She’d taught her five sons that women were equals and deserving of protection and respect.

He certainly hadn’t been respectful to Harley tonight.

Heart heavy, he returned to the house, locked up the doors, and turned off unnecessary lights but he couldn’t settle down in front of the TV, not when his conscience smacked him for being a heel.

Brock climbed the stairs two by two, and then the narrow staircase to the third floor bedroom he’d carved from the attic.

He knocked on the closed door with a firm rap of his knuckles.

She opened the door after a long moment, peeking out from behind the door. Her long hair was loose, a thick golden brown curtain about her face, and from behind the door he glimpsed a bare shoulder, her skin creamy and smooth.

She must have been changing when he’d knocked.

Just like that, his body hardened, pulse quickening.

He wanted her and he couldn’t remember when he’d lasted wanted anyone.

“I didn’t know,” he said shortly, glaring down at her, now unhappy with himself for being unable to manage the way he responded to her. In the eleven years since Amy died he’d never had an issue with lusting or physical desire, but something about Harley annihilated his famous self-control. “And I’m sorry. I’m sorry for being rough with you and not being more... sensitive. As you might have noticed, I’m not a very sensitive guy.”

“I share the blame,” she said. “I shouldn’t have been offering advice. I won’t do it again.”

They were the right words but somehow they didn’t make him feel better.

“Why didn’t you tell me you had kids?”

“It’s not something I talk about anymore.” She tugged her robe up, over her shoulder, concealing her delectable skin. “I’ve discovered that people treat you differently if they know. She’s the lady who lost her husband and three children... I could hear people whisper that, or look at me with pity, and I’ve found that it’s just better for people not to know. That way there’s no awkwardness.” She made another little adjustment before stepping from behind the door, firmly tying her sash at her waist. “Which is why I didn’t want you to know I had children. I liked coming here to work knowing that my past didn’t matter, that my grief was my grief alone, and that this Christmas I’d get through the holidays with a minimum of fuss.”

“And then my kids came home,” he said quietly.

“Your eleven-year-olds.” Her lips curved but her expression was haunted. “My oldest was eleven when she died.” She drew a slow breath. “Eleven is such a great age, too.”

Brock could see how hard she was trying to keep it together, trying to be calm and strong, and her strength and courage moved him far more than tears ever could.

He’d wanted her moments ago because she was beautiful and desirable and now he just wanted to hold her to comfort her.

But he couldn’t.

There was no way he could make a move, not even to comfort. She was his employee. He was responsible for her.

“Tell me about your kids,” he said.

Her head dipped. Her voice dropped. “It’s hard to talk about them. Hurts.”

He heard her voice crack and his chest grew tight. It was all he could do to not reach out and caress her cheek. “It doesn’t help to talk about them?”

Her head shook and she lifted her head, looked up at him, eyes bright. “I’m still mad they’re gone. I don’t know why they’re gone.”

It was the tear trembling on her lower lashes that did him in.

He reached out to wipe the tear from her lashes and then the tear from the other side and when he couldn’t catch the tears because they were falling too fast he did the only thing he could think of. He drew her toward him and kissed her.

The kiss wasn’t meant to be sexual, and her lips were cool and they trembled beneath his. Brock was afraid he’d scared her, but then she slowly kissed him back, the coolness of her mouth giving away to a simmering heat.

He liked the way she kissed him back, her lips opening to him, and he took her mouth, craving her warmth. She tasted both sexy and sweet and he drank her in, feeling more than he wanted to feel, feeling more than he ever expected to feel and he leaned into her, backing her against the doorframe, his big body pressed to hers, needing to get as close as he could.

 

 

 

Harley didn’t understand the kiss, only that it was fierce and real, and it opened something inside of her, something blistering, and dangerous, because it silenced her brain and muted all thought.

Suddenly there was nothing but this moment, this man, this kiss.

There was no past, no future.

Nothing but this wild need burning inside her.

The wild need was unlike anything she’d ever felt, maybe because it wasn’t about a particular sensation, but all sensation. She needed to feel and feel and feel because it’d been forever since she felt anything but cold, and anger, and pain.

The rational Harley would have stopped him at a kiss, but the rational Harley was gone. This other Harley was in her place, wanting the kiss, wanting his hands, wanting his knee pressing up where she was so very warm.

She arched against him and kissed him back, craving everything he could give her. She’d felt nothing for so long and now this... this inferno, need so great she didn’t think she’d ever get enough.

He devoured her mouth, his tongue plunging in, stroking, teasing. Her hands rose to his chest and she clung to him, legs weak, heart pounding. His hand tugged at her robe, pulling it open, exposing her breasts. He lifted his head briefly to gaze down at her, and his dark hot gaze so carnal hungry that she felt as though she were melting.

“You’re beautiful,” he groaned, head dropping to kiss her again, as he cupped one of her breasts, fingers playing her taut nipple as if he’d known her body forever.

In a strange way she felt as if she’d known him forever, too, and she would have given him everything, and all of her, but a shout came from below.

“Dad! Dad! Where are you?”

Brock reluctantly lifted his head. Harley felt a pang as he shifted back.

“Molly,” he said, as the girl continued to shout his name.

“Dad, if we promise never ever to be stupid again, can we please have some dinner?”

Molly’s wail was both funny and quirky and sweet, just like the girl herself and just like that, reality returned, practically slapping Harley across the face.

What in God’s name was she doing?

Brock took a reluctant step back and dragged a hand through his black hair. “Bad timing,” he muttered.

“Maybe it’s good timing,” Harley answered, legs trembling. She’d come so close to losing her head. She’d come so close to losing control...

Shocked and more than a little mortified, Harley dragged the edges of her robe closed. Face hot, cheeks flaming she moved inside her room. “Go to her,” she said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” And then before he could say a word, she closed the door as fast as she could.

 


 

 

CHAPTER SIX

 

 

Brock stood in the middle of Molly’s room, grimly listening to the twins recount their tree-chopping adventure, grinding his jaw to keep from expressing horror when he realized just how close his daughter had come to losing an eye...