, she was glad when it was over and she could concentrate on something else. The anticipation building inside her was making her edgy. There was still five hours left and they hadn’t even gotten to dates eight and nine. And then he turned his head, his steady blue gaze fanning over her, and she felt speared to the spot by his very male anticipation. Or maybe that was appreciation.

“Close your eyes,” he said. “I have the perfect thing for date eight.”

Tamara swallowed but didn’t have it in her to deny him. She should have. She should have said no. Called a halt to this insanity. Tell him she’d changed her mind. Been older and wiser, for crying out loud. But there was something about being cocooned in this cozy, snowed-in cabin that was liberating. Her pulse beat a little faster, her breath came a little thicker, and she realized it had been a long time since a man had made her feel like throwing caution to the wind.

She heard some scraping and rustling nearby and despite the warmth surrounding her, goose bumps puckered her skin and beaded her nipples as the tension cranked up another notch.

She sensed him in front of her then and she opened her eyes as he called, “Aloha, Tamara.” He was standing before her, a lei of fake frangipanis in one hand, a large shell in the other. He sat beside her, placing the lei over her head. “Welcome to Hawaii.”

Tamara blinked. He was so close. His jaw was right there, glowing golden in the firelight. His mouth curving into a slow, sexy smile. “It’s…minus eleven outside,” she said, but the protest was token only.

“Shh,” he said as he raised the shell to her ear. “I found this on the beach in Hawaii years ago. We went every year for a family vacation. Close your eyes and listen. You can hear the swish of the ocean at Waikiki.”

Tamara was powerless to resist as her eyelids fluttered closed. The roar of the fire and the tap of her pulse at her temples hushed as the rhythm of the ocean and the sway of palm trees filled her head. She smiled and when she opened her eyes their gazes locked.

“Did you hear it?” he asked.

She didn’t say anything for a moment, caught up in his gaze, as blue as an island sky. Then she became aware of the cool press of the shell against her cheek and she shifted back “Yes.”

He brought the shell up to his ear and shut his eyes. “I can hear my childhood. Georgia and I learning to surf, learning how to make leis at a roadside tourist trap, my parents holding hands as they walked down the beach. ”

When he opened them again they flashed over her like a famous Hawaiian breaker, and she too caught a glimpse of the boy he’d been before two tours to Afghanistan had made him a man. “I’ve never been,” she said.

“It’s where I used to go,” he said. “In my head. To stay sane over there. Picture the beach and the sunsets. Picture myself living there, lazing in a hammock all day.”

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