LITMIR.BIZ

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that he sounded so unruffled when she was all of a-dither at finding his thigh flung over her hip and the lovely warm length of his torso pressed up against hers.

      “That you snore,” he said blandly.

      “I certainly do not!”

      “How do you know? Did you ask the last man you slept with?”

      “That’s none of your business,” she said, not about to admit that the closest she’d come to “sleeping” with anyone was in the back seat of her prom date’s car when she was eighteen—a disastrous, fumbling affair which had ended when he’d suffered the humiliation of premature ejaculation before he’d divested her of her bra—and a couple of semi-hot dates with an ambulance driver when she was in nursing school.

      “No,” Leo said. “I guess it’s not.” He lifted the blankets and let a gust of cold air sweep away the cosy warmth between their bodies. “And lying here speculating won’t get my vehicle out of the ditch.”

      He rolled cautiously to his feet, stretched guardedly, and reached for his sheepskin jacket. “You planning to spend the day down there, Ava?” he inquired, when she didn’t rush to join him.

      “No,” she said, eyeing her pantyhose which sprawled wantonly over a saddle rack. “I’m waiting for you to leave so that I can dress without an audience.”

      “Dress?” To her horror, he picked up her stockings and dangled them from one hand the way a husband might. With intimate familiarity. “If you’re talking about climbing into these, you might as well forget it. They’re still soaking wet. And your shoes,” he added, peering at the pitiful things which lay side by side on the floor like two drowned rats, “aren’t any better. You’ll have to throw yourself on the mercy of the lady of the house—always assuming she’s more charitably disposed toward us this morning than she was last night.”

      The lady of the house proved more than accommodating, as did her husband. She sent a pair of socks, boots a size too large, and an invitation to breakfast, while he hooked a tractor to Leo’s vehicle and hauled it out of the ditch. By ten o’clock, Ava and Leo were on their way, fortified with home-cured ham and farm fresh eggs, and with nothing to show for their overnight mishap but the faint whiff of horses clinging to their clothing.

      That, and a smothering air of disquiet.

      CHAPTER THREE

      “ASI understand it, coming home for the holidays is supposed to be a happy time,” Leo observed acidly, as they approached the outskirts of Owen’s Lake. “Unless you want to arouse the suspicions of everyone from the family dog to the town mayor, I recommend you trade in the look of long-suffering misery for something a little more cheerful and upbeat.”

      Ava shot him a poisonous glare. “Forgive me if I’m not as adept at covering up my sins as you appear to be!”

      “A minor indiscretion hardly amounts to sin, Ava. Stop blowing last night out of proportion and focus on today. If anyone’s to blame for what happened back there in the stable, I am. So leave me to deal with it.”

      Easy for him to say! He didn’t harbour a secret passion for someone who was strictly off limits. He wasn’t the one who’d been ready to abandon his scruples and betray his best friend for the dubious pleasure of one night of illicit love. “And if I can’t?”

      “You will if you concentrate on enjoying the kind of good, old-fashioned Christmas you’ve been missing for the last three years.”

      It wasn’t fair that, despite having spent the night on the floor in a stable, he managed to exude an aura of masculine sexuality so appealing that she went weak at the knees. Turning to stare out of the window before she forgot herself so far as to start drooling, Ava saw that he had a point. Owen’s Lake was decked out with a vengeance for the season. Last night’s blizzard had given way to blue skies and the cold clear brilliance of a northern winter sun, as different from Africa’s molten heat as diamonds from rubies.

      Platinum glittered from icicles draping the eaves of the grand Victorian homes typical of Owen Heights, the exclusive neighborhood where she’d been born. Huge holly wreaths hung on wrought-iron gates. Illuminated reindeer pulling sleighs romped across lawns buried under a thick quilting of snow. Lampposts sported miniature fir trees draped in sparkling lights.

      Half a mile farther along the boulevard, Leo turned the Expedition onto Charles Owen Crescent and a few minutes later pulled into the long driveway leading to her parents’ home. “Time to start smiling, sweetheart,” he muttered. “Here comes the family, all set to welcome home the nomadic daughter.”

      Indeed, the SUV had barely come to a stop under the porte-cochère before her parents and Jason, their golden retriever, shot out of the house in a tangle of legs and excitement. Her father yanked open the passenger door and, slithering to the ground in her too-big borrowed boots, Ava found herself wrapped in a bear hug which took her breath away.

      “Your mother’s had me up since dawn and just about driven me mad with her pacing back and forth,” he said. “And now that you’re here, she’s crying her eyes out. I tell you, Ava, I’ll never understand what makes a woman tick.”

      “Oh, hush up, you big softie,” her mother sobbed happily, wading between him and Jason’s thrashing tail and reaching for Ava. “Who was so impatient to see his little girl again that he was ready to strap on skis and piggyback her home last night, so that she could sleep in her own bed instead of a stranger’s house? Come here, darling, and give your mom a kiss. It’s wonderful to have you home again.”

      Her mother smelled of cinnamon and mincemeat and almond paste—lovely nostalgic reminders of Christmases past, when life had been full of simple, innocent pleasures, and affection freely expressed. That this year’s was clouded with guilt and secrets when it should have been the most joyful of all, filled Ava with a regret so intense that she, too, started to cry.

      “This is supposed to be a happy time,” Leo reminded her, with pointed emphasis.

      “That’s why they’re both in tears.” Blithely unaware of the hidden undercurrents swarming through the cold air, her father gave Leo one of those man-to-man slaps on the back meant to convey masculine amusement at the vagaries of women. “They cry when they’re sad, when they’re happy and when they’re mad. And just for good measure, they cry when they get married, so better get used to the sight, Leo, because from what I hear, you’ll be learning that firsthand before much longer. Here, let me give you a hand with that luggage, then come on in and join us for morning coffee.”

      The mere idea of Leo Ferrante cosying up for a visit under her parents’ roof was enough to dry Ava’s tears on the spot. “He can’t possibly!”

      “Why not?” her father said. “It’s the least we can do, to thank him for meeting your flight—and for taking such good care of you last night.”

      Oh, if he only knew the direction that care had taken!

      “Thanks,” Leo said easily, running a hand over his jaw, “but although coffee sounds good, a shower and shave sound even better.”

      He looked, Ava thought, as eager to be gone as she was to be rid of him. “We absolutely understand,” she said, with what she feared must seem like insulting relief. “Goodbye, and thank you for…everything.”

      He leveled a satirical blue gaze her way. “Glad I could help.”

      Help? Averting her eyes, she bent to fondle Jason’s silky ears. Ye gods, things had been bad enough to begin with. How much worse they’d become was something only she and Leo would ever fully understand, and she didn’t appreciate his pitiful attempt to turn the situation into a joke!

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