Fools Rush In

Fools Rush In By Carolyn Faulkner

Fools Rush In By Carolyn Faulkner Published by ABCD Webmasters Copyright 2005 by ABCD Webmasters & Carolyn Faulkner All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be translated or reproduced in any form without written permission from the copyright owner(s) For more books by Carolyn Faulkner & the best spanking fiction on the Net, visit: http://www.HerWoodshed.com

Chapter 1

“Don’t move a muscle or you’ll regret it.” Leah heard the low, threatening grumble from behind her and at first she’d wondered if it was a really smart bear, and then she heard a gun cock, and she knew it wasn’t no bear. More scared than annoyed, which pissed her off even more; she reluctantly did as she was told. She didn’t have any interest in having her own blood splattering on the stark white canvas she’d set up in front of her. Although a part of her knew that dying that way would probably make her a very famous artiste. . . even if she wasn’t around to enjoy it, it would sure show some of the doubting Thomases. But she chose to live in obscurity rather than die and become more famous than Van Gogh, and kept nicely still, hoping he appreciated it, whoever the son of a bitch was. Pace Manning was livid to find some crunchy granola, artiste wannabe had set up shop on his land. He had done his damndest to set up a security perimeter around his house that was, he’d thought, largely infallible. Apparently not, he grimaced, realizing this probably wasn’t the first time she’d been here. What the hell was she doing setting up an easel in the middle of nowhere for, anyway? He asked himself, dampening the urge to shake his head at her. He swung down from Magnum, his sorrel stallion, and looked around, as much as he could while he still kept the gun trained on the hippy dippy weathergirl over there, and saw none of the multitude of clearly posted “NO TRESSPASSING – THIS MEANS YOU!” signs he’d scattered liberally throughout the forest just so that her kind wouldn’t venture onto his territory. She was probably

harmless – had probably wandered in from the commune down the road, chock full of all of the tofu and flower power and all of the auras and chakras and good vibes that she could handle. But he wasn’t going to take any chances. Some people – and you could rarely pick the offenders out of a crowd - had no regard for the law. If anyone knew that, it was him. He came up behind her, the shotgun still at his shoulder. “Stand up,” he ordered. He saw her sigh as if she was heartily annoyed with him, but she stood nonetheless. “Turn around.” He kept his finger on the trigger, just in case. He really didn’t know what she might have in her hands. All he could see was an irksomely distracting fall of golden curls that honestly looked like they had more of an acquaintance with a hairbrush than the usual suspect from Happy Valley Communal Farms. The look she gave him when she turned around was priceless. She definitely wasn’t from the commune. If purely sarcastic looks could have killed, he would have been the one dead on the forest floor. She was holding a small paintbrush – one tipped with yellow paint and one loaded up with white – in each small hand, and she had the audacity to raise her eyebrow at him as if she considered that he was the one who was in the wrong here. “You mind lowering the gun, there, Festus? I’m hardly armed, unless I can get close enough to tickle you to death.” She waggled the brushes at him in a threatening manner while rolling her eyes, trying to cover the fact that her first sight of him had her breathless, and it wasn’t because of the gun. Pace kept the gun right where it was. He did not take orders from strange women. Hell, he didn’t take orders from much of anyone under any circumstances. Pace Manning was a law unto himself . . . or rather he had been.

But that was before. Now he wasn’t much of anything. “Who are you, and where did you come from?” “I could ask you the same questions. I’m sure you’re violating all sorts of laws holding me at gunpoint . . .” Leah moved to take a step towards him. “Stop right there or I’ll shoot you dead.” It was more his chillingly cold, dead tone than the gun that stopped her in her tracks. The absolute realization that he meant exactly what he said made a huge shiver run up her spine. She’d never really confronted her own mortality, but she knew she was staring straight at it when she looked at him. His eyes were dark and dead somehow, like a shark’s, and she knew he would kill her without a moment’s hesitation or regret. That shiver had a mind of its own, and settled in a place it oughtn’t at a time like this. She did not want to have a sexual reaction to this man, despite the fact that he was definitely above six two and built like a brick outhouse – just her type. But her type wouldn’t hold an innocent woman at gunpoint. He’d be to innately honorable for that. She gave a mental sigh. That was probably why she was still single at forty one. Her standards for male behavior were obviously way too high. “Now answer my questions. And I’m not going to ask you again.” Hell, he rarely asked anything twice. He hadn’t much needed to. Most people sensed the inherent danger in him, the stark darkness that had settled onto him early in life, and had only deepened with experience . . . and grief.

Leah swallowed hard; the hands holding the brushes suddenly cold from more than the temperature outside. “My name is Leah Bentley. And I walked here, from my house, looking for a place t – to paint.” She chided herself inwardly for stuttering, not wanting to betray any fear to him at all, as if he was some sort of dominant dog who expected her to roll over and submit. “Your house?” He knew exactly who she was and where she meant, but he wasn’t about to let her know that. His stance remained exactly the same, at least until he got some proof of her claims. “Yes. I – I just bought the house that’s down the road, the cape that’s white with green shutters . . .” And she was already heartily cursing the realtor for not disclosing that there was some sort of psycho loose in the woods. She didn’t know how she knew it, but that seemed to relax him somewhat. A bit of tension left his stance, although he still held the gun on her. “I want to see some form of ID,” he ordered. Thinking it was a damned good thing that she always took her emergency wallet with her license with a couple bucks in it, just in case, when she went out looking for a spot to paint. And that she’d gone to the DMV and gotten her Wyoming license plate. Leah turned to put the brushes in her water cup quickly, then fished out the small, pocket sized purse and took a step towards him without thinking. “Stop. Throw it to me.” He obviously didn’t know how sports challenged she was, or he would never have asked her to do that. He’d be lucky if it didn’t end up in a tree. But he was the one with the firearm, so she did as she was told, amazed when it landed not far from his feet. He’d made

absolutely no attempt to catch it; instead he kept her in his sights the entire time and the gun never left her center body mass as he retrieved it and scanned it in mere seconds, tossing it back to her and lowering the gun slowly to cradle it across his body like a long lost lover. But apparently he wasn’t done issuing commands. “Show me where you got in.” “It’s nice to meet you, too,” she returned sarcastically, her muscles weak with relief but unwilling to let him see it. Pace’s mouth quirked slightly with his internal struggle. He didn’t want to tell her his name. He hadn’t wanted her to move into that damned house, either, but it had never been on the market, and she’d turned down all of his offers for it. He wanted to expand the amount of land he owned around his house, and he’d tried to buy the place from her, but her aunt had left the property to her, and she’d decided to be ornery and come live there, all the way from Boston for some strange reason. As much as he’d tried to overcome them, the manners his mother had drilled into him were still a problem some times, and, he supposed, he grudgingly admitted to himself, having a neighbor he was at least on speaking terms with would be a novelty in the least, and perhaps even an asset in the future. So he spat it out, like it was acid in his mouth. “Pace Manning,” he growled. “Show me.” “I’m Leah Bentley,” she replied a little less sarcastically, getting absolutely no reply from him. Come to think of it, Leah did remember that Angie, her too peppy to be believed realtor mentioning that she was living next to a recluse named Mr. Manning, but she’d said it very quickly, and emphasized the fact that that meant that she would probably never

see him and certainly never be bothered by him. But she’d pictured some old geezer with a limp, a beard, and no teeth. Not someone who looked like an ex-pro wrestler who had an itchy trigger finger and a taste for giving orders. So much for never being bothered by him. Confused, Leah asked, “Show you what?” Her inherently dirty mind put all sorts of connotations on those two words, despite the fact that her intellect rebelled at the idea that she could harbor any sort of attraction to this gun toting jerk. One big, black bushy eyebrow rose. That was his only movement. “The path you took from your house.” “Oh.” She turned and began to put her meager supplies away. She only took the bare necessities out – her smallest canvas, most compact easel, so that it all fit into the big, brown leather satchel she’d had since art school. She didn’t want to leave, and the thought of challenging him, making him throw his wallet to her flitted through her mind, and out, thankfully. But she couldn’t resist a slight dig as she shouldered her small pack and walked past him, asking blithely, “Do you usually pull a gun on your neighbors, Mr. Manning?” Pace put the rifle into the scabbard that hung from the saddle and fell into step next to her. His horse followed behind them without him so much as having to touch a rein or give it an order. Animals he didn’t boss around. People were another matter apparently, Leah frowned. “Only if they’re trespassing,” he returned shortly. “How was I supposed to know I was trespassing? I didn’t see any signs, any fence any anything?”

He glared down at her, which seemed to be his usual facial expression. “So you just figured that you’d take a walk and set up shop to do you etchings or whatever it is that you do on whoever’s land you pleased?” “I’m a rather well known artist, Mr. Manning. I paint. I don’t do etchings.” She stretched the truth a smidge about the well known part – she was, in New England, but not the West. Yet. But the way he’d said “etchings” and “whatever it is you do” – as if she painted velvet Elvi or dogs playing poker. “You didn’t answer the question.” This man was the most annoying, dominant, pain in the ass she’d ever had the displeasure of meeting. Back in Boston, she’d been very close with her neighbors – had become good friends with them. Apparently that wasn’t going to happen here. He thought he heard her growl, but he dismissed it. Miss Priss here didn’t look like the type of person who growled. Except maybe during sex. That thought put him more on alert against her than he’d been since he’d first discovered her. He hadn’t had a thought like that in more than ten years, and it was as unwelcome now as it would have been then. But apparently his body hadn’t gotten the memo, because he was already tenting his jeans uncomfortably, damn her. She was a complication he would not allow. He did not want to get involved with anyone, much less some flighty artistic type who was going to harp at him about his feelings all the time. “Honestly, I hadn’t given much thought to whose land I was on,” Leah admitted honestly, and Pace had to admit that that simple

confession raised his opinion of her several notches. But then she went and ruined it. “Especially since all I was doing was sitting and painting, not disturbing anyone or anything.” “I don’t care if you were just picking daisies, you were doing it on my land.” Leah hated that she could honestly see his side of the argument. But she just couldn’t let him get away with being such a bully. “So?” That single, short syllable stopped him in his tracks the way almost nothing could. “So? What if I decided to ride Magnum on your land?” She gave him a broad grin. “Please do! He’s beautiful, and you’re welcome to do so any time you like.” Her generosity offer only got her a dark scowl. “What if I fall off the horse on your land and sue you? Where’ll you be then?” Giving him a measuring look, she replied much more insightfully than Pace was comfortable with. “You don’t look like the type of man who goes looking for scapegoats when he makes a mistake. And neither am I that type of woman.” Pace thought that her at a glance summary of him was disconcertingly accurate, and he was inordinately glad to hear that she thought of herself as having basic integrity, too. Leah thought she heard him heave an aggravated sigh, but decided it must have been the wind. “You’re a brat,” he commented in an almost offhand manner, although she somehow knew that there was little if anything this man did in an offhand manner.

It was her turn to stop short, saying the defensive little sister voice she hadn’t used since she and her older brother hit adolescence. “I am not!” If she hadn’t been glaring at him, he might have missed the miniscule smile that played about his lips, only to disappear and be replaced by that line of thin, uncompromising lips. She wondered how his kiss would feel and taste, surmising that any woman who was kissed by him would have to be on her guard to not be completely overwhelmed by him. He was the most completely controlled – and controlling – man she’d ever had the misfortune to meet. Every action was quick and compact, done deliberately and with an unusual economy of motion that made her think he probably had a background in martial arts of some sort. His actions were reflected in his speech. He spoke only when necessary, and then in short, clipped sentences as much as possible. He had himself on an incredibly tight rein, and Leah hated the fact that she was dying to know why. Despite all of that rigid control, the man reeked of raw sexuality. He expelled it with every breath, exuded it from every pore, and everything about him and his attitude reinforced it. He would be devastating in bed; she’d known it from the moment she’d heard that awful grumble from behind her. And she was dying to be kissed by him, too, almost as a test of herself, to see if she would sink or swim in all that testosterone, being held by those huge, muscular arms . . . she had a feeling she wouldn’t mind it, either way. “Yeah, you are. Your husband should be keeping you on a shorter leash.” He really hadn’t been fishing, but Pace found himself inordinately pleased when she answered, “I don’t have a husband, thank you

very much.” “Then I’m not surprised you’re such a brat,” he shot back without a thought. There was little he could have said that would have annoyed her more. What was it about this man that he got under her skin so damned easily? She stopped short in front of him, and he nearly barreled into her. “I am not and you have no right to say that – you barely know me!” “I know a brat when I see one. What’s to know?” From the look in her eye, he was glad he’d holstered the gun. The thought flitted through his mind that this woman badly needed a spanking, but he knew he couldn’t go there. In today’s litigious society, if he so much as laid a finger on her he could lose everything he owned. He just had to keep repeating that fact to himself to try to dampen the urge. He hoped it worked, because she was certainly asking for it, standing there with her hands on he hips practically daring him to. She was a small snippet of a woman – much smaller than Allie had been. Allie was a tall, strong woman who, when she wore heels or stood on her tiptoes in front of him to get into his face during an argument, could very nearly look him directly in the eye. Ms. Leah Bentley was barely half his size. If he bent down to kiss her, he’d get a crick in his back. But that hair. He’d always been a sucker for long hair. Allie had always kept her dark, sable mane long for him, and he used to wrap it around his wrist to control her completely while they made love.

Or to hold her head up when he laid her across his lap for a paddling. His entire body contracted at that thought as he scowled deeply at the woman in front of him, wondering –despite his severe allergy to lawyers - how she’d react if he pulled her over his knee for the spanking she so richly deserved.

Chapter 2

That look on his face – his narrow, dark eyed glare – made her take a step back in self defense. But Pace took a naturally much bigger step towards her, and something bright red and white caught his eye, nailed to one of the trees to the side of the path she took. It was one of his signs, plain as day. He investigated a little further down the path – following her footprints - to find that a long length of fence had been taken down – probably by a deer – then covered in snow so that it wasn’t easy to see, especially if you weren’t looking. “This is the way you came?” he asked tightly, glancing pointedly from the sign to her, then back to the sign. She had the good grace to blush at having completely missed it, but nodded. As far as he was concerned, she was off the hook about the fence, but not the sigh. It was a definite reason she needed to be spanked. What if she’d stumbled onto the land of someone who wasn’t as honorable as he was? Who decided that since she was on his land out here in the wild, she was fair pickins, to do with as he pleased? It wasn’t unheard of out here in the wilds of Wyoming, although he had to admit that in all honesty, he was the biggest bad ass in the county. But you never knew who you were going to meet up here in the mountains, and the idea that she could have met someone truly bad and would have been completely defenseless against him made a fire burn in the pit of his belly that he hadn’t felt in a long time.

It was fear for another person’s safety. He hadn’t felt that since Allie . . . and Josh. Before he really thought about it, he’d shed his thick, warm gloves – dropping them carelessly into the snow - put his big booted foot up onto a stump and tipped her over his leg. He didn’t take down her pants and panties – he didn’t know her well enough, but the instinct certainly was there. Generally, he thought that spanking a woman over her clothes was pretty much a waste of time. But this particular woman could apparently do with any kind of discipline she could get. She needed to learn that she couldn’t just blithely get away with waltzing onto someone else’s property – especially that which was expressly posted as a “no trespassing” area - and set up shop. What Miss Leah Bentley sorely needed was a much bigger lesson than he was going to be able to deliver here and now about personal safety. He’d be damned if – Pace cut himself off from that line of thinking immediately, as if he’d rigidly brought down a wall within his mind. It had been the only way he could cope with what had happened, and he’d gotten pretty good at it. He didn’t need to think of this woman he’d just met in those terms, though. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t let anything or anyone dilute what he and Allie had had. But he was definitely going to give her the spanking she so richly deserved. She was struggling, and swearing a blue streak, using words he hadn’t heard in quite some time. She had quite a vulgar vocabulary, and it certainly wasn’t helping her cause. Nothing she said or did was going to get her out of getting a touch of discipline in her life, however fleeting it might be. The occasional discipline session had helped Allie enormously, especially when they were first married, and Pace was of a mind that most women – especially nowadays when gender roles were so muddled - could benefit from receiving regular discipline. He’d caught her wrists easily with his other hand, holding them

tightly – but not tightly enough that they’d discolor under any circumstances – on her back. He’d had the element of surprise on his side and she was rendered completely impotent in a matter of seconds. It was a damned good thing that he wasn’t the nefarious sort . . . at least not as far as women were concerned, he added. The moment he’d touched her, though, the moment there was skin on skin – his hand on her wrist – his already rock hard erection became an iron spike, and he knew he should have just walked away, instead of draping her over that very sensitive area. But he didn’t. He’d set himself a task, and he always finished his tasks. Her bottom was surprisingly generous, considering how delicate she was. Still his hand was nearly the size of a dinner plate, and he managed to cover most of it with the first swat. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” she screamed as his hand began to splat rhythmically against her heretofore virginal rear end. Pace didn’t bother responding to her question. He just spanked. And Pace Manning always did things to the very best of his abilities. He had reduced her to incomprehensible wailing within about seven swats, because it was inevitable that he ended up spanking the same areas over and over again, with an arm that had become steely strong from hours of self enforced manual labor. It beat hearing how she was going to sue him, how she was going to see that he didn’t have one thin dime left, and how she was going to own the land they were standing on before she was through suing him. Despite the obvious physical stimulation – touching a well rounded female bottom over and over again – and the intimacy of the position, with her taut stomach perched so near the hard heat of him – Pace had never truly enjoyed spanking Allie. He’d done it because it was what was best for her. Granted, the sex afterwards was a lovely bonus, a physical reaffirmation of their love for one another,

and an obvious reinforcement of her submission to him and his discipline. And with Leah Bentley there wasn’t going to be any “aftercare” sex. Heck, she probably wouldn’t let him within a ninety mile radius of her when he was finished. But he hoped she’d think twice about roving around the woods alone looking for a nice place to paint. It wasn’t a long spanking. It was a militaristic, strategic strike – in and out as quickly as possible, do as much damage as you could. He had her bottom literally throbbing with each heartbeat within a humiliatingly short time, and he knew it. He stopped about ten swats after that, noting that she was no longer struggling but was snuffling a little, probably trying desperately not to cry in front of him, despite the impetus. He kept her there for a minute longer, and he wasn’t even sure why. Habit, he supposed. He always made Allie stay over his lap or knee or over the dining room table or the back of the couch – wherever he’d decided to discipline her at the time – for just a bit longer than the actual spanking took. It was a purely psychological thing, a method of reinforcing submission. But she wasn’t submissive to him in any formal way, and she never would be. Suddenly incredibly angry at himself and this situation – as well as the protective and dominant impulses that seemed to be flooding his body and brain – Pace let go of her suddenly, helping her up and stalking over to Magnum. “You’ll be able to make it to your house from here?” he grumbled, pinning her with his gaze. Leah refused to answer his question. Instead, she spat out, “You’ll be hearing from my lawyer!” She turned away from him, grabbed the pack that had slid from her shoulders when he’d tugged her into that God awfully humiliating position, and trudged away with as much

dignity as she could muster . . . which wasn’t much, unfortunately. Her bottom burned atrociously, and every step reminded her of what he’d had the audacity to do, the son of a bitch. She was going to get him, but good, if it was the last thing she did. Pace watched her carefully as she tramped back along the path she’d taken in the first place. He held well back, making sure she had absolutely no idea that he followed her until he saw her safely enter her home. Only then did he guide Magnum back to the barn where he could grab the truck and the supplies necessary to fix his fence.

Of course Leah’s lawyer, Breck Hawthorn, nearly fell out of his very expensive, Italian leather seat when she called him minutes after arriving home. “He did what?” Breck knew she wanted him to be very protective and angry on her behalf, but his first impulse was to laugh. “If I hear one chuckle, one slight guffaw, Breck, I’m going to - ” It was too late. He had obviously dissolved into giggles. Breck was at least as big as her violence against women prone psycho neighbor, but his giggles were surprisingly high pitched. Usually, she would have been joining in at this point, regardless of the fact that the joke was on her, but the way her butt hurt even as she sat down in her plush, overstuffed chair kept her completely devoid of any trace of amusement. “I fail to see the humor in the situation,” she announced solemnly, which only set him off into further gales of laughter. “I’m sure you do!”

It took her friend several minutes to compose himself, during which Leah grew angrier and angrier. “I want his balls on a platter, Breck.” The seriousness of her tone sobered him considerably. It wasn’t at all like Leah to swear vengeance against anyone. She was too even tempered and patient. To a fault, usually. This guy had really pissed her off. Frankly, Breck had always thought that she needed to meet someone that would stand up to her. Leah was used to getting her way – a product of being an only child – and she’d pretty much been able to achieve that even in adulthood. Few men – with himself being one of the rare exceptions – were willing to out stubborn her, or to simply take the choice out of her hands, as this stranger seemed to have. Inwardly, he applauded him, whoever he was. Quickly grabbing a yellow pad and a pen, he asked, “What’s his name?” “Pace Manning.” Leah snorted. “It’s hard to take a man who’s named after a salsa too seriously, but believe me. He packs a wallop. And his head’s at least as hard as his hand.” Breck valiantly suppressed a giggle, then pressed on with mundane questions about the incident. “How and where did the incident take place?” Leah knew that this was where things became dicey. “Uh . . .” “Uh?” “Well . . . we uh . . . met in the woods.” “The woods?” “Yeah. I was out looking for something to paint, and I’d found a

beautiful scene – all snow covered and pristine . . .” “And?” Breck knew the dangers of getting an artist talking about her work. Especially this one. “Uh, he, uh, found me. And walked me back towards my house, and he spanked me – out of the blue. All of a sudden.” Breck snorted a little, but brought himself immediately under control. “Absolutely nothing happened to provoke the incident?” “Well . . .” Leah heard him sigh in exasperation. “What aren’t you telling me, Leah?” he asked, sounding disgustingly like the man she wanted to sue. She drew a deep breath and just said it. “I was on his land when he found me. Posted ‘no tresspassing’ land. His fence was down for quite a ways around, and snow covered . . .” Leah knew he was leaning back in his chair, she could hear it squeak. “Did he hit you anywhere else?” Indignant, she answered, “Anywhere else? Isn’t blistering my butt bad enough?” “I’m just trying to get a feel for the situation, Leah,” Breck soothed. “Do you want to know what I think, or what?” “I do, I do.” She had a sudden premonition that she wasn’t going to like it, though. “Well, first off, if you’re going to proceed with this, we’re going to need pictures.”

Her eyebrows rose to her hairline. “Pictures?” “Yes. Of your spanked butt.” “Not friggin’ likely!” Leah could hear him smile. “That’s kind of what I thought. I really don’t think you should pursue this, because of several things. First, there’s the embarrassment factor. Do you really want to have to say all of this in court? Have to take pictures of your butt?” She wasn’t at all sure she even could get pictures of her rear end! How could she possibly accomplish that by herself? “Secondly,” Breck continued, “you were in the wrong being on his land.” “He had a gun on me, and he spanked me!” “Well, I don’t like the idea any more than you do, but gun laws in the West aren’t what they are in the East. A jury out there is much more likely to side with a landowner protecting his land from rustlers or whatever than with some flighty artist from Boston doing Lord knows what on someone else’s land.” Frowning at that characterization of herself, Leah nonetheless kept her mouth shut. “And thirdly, you’ve just moved there, and I know you love it. You don’t want to start a war with this man. He’s your neighbor. You’re kind of stuck with each other. Do your best to avoid him and I’m sure he’ll do the same for you, and you can forget this ever happened.” She’d been right. She hadn’t liked what he had to say. Not one bit. She hated feeling impotent, almost as much as she hated feeling spanked!

“Grrrrrrrrrrrrr.” “That’s my best advice, honey. If you decide you still want to go through with this, I’ll be very interested to see the pictures, at least . . .” he teased. There had never been anything even vaguely sexual between herself and Breck. They had become very good friends in college, when she was struggling to let her parents down gently about becoming the lawyer they saw her as. They’d met in pre-law classes, and clicked really immediately, and had always treated each other more as brother and sister than anything else. As a result, she would have been almost more embarrassed for him to see those shots what was undoubtedly her raw red ass than if her parents had seen them. It just wouldn’t have been right, and that idea sealed the deal. She was going to have to put the incident behind her – there was nothing else for it. Damn it. More than a week later, when the weather forecasters were predicting that there would be a dire storm developing within the next two days or so, someone began pounding on her door. She washed and dried her hands quickly – she was in the middle of a somewhat dark, angry painting. When her emotions had nowhere else to go, they poured out onto the canvas, whether she wanted them to or not. It was turning out to be a very different type of painting than what her usual stuff was, but then sometimes different was good – she hoped so. She had a mortgage to pay. Wondering who it might be. The mammoth truck in the driveway was a dilapidated red pick up, not a delivery truck. She opened the door and there stood Mr. Salsa himself, leaning indolently against the door jamb, as if he had every right to be there, and looking

altogether too damned sexy. He made her catch her breath against her will. No man had ever done that to her. For a long time when she was younger, she’d pretty much thought she was immune to men. Perhaps even gay. But she wasn’t. She was just very selective. She could count on one hand the number of men she’d slept with, and although she enjoyed sex enormously, Leah was independent and involved in her own life enough that she’d never felt much of a compulsion to always have a man around, much less to marry one. None of them, so far, had even struck her as the type she might possibly want to marry. None of them had knocked the breath out of her. It was just her luck that the man with the trigger happy finger – and hand – was the one who made ever nerve in her body tingle. She didn’t want to be attracted to him! Leah kept her hand on the door knob, and the rest of herself well away from him, just in case he reached for her wrist like he’d done in the woods. She did not intend to ever give him the chance to do that to her again. She said but one word – unlike her usual jovial self – and she let him know by her body language that she’d been reluctant to even get that much out. “What?” He straightened and met her gaze squarely. “Storm coming. You need anything?” She could not have been more surprised, although she did her best to cover it. “I’m fine, thanks.” Pace seriously doubted she knew what she needed to survive a storm in the mountains. “Kerosene lamps? Generator? Extra food? Blankets? Candles? Batteries?”

She didn’t have one bit of any of those things, but Leah wasn’t about to let him know that. She’d go into town later and get stuff. It was her experience that weathermen always exaggerated the threat of a storm to better their ratings, anyway. The woman was looking straight at him and lying outright. He knew it bone deep. It had been one of the instincts that had kept him alive when he was on the job; he always knew when he was being lied to. The guys in his unit were always threatening to take him to play poker in Vegas, but they’d never gotten around to it. His low, drawled, “Uh huh,” let her know that he knew that she didn’t have any of those things. “Was there anything else?” she asked, already starting to close the door. His huge, booted foot – which she remembered seeing propped up on that damnably handy stump as he spanked her – stopped the swing of the door. “I’m not joking. The power will go out. You need those supplies.” Leah snorted, frowning as fiercely as she could. “And I’ll go into town and get what I need myself, thank you very much, Mr. Manning. Now please remove yourself from my premises.” Pace stood there for a moment longer, looking her up and down consideringly, then turned and left. There was more than one way to take maneuver around a woman who was too stubborn for her own good.

Chapter 3 Leah was pretty much oblivious when she painted, and she found herself completely engrossed over the next day or so, so much so that she barely looked up from the canvas, and she fell asleep in her studio, rather than dragging herself off to bed. She’d fallen in love with this log home the first moment she’d seen it, loving its traditional lines and the surprising brightness of the logs. When she’d heard it was a log home, she pictured something out of Abraham Lincoln’s childhood – a one room cabin, small and dark, ratty logs that didn’t fit together well and few if any windows. But log homes had come a long way. Her house was gorgeous on the outside, if a bit bare on the inside, with lots of floor to ceiling windows to let in the natural light. It was perfect. Her apartment in Boston had been considerably smaller, but she’d fill it out as things sold, tucking extras away for a show she was planning at an upscale gallery in Jackson Hole. So when she finally got it together enough to want to go into town and grab the supplies he’d said she needed – despite the fact that she didn’t think it was going to be all that bad - it was past noon the day after Mr. Manning had made his impromptu appearance, but something seemed to be blocking the door. She was barely able to push her way out onto the porch for the huge box that blocked it. Leah squatted down next to it, rummaging through its contents: batteries, candles, dry goods and snacks, a kerosene lamp, two blankets, and eight white emergency candles. That pain in the neck psycho spanker had brought her pretty much everything she’d need to get through the storm. Damn him.

A few hours later, Leah set out for his house, intending on leaving a basket of baked goods on his doorstep like he’d left emergency supplies on hers, but when she finally found his driveway, she was barred by a twelve foot wrought iron gate. Leah was standing in front of it, wondering what the hell to do now, when a voice startled the life out of her. “Ms. Bentley. To what do I owe the honor?” Although she looked around, knowing there had to be a camera, mike, and speaking somewhere around, but unable to determine just where they were, she finally gave up and said to the fence, “I just wanted to bring you some goodies I made and to thank you for leaving that box of batteries and stuff.” She couldn’t resist adding, “Although you really didn’t have to – I was going to go to the store myself . . .” The gate opened slowly and silently, like something out of a horror movie without the usual creak, and the disembodied – but decidedly male – voice said, “Follow the driveway up to the front door, Red.” Red? She asked herself as she slipped through the gates. Her hair wasn’t red. His house, when it came into view, was exactly what she expected – it was a clean, low, no nonsense, no fuss place with sharp angles absolutely no inherent warmth whatsoever. It was the exact opposite of her own place, she realized as she lifted her hand to knock on the door. But it opened automatically, too, without anyone being there. “Hello?” she called out, hating the way her voice echoed as she stepped cautiously into the house. Did the man own no drapes or

carpet at all? As she got further and further into the place, she realized that, no, he didn’t. Tile, marble, and hardwood floors, yes. Lots of chrome and glass, angles and sharp corners. The thought that this would be no place to raise a kid popped unbidden into her head, and she shooed it out immediately, like mentally spitting out a mouthful of moldy Twinkie. He appeared from the kitchen, looking impressively – and disgustingly – sexy in a blue t-shirt, well worn jeans, and no shoes. At least this time he wouldn’t be able to flash those boots to remind her of what he’d done to her, Leah thought, recognizing the irony there. Suddenly, at the sight of that broad chest, her mouth became her skin in winter – eternally dry – and all she could do was lead with the basket, as if it was some sort of lifeline. Luckily, he didn’t seem to be similarly affected, and took it out of her hands, almost smiling as he removed the cloth. If there was one thing she did well besides paint, it was bake. She could cook all right, but her baking was exceptional. She’d pegged him as about the least fancy man she’d met besides Breck – who ate anything that stood still long enough – and tailored what she made to what she thought he might like, filling the basket with homemade honey dipped and cinnamon sugar doughnuts, cinnamon rolls, and a brown sugar and pecan sticky bun coffee cake that was orgasmic in and of itself. Pace had very few vices, as far as he was concerned. He didn’t smoke, he didn’t swear, and he didn’t sleep around. But he had a sweet tooth that was the size of the entire state of Wyoming. Maybe bigger. Somehow, this annoying woman had managed to bring him a basketful of stuff that he had had to drive into town a couple of days ago just to get a fix of.

Maybe she wasn’t such a brat, after all. Maybe. “Thank you.” Leah tried not to fidget nervously, but every molecule in her body was responding to his nearness, and it was getting harder by the minute to marshal her thoughts into some sort of order that didn’t have to do with sex. “Y-you’re welcome. Thank you for the supplies. I stumbled over them just as I was going out the door to get them.” “This late, there aren’t going to be any left in town. You’d have to go down to Jackson,” he chided. Leah shrugged. “Okay.” He tried to keep his temper in check. He really did. “I don’t think you understand the severity of storms in this area yet, Red. You haven’t been here that long.” “I’ll have you know I grew up in New England. I’ve been up to my hips in snow, on very rare occasion, from one storm, and the forecasters always play it up for ratings.” “Coffee?” he offered, pouring himself a truly monumental mug of it. “No, thanks.” “Well, let me tell you something, Ms. Bentley.” He gave her a look that made Leah feel as if he was cupping her privates in his hand. “Around here, ranchers and farmers make their living by the weather. Our forecasters don’t give a damn about ratings – they’re trying to save lives, cattle, and money. If they say there’s going to be a bad storm, figure that it’s going to be worse than anything you’ve ever seen in Boston, and then figure that there are no plows that

come this far out. In one storm, the snow can be piled higher than your door, and you could be trapped in your house, without power or heat, for days, even weeks.” Leah was frowning. The realtor hadn’t mentioned anything like that to her. “Would you have bought the house if you’d know?” he answered with a cynical near smile, holding out the basket to her. Although she could bake up a storm, Leah rarely ate anything she made, so she shook her head. “Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.” “Can I get you something else to drink instead of coffee?” he offered. She was biting her lip, wondering if she should make a quick trip into Jackson Hole for extra supplies. “Don’t do it,” he said quietly. Leah’s eyes snapped up to his. How could he have read her mind so easily. “Don’t what?” “Don’t go into Jackson Hole. You won’t get home before the storm, and if it’s as bad as they say, I’ll come and get you and bring you back here.” “Why would I be any better off here than in my own home?” she snorted, instead of being thankful that he was going to watch out for her. One eyebrow rose at her tone and Leah was depressed to realize that immediately regretted being sarcastic, and was watching those huge hands as he devoured most of her offerings in one sitting, just in case he decided to make a grab for her again. He took a swallow of coffee before answering in one word.

“Generator.” She growled again, and he actually smiled, sort of. “I’ll be fine.” He snorted, giving her a look above the rim of his mug. “If it gets bad, I’m going to come and get you, Ms. Bentley. You’ll ride out the storm here, where you can be safe.” She wasn’t looking him in the eye, but he could tell from her body language that she was going to continue to be stubborn about it. “I’m not going to argue with you about it, regardless.” He didn’t say anything further, but the implied threat was certainly there. If she didn’t comply when he came to get her, she would end up over his lap again. They passed an uncomfortable moment of silence, during which Lean fidgeted nervously and almost turned to leave and he devoured a large piece of the coffee cake, his face dissolving into complete bliss. “I think I’ll have to do something to make you like me so that I can make sure the stream of baked goods doesn’t dry up.” “Don’t hold your breath.” Pace took a few steps towards her, and Leah refused to back away, although everything in her wanted to. He leaned one elbow against the counter, making his eyes almost level with hers. “I don’t know, Red. I can be pretty charming when I want to be.” Her doubtful snort echoed loudly around them. “What’s with the ‘Red’ this and ‘Red’ that? My hair’s blonde!” She brandished a long strand at him accusatorily, and he took it between his thumb and forefingers, rubbing it slowly. “I know.” For a moment he seemed entranced by her hair, then he dropped it as if it had burned him. “The ‘Red’ is for Red Riding Hood. Bringing goodies through the woods.” “Yeah, but she wasn’t making them for the big bad wolf,” Leah eyed

him up and down. “They were supposed to be for grandma.” It was the first time she’d heard him laugh, and it was a wonderful, deep throated sound that reverberated through his chest directly to her own. It made her want to step into his arms, despite the fact that she wasn’t at all sure that he wouldn’t just throw her over his lap again. But she did know, deep down, that he wasn’t that type of a man. It was in everything about him, everything about his strong – almost too strong - confident manner. That type of man would never have brought his naïve neighbor a box full of emergency things. She couldn’t say that she was frightened of him, exactly. She was, however, appropriately wary, considering what had happened the first time they’d met. She couldn’t possibly have known the entire time he was in the life he went by the call sign “Wolfman”, but she’d certainly pegged him right. Leah didn’t want to overstay her welcome . . . and she didn’t want to give her already traitorous body any more ammunition. She already knew as soon as she’d seen that massive body of his coming towards her than she was going to have to change her panties as soon as she got home. He might as well have been made to her own personal specifications: impossibly tall, dark, and broody. She’d always gone for the Mr. Rochester type, although somehow she knew this man had something even more sinister in his background than Rochester had. He was the very dominant, direct, unapologetically masculine type – exactly what she’d ordered - and it was rapidly getting to the point where her body was trying to convince her mind that it was perfectly okay that he’d spanked her. Expected, even, considering his demeanor. But she rebelled at that thought, like she’d tried to rebel at the spanking itself – and she was having the same success rate as

she’d had trying to stop that massive hand of his from snapping down onto her poor vulnerable butt! Even thought she wasn’t sitting, Leah shifted her feet, as if remembering that awful, uncomfortable ache, and for some reason the thought of it drew her eyes to where his hands reached for yet another doughnut. They were blue collar, working hands, tough and callused and dinner plate sized, easily. Once she’d gotten off the phone with Breck, on the afternoon Manning had spanked her, Leah hadn’t been able to resist the urge to look at her butt in the big mirror in the bathroom that she usually assiduously avoided, Breck’s words about needing pictures of the “damages” floating through her mind as she saw the distinct imprint of those strong fingers on her flesh, even through her jeans and panties! Apparently one had to be a pastry to be treated delicately by those ham hands of his. Visions of what it might be like to have those hands be doing something to that general area of her body other than spanking it filled her head suddenly, making Leah begin to backpedal out of the place as if he’d propositioned her right then and there. “Well, I’m going to go get back to work.” She didn’t recognize her own voice – it was strangled and hoarse and more than a little shaky. If there was one thing that Pace understood, it was the need to work. Since he’d lost Allie and Josh, he’d devoted himself to little else. Luckily he no longer needed to be in the field, although the draw to get back into it was nearly irresistible at times. When he’d worked his last assignment, Allie had made him promise that, no matter what, he would never, ever go back to that life, and he’d kept his word. It had nearly killed him at times – the loneliness, the recriminations, the “shoulda, woulda, couldas” – and work would have been a great

solace, but he hadn’t gone back. He couldn’t break his word to her, even if she was just an angel watching over him now. Along with their son. Despite the familiar agony that lanced through him as the memories flooded into his almost unwilling mind, he remembered the manners his mother had drilled into him. As he followed her to the door, he mumbled, “Thank you for the goodies.” And Leah mumbled awkwardly back, “Welcome. Thank you for the supplies.” “You’re welcome.” He moved ahead of her easily and got to the door first, holding it open. “Remember – if the power comes out or the storm gets really bad, I’ll be there to pick you up. You might want to get a bag ready by the door. No telling how long we could be stuck here.” Leah shook her head at how unbelievably autocratic he was. “You can shake your head all you like, but I’ll throw you over my shoulder and carry you out of the house if I need to.” She didn’t say anything, but continued to shake her head until she was well out of his sight, as he alternately glared at and coveted that nicely shaped back.

It had been snowing since before she’d gotten up, but she hadn’t let that interrupt her routine. Leah felt that keeping as much to a routine as possible helped her be creative. Every artist worked differently, but she was up nearly at the crack of dawn – no matter how depressing the thought was, got dressed, had something to eat, and began to paint. Even if she didn’t feel like painting, she got a loaded

brush in her hand and just did it. She had long since found that the early morning hours, before the phone began to ring incessantly or people began to drop by unexpectedly – as had happened with almost annoying frequency in Boston, where she was surrounded by family and friends – was the most productive time of the day for her. She often snorted at the idea that she had her own daily grind. Self employed or not, she had to be up at a depressingly early hour if she was going to get anything done. But this morning something was off. She didn’t know why or what, but something was wrong. She couldn’t get into the groove for some reason, and the only things that were flowing through her brain were pictures of the man she least wanted to obsess over. Pace Manning. She had been working on what she’d barely begun when he’d found her, but everything seemed to be turning into his face as she painted, so she gave up on that one and pulled out a blank canvas, becoming immediately absorbed in it, to the point where she forgot to eat or drink or sleep or answer the ringing phone. She was so wrapped up in what she was doing that she didn’t realize the power was out; she preferred to paint to candlelight as much as possible, and thus her studio had multiple antique silver and brass candelabra. It wasn’t until someone began pounding angrily on her door that she even began to come out of her trance. She didn’t really need to think about who it was, and actually didn’t say a thing to him as she opened the door to reveal her fuming neighbor. Leah had no idea why he was so angry, but she could practically see the angry steam rising off the short black hair at the top of his head.

Chapter 4

“Is your phone working?” She was getting depressingly used to that low growl of his. “I tried to call you and tell you I was on my way.” He obviously wasn’t very happy that he hadn’t been able to get a hold of her, but Leah wasn’t going to worry about it. When she’d been so deeply entranced by her work, it was sometimes hard for her to snap back into reality, but she was trying, for his sake. “How can I help you, Mr. Manning?” Pace had never been very good with small talk, and he wanted to get back to his own place as soon as possible. She couldn’t possibly be that obtuse, could she? “I told you that I was going to come over and get you if the power went out – you’ve got no generator, and this place is going to get pretty cold.” “I’ll be fine.” He sighed, realizing she wasn’t going to come easily. “Did you get a bag ready?” “I don’t need a bag.” She was coming out of the creative fog. His dour, overwhelming presence - standing there looking like a mountainous Nanook of the North in a shearling coat - helped dispel it much more quickly than usual, “Since I’m not going anywhere.” Pace didn’t think about what he was going to do next. He already knew it. He found her coat on the hook by the door, grabbed it, and tackled her – gently – where she stood, throwing her over his shoulder in a heap with the coat. “Put me down! Are you out of your mind? This is kidnapping!” She

kicked and punched and fought him as best she could, but became entangled in the coat, besides the fact that she knew that even if she landed a good punch or two, the effect would be that of a flea punching a polar bear. Although she expected him to have that big horse of his at the ready, it had been replaced by a large snow mobile, instead. He bundled Leah onto it and took his place behind her, starting it instantly and trapping her with his arms and legs. She had no avenue of escape whatsoever. The snow was coming down so hard it was very nearly a whiteout, but he didn’t even hesitate on the way back to his house – it was as if he had some sort of homing beacon, although you could barely tell there was a road in front of them. He didn’t give her the chance to escape when he pulled up to the door, either, hopping easily off the sled and hauling her back up in his arms, walking easily with his extra load even though the snow was well above his knees. She hadn’t realized how cold her house had gotten, nor how cold it was outside, until she entered the lovely, melting warmth of his house. He helped her off with her coat, tossing it over the back of his black leather sofa, then sitting down on it and catching her wrist. Leah was off guard, just trying to get warm when she wandered by him, and Pace wasn’t going to let such an opportunity go by. His legs hit her stomach hard, making her “oof”, just as that heavy length of arm came down across her back, pinning her in a place she already knew she didn’t want to be. “Let me up this instant! I’m not kidding around here. I’ll have you brought up on kidnapping and assault charges! I will!” As he began to spank, bringing that broad, flat palm of his down onto her wiggling rump, he said with an annoying calm, “I suggest you speak to Phil Hendricks. He’s the county sheriff. I’m sure you’ll

get your best results with him.” He made her so angry that if she could have reached any part of him, she would have bit him. But he’d sat – deliberately, she was sure – on the corner of the couch, so that on of his legs was on either side, and she had nowhere to bite, damn him. But her hands were free. In an unusually planned motion, Leah picked her target carefully. His left leg. He wasn’t wearing cowboy boots; he was wearing shit kickers, so his calves would be vulnerable. She wasn’t at all sure how vulnerable, but she was going to do her damnedest to hurt him as much as she could as quickly as she could. She would swear her butt was already beginning to blister. The bastard. He thought he could spank her with impunity – well, he had another thing coming. Thanking the Gods that she eschewed the latest fad of acrylic nails, which would have been as useless as tits on a bull in digging or pinching him, she let her hand creep towards his leg as if it was on some sort of secret mission, praying he wouldn’t notice it, and praying that she could survive the spanking until she could wreak her vengeance on him. Lean couldn’t believe just how awful being spanked was. She’d never been touched as a child, yet here she was over his lap for the second time since meeting him less than a month ago! She was a grown woman – she was not going to put up with being spanked by anyone, much less this uncouth oaf. She made it and stopped for a second, growing even angrier when she realized that there were tears dripping off her cheeks. The son of a bitch was making her cry! His hand was so big that he couldn’t help but hit the same spots over and over again, and he was so damned strong that her poor bottom tried to cringe away even without any conscious thought, which moved her hand up against his leg.

Leah froze in place as best she could – which was not much, since her entire body was engaged in trying to avoid being anywhere in the vicinity for the next swat. She was terrified that he’d notice, but he didn’t. Finally, she gave herself permission to launch her attack, and it went well – except for the fact that he was wearing newer denim jeans that were more than a match for what there was of her puny nails. She gave up on them quickly, though, and tried to pinch him. She couldn’t pinch even an eight of an inch on his leg. Nothing. Nada. Zippo. The man was like so much concrete – a solid, tree limb sized hunk of muscle. Leah hadn’t been this pissed in ages. She had a very easy going nature. Not much got her mad – except the traffic in Boston, where she’d felt free in venting at the other drivers around her until the air in her Acura would have made Lenny Bruce blush. This man was definitely ranking way above even the worst gridlock, but she felt the exact same powerlessness about him as she did the miles of bumper to bumper cars. Only the cars didn’t spank! She couldn’t hurt him. He was impervious, the snot. Pushing and pulling and wiggling and trying to twist did her absolutely no good, and she literally screamed in frustration when he blithely reached down and gathered her wrists together, trapping them against the small of her back with less than no effort and continuing to spank relentlessly. And then he began to lecture as he spanked, adding the power of the swat to emphasize some words. “I told you I was going to come and get you, you stubborn little cuss. And that’s exactly what I did. If you had stayed in that house, with as long as it usually takes the

electric company to get the power restored, you’d’ve been dead. If you’d done as you were told and come along civilly, you’d be tucked away here comfortably with me until they got the power back on. But you had to do it the hard way. Next time you’ll know that the hard way with me includes a trip over my lap.” Nowhere near subdued, despite the fact that she couldn’t control the tears or sobs or moans, Leah screamed, “Everything involves a trip over your lap, you pervert! It’s no wonder you’re not married! No woman would put up with this!” She couldn’t see the muscle twitch in Pace’s cheek, and he didn’t change how he spanked her at all. He’d started it, and he would finish it, regardless of the flood of memories of incidents when Allie had found herself in just this position. She hadn’t been any too happy, either. He didn’t let himself get distracted, though, and continued to spank her until he thought he had driven his point home on her well rounded rump. She wasn’t a very big woman, but she had more than ample protection where it counted. Her hair had been ruthlessly scraped away from her head and wrangled into a bun at the back of her head – probably for the ease of painting – but had come largely undone during her struggles. And she was a wildcat, this one. He knew that if there had been any way for her to hurt him with those surprisingly strong fingers, she would have. He was damned glad this position didn’t afford her the ability to bite him – he’d’ve needed stitches, and a tetanus booster, he was sure. Finally, he stopped, and the both of them were breathing heavily, but for very different reasons. Leah was both very hurt and very angry, and on the verge of physical exhaustion from trying to effect any sort of rescue for herself. Pace’s palm was sore and tingling, and there were other parts of him that were most definitely tingling that really

shouldn’t have been. Well, he thought in retrospect, at least this wasn’t their house in which he was getting a hard on for another woman. He’d sold the home that he and Allie had built – after his family had died, he couldn’t even bear to go into it and had stayed with a friend. He didn’t even pack it up – he hired a moving company instead, and threw himself into building this fortress of solitude. Its dark starkness suited the mood that had descended so long ago, never to relinquish its hold on him. That was until this little hippy chick had made herself comfy in his woods, and proceeded to drive him crazy in little ways ever since – and she didn’t even need to be in the vicinity when she did it, either! She was all he could think about. He found himself out on Magnum, just riding around surveying his land like the feudal lord he was, and somehow that blasted horse always lead him right to the boarder between their property, to where he could see her house from the fence he’d repaired immediately. He always turned around as soon as he realized where he was – yet again – but that didn’t alleviate the original problem that he always ended up there, and he didn’t like it. He didn’t want to be attracted to her. He was very happy with his life as it was, and never intended to get involved with any other woman. He’d had the best, and wasn’t in the least interested in the rest. Until he saw that beautiful fall of blonde hair. And now he knew how soft and silky it was – he’d held it between his fingers. She was barely more than a handful, but obviously not afraid of fighting him. He liked that. A frown settled onto his face as he helped her off his lap the rose himself, only to be cracked across the face by a small but stingy hand. Pace stood there, looking down at her as she glared up at

him. “Do you want to end up over my lap again, Ms. Bentley?” One eyebrow rose as he saw her bit her lip. Damn him! He could – and would – do it, she knew deep down in the pit of her stomach. That barbarian wouldn’t so much as bat an eyelash – a deep, sooty black eyelash that was too nice to belong to a man – at laying on another long session of smacking that board like hand of his down onto her already well seared butt. She was still glaring when she replied petulantly, “No.” “Well, then are you hungry? I was just about to fire up the grill.” She hadn’t been, but at his mention of food, she was suddenly starving. A huge part of her wanted to slump like a pouting child on the couch – on her stomach or side, of course – and not so much as acknowledge him until he finally let her go home. But another part of her – her stomach – started to rumble at the mere thought of eating something. Leah blinked when she realized it had been more than a day since she’d eaten anything, and before she realized it she was in the kitchen. “The grill? You’re going to grill in this weather?” She knew he was crazy – hell, he’d spanked her twice; that was pretty darned crazy, if you asked her. But she hadn’t realized that he was crazy enough to try to grill in a blizzard. He just stood there smiling, and brought a zip bag with two huge, luscious looking steaks out of the freezer. Leah’s mouth was already watering, and then he opened the bag to get the meat out and the smell of garlic and herbs and spices wafted to her nose and she nearly fainted with it. “That smells wonderful – what is it?” “Never you mind,” he scolded softly. “It’s my own secret marinade. This afternoon we’ll have steaks and baked potatoes and some corn

I froze from last summer. Dessert is a frozen cheesecake, I’m afraid. I don’t have your abilities with a rolling pin.” She followed him to the sliding glass doors at the end of the smallish dining room, only to see that he had what looked like a professional grilling set up – covered, of course. “I can think of a good use for my rolling pin about now, and it doesn’t involve baking anything.” He gave her an almost thoughtful look. “I imagine you could. But you’d better make your first swipe count, because then I’d be mad.” He closed the slider between them, and she stood there for a long moment afterwards, watching him and frowning deeply. They had gotten off on the wrong foot, and there seemed there was absolutely no recovering from it now. She’d trespassed, which had broken a cardinal rule of his, and he’d spanked her, which had broken a cardinal rule of hers. And neither one of them was going to budge – they were just two too stubborn people. After realizing she’d been leaning against the glass, dreamily staring out at him as if she had a terminal case of puppy love, Leah straightened and went into the kitchen, opening cupboards and drawers looking for plates, glasses and silverware. Once the table was set, she went back to her spot by the door, drawn by him against her will. Despite his tendency to spank first and ask questions later, she found herself enormously attracted to him. Even bent over his legs with her bottom on fire, other rebellious parts of her body, that weren’t very far from where his hand kept landing, were more than willing to forgive him anything . . . especially if he’d be willing to move that hand a little further south of the equator. Try as she did, she couldn’t quite squelch those traitorous thoughts as they sat down to dinner. Leah had expected that it would pretty much be conducted in silence, but that couldn’t have been further

from the truth. He somehow got her talking about herself, even though that was her least favorite thing to do, and before she knew it she was telling him things about herself that she shouldn’t have. It must have been the wonderful Merlot he had quietly slipped into her glass. It couldn’t be that he was actually putting her at her ease. Hell, the snot had even made a production of getting an extra cushion from the couch for her to sit on, slipping it slyly onto her chair as she brought the salt, pepper, and butter to the table. But he had very carefully kept the conversation directed well away from himself. When he got up to get the cheesecake that had been thawing on the counter, taking the plates from her and not letting her help, she grew bold. “So. Who are you and what do you do?” A plate and some silverware clattered loudly onto the gray marble countertop. “Oh, I’m just a simple mountain man.” She nearly snorted wine out of her nose. “Yeah. If I’m Red Riding Hood, you’re Grizzly Adams, hmmmmm? I don’t think so. Grizzly didn’t have a fingerprint reader or a retinal scan at his door.” Leah squinted at him as he brought the luscious looking – box or not dessert to the table. “You don’t look like a Hollywood big wig.” “Probably because I’m not.” She leaned a bit forward in order to study him more closely. “But your mother had a good sense of humor.” He couldn’t wait to hear how she’d deduced that. “Oh?” “Yeah, well, she had to. She named you after a salsa!” His laughter was much higher pitched than it should have been for a

man his size. “Actually,” he explained, putting a man sized slab of cheesecake on a dessert plate and handing it to her. She shouldn’t have accepted that much, but she did anyway, and refused to regret it as it melted slowly over her tongue. “She named me after what my father was doing the night I was born. My mom was in labor for about thirty nine hours. I was three weeks late.” “Your poor mother! Not even born and you were giving her trouble! Sheesh! Why am I not surprised?” Feeling somewhat defensive and not liking it at all, he glared at her, “I’ll have you know that I was a wonderful son.” If you discounted the fact that – once he grew up - he was constantly in danger and probably worried her half to death. But he didn’t need to let her know that. Leah had been devouring her little slice of heaven with delicate greed, until she noticed that he was wearing a gold band on his left ring finger. Her heart stopped and the dessert might as well have been sand in the Sahara of her mouth. “You’re married?” she asked, choking on a swallow of ice water. The look he gave her made her thoroughly regret asking the question.

Chapter 5 When he answered, though, his eyes were on his plate. “Uh, no. I’m a widower. I just . . . ca – haven’t taken it off.” Her hand went automatically to his arm. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up such a painful subject, Mr. Manning. Please forgive me.” His heart was clenched so painfully in his chest he could barely speak. “No. You didn’t know. It’s – It’s fine. Just still new, even though it’s been years.” She patted his arm several times – noting the bulging, unyielding muscles beneath her hand – then withdrew it to her own lap. “Oh, please don’t apologize.” It was one of the most awkward moments Leah had ever lived through. She took the opportunity to get up once she’d finished her cheesecake, and grabbed as many things from the table as she could. “No, don’t do that. You’re a guest. I’ll do it,” he got up immediately. “You spank all of your guests?” came out of her mouth before she could stop it. Maybe he did spank all of his guests! The almost smile she caught was a helluva lot better than the devastated look he’d been sporting seconds earlier. “You’re right. You’re hardly a guest any more, since the rug in the living room is still probably wet with your tears.” He got the rest of the things from the table and brought them into the kitchen, shooing her out the other end of it. “And the answer to your question is that I only spank the ones that deliberately disobey me.”

Her fiery glare might have cowed a lesser man, but he ignored it. Leah wandered her way into the living room – not that she wanted to, but she didn’t want him to catch her mooning over him even more than she didn’t want to see that dark spot on the carpet that he’d rudely mentioned. He had a gorgeous view, but it wasn’t nearly enough to take her mind off of him. The poor man, losing his wife. That was awful. She didn’t really even know what to say to him about it, or anything. He was obviously still trying to deal with it. “Do you like movies?” he asked as he flicked off the kitchen and dining room lights behind him. It was the first time she’d noticed that he was in his stocking feet, and it made him seem just a tad bit more approachable – more at home, more relaxed than he usually was. “Yeah, sure. I do.” He lead the way to the den, which sported a gray sectional with dual recliners in the center and a TV that made most movie theatre screens look small. “Holy moly!” She’d never seen him look embarrassed before, but her comment had his cheeks getting a bit dusky under that tan of his. He cleared his throat and said, “Yeah, I know. I don’t have many vices, but I like movies – and some television, and I like as close to the movie theatre experience as I can get at home.” He had roamed over to a huge cupboard that was built into the wall next to the television, and opened the door. Leah had never seen such a collection of DVDs outside of a Best Buy. Since she hadn’t been to a movie in years, they settled on a flick pretty easily, although she did insist that he choose one he hadn’t

already seen. Then ended up watching “Crash,” and agreed afterwards that it was one of the best movies they’d ever seen. The rest of the afternoon was spent either watching movies or playing video games. Or rather, Leah watching him play video games, because whenever she tried, she ended up dying within five seconds. It was positively painful for her to play a Grand Prix game, because she could never get the car to go in the right direction. She was a good sport about it, though, he had to give her that. And then they played Jeopardy and found they were very evenly matched. Dinner was a light salad she whipped up, the nutritional value of which was completely negated by the huge chunks of cheesecake that followed it, along with several more glasses of Merlot for each of them. By the time they played their last game – and she’d made him switch to card games with which she was much more familiar – they were both reasonably drunk, Leah much more so than Pace since she didn’t drink very much. She was just drunk enough, though, to lose all of the inhibitions she needed to keep firmly in place around him. “Why did you spank me?” He looked surprised at the question, but met her somewhat bleary eyes full on and answered, “Because you did stupid things that put you in danger.” “But why should you care?” The answer was that he didn’t – emotionally – at first. His initial reaction to her was purely physical. Rampant and rowdy and rigid, but physical none the less. But the raw truth was that, although she

annoyed the piss out of him at times, he found that she was growing on him, rather like a persistent fungus. He grinned broadly and knew that she wouldn’t be at all pleased that he’d characterized her as a fungus. “What are you laughing at?” she asked in drunken accusation. “Nothing. The truth is that I didn’t care about anything that first time – I was just pissed that you’d gotten through some pretty expensive and extensive security measures, and you were so cavalier about it. You didn’t much care that you were on my property, and therefore were a potential liability to me if you’d so much as stubbed your toe.” She was frowning, but it looked more like she was just trying to concentrate on what he was saying as opposed to actually being offended. “But today was because you were such a pain in my behind, when I was just trying to help you.” “I din’t need any halp. And you made my butt hurt, you snot!” She leaned over towards him, taking a huge swing, as if she was going to smack him hard in retribution, but her arm stopped just before her hand connected, and she merely tapped him. This was a lot less than he’d done to her – twice! “Did you spank your wife?” The intimate question popped into her mind and was out her mouth before she had a chance to think about it, and she regretted it instantly as she literally watched his face close up before her eyes. “Yes, I did, not that it’s any of your business.” He rose and took their glasses into the kitchen, all business now when he’d unwound some with her this evening. He’d been more relaxed with her than he’d been with anyone in a long time, and it had felt good.

Until she’d brought Allie full front and center in his mind, where she always belonged. He wasn’t angry at her question, he was angry at himself for forgetting who he was. He was married to Allie, and that was then end of it. No woman had ever been able to turn his head from that prominent innermost thought, and he wasn’t at all happy that she had succeeded where every other woman since Allie had failed. He’d never so much as given another woman a second glance, until he saw that fall of blonde hair on her, and now he was having a hard time getting her out of his mind. And he’d spanked her, for Chrissakes! He’d never spanked anyone but Allie. Not that she hadn’t richly deserved it – both times. She had! But still . . . All Leah wanted to do was comfort him. He was such a man – not wanting to acknowledge his feelings at all. When he got back to the den, she stood and wrapped her arms around him. Not sensually or sexually in any way, but just in the way of one human being wanting to help assuage another’s pain. Pace wasn’t at all sure what to do about her hug. She wasn’t groping him sloppily, like a drunk looking for a quick roll in the hay. She was just holding him, softly, femininely. And she smelled too damned good. It had been a long time since he’d been held like this – since before Allie had died. Her family had never liked him, and his family was pretty much gone. No one at the double funeral had done anything but shake his hand. He put out that kind of vibe – a casualty of the job – that let people know he didn’t like to be touched. But here she was, this little hippy girl, hugging him like she had every right to. And it felt good. Damned good. His arms came around her, reluctantly, holding her against him. She

still didn’t have any roaming hands, and was just patting him on the back, the way one would comfort any person at all. It reminded him of how Allie had been around him – she’d never really acknowledged that wall he’d kept about him with everyone else. She’d just waltzed right through it as if it wasn’t even there. Pace’s eyes filled with tears that overflowed down his cheeks. It had been a while since he’d cried about Allie and Josh, and he was embarrassed to do it with a woman he barely knew, but she seemed to draw it out of him with her quiet presence. She didn’t cling when he drew back, but then he didn’t go very far, either. Just far enough to look her in the eye as his mouth descended onto hers without so much as a thought. Leah couldn’t remember the last time she’d been kissed like this – in a way that made her toes curl and try to grip the carpet. The pressure was just right – not too much, not too little. Leaning towards a little much, if she had to over think it, and she didn’t. But then, she also had to consider the source. This was not some shrinking violet type. Shrinking violent, maybe, considering his penchant for guns and kidnapping. This man probably didn’t know the meaning of the word cringe. But he wasn’t obnoxious. He wasn’t overly wet or tonguey. He was just . . . Leah sighed. Fantastic! He held her gently but firmly – she knew she wasn’t going anywhere unless he decided to let her, but instead of alarming her as that thought should, it only made her feel more protected, more precious to him somehow, as fanciful as that thought was. When he withdrew, it was as if he’d taken the sun and all its warmth with him, and she could see by the look on his face that he had deep regrets about having kissed her. Leah wasn’t at all sure where she should go from there, but then she didn’t need to think about it,

because he was there again, with those wonderful, luscious lips of his, kissing the breath out of her until she needed to come up for air but didn’t really care if she made it or not, because this would have been a wonderful way to go. He broke away again, taking several steps away from her, and Leah could physically see the struggle going on in his mind as his fists clenched and unclenched and his face contorted. For a moment, she thought she saw the glint of a tear in his eyes, but it was gone and she knew she’d only imagined it, because the next thing she knew, he was lifting her high up into his arms and staring her straight in the eye as he stalked down the hallway to a large, masculine bedroom. Pace put his small burden down at the end of the bed, where she stood, looking just about as shell shocked as he felt. He hadn’t expected to end up here with her. Or maybe he had, but just hadn’t wanted to even acknowledge the possibility that there was someone else in this world he might be interested in. Leah was torn between listening to her body, which was clamoring for his touch, ripe and ready and willing to let this incredibly dominant man have his way with her, and listening to her ever practical head, which said that this wasn’t going anywhere. She was going to fall in love with this brooding, dark, secretive widower and he was going to show her the door in a day or two and never have anything further to do with her. In the end, she threw caution to the wind and took a step towards him, and he gave her the most confused, naked look that made him seem completely vulnerable, when she knew the truth was far from it. She reached up – all the way up – to cup the back of his head as best she could, standing on her tip toes. Her lips were mere millimeters from his when she whispered, “I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to - ”

He didn’t let her finish what she was going to say. He stopped it with his mouth and his tongue and his lips on hers, closing that small gap so quickly, and falling with her onto the big bed, his hands as slowly seeking as mouth, gently cupping, carefully pinching, arousing her unbearably when she was already at a fever pitch just standing next to him. She let him undress her, watching the entire time for any signs of rejection, just in case. She was a far cry from the Paris Hilton type, if that’s what he favored. She was a real woman, with a too poochie tummy for someone who hadn’t had a child, breasts that weren’t as perky as they’d been in her twenties, and much too much of a caboose to be fashionable nowadays. But then, he was already somewhat intimately acquainted with her caboose. The reminders of her earlier punishment were still alive on her pale skin, bright red fingers claiming her over and over again. When he saw them as he helped her take down her panties, his grin was entirely unrepentant. Leah swatted his arm. “Hey! You’re not supposed to be happy about it! Your spankings hurt!” One bushy black eyebrow rose, and she didn’t like seeing that at all, especially not when she was lying naked in front of him. She was much too vulnerable – even more so than she usually was with him. “They’re supposed to hurt, or there’s no deterrent effect.” Her glare should have seared his flesh off, but of course it didn’t. He barely noticed it. He was too busy turning her onto that sore bottom of hers, drinking in the lushness that lay before him. She was perfect – and still marked by his hand. He wanted to sink himself into her at that exact moment, to lose himself in the warm bliss of her body, but he knew he couldn’t be that selfish. It wasn’t in his nature. He had to make sure that she was right there along with him. Her

nipples were already peaked, and his hands would not be denied. He reached out, slowly, watching her as starkly as she watched him, and cupped those beautiful mounds, rolling those taut buds mercilessly, making her body arch and wave. He noted with a half smile to himself that her moans of pleasure and her moans of pain weren’t really that different. Pace leaned over to catch one of those impudent nipples in his mouth, but Leah put her hands up to stop him, saying almost petulantly, “Why am I the only one who’s naked?” Her hands were busy trying to work their way under his t-shirt. He sat back, looking hesitant for the first time since she’d met him, then he reached down and grabbed the hem of his shirt, tugging it off over his head in one motion, then standing to shed his pants and underwear, climbing back onto the bed immediately. But not quickly enough that she didn’t see several puckered red scars on his sides and one on his arm. She’d seen enough CSI episodes to know what a gunshot looked like. He’d told her this afternoon, during the course of dinner, that he’d retired from working for the NSA as a spy, and she’d taken it with a grain of salt – and he’d let her know that he knew that she didn’t believe him. Leah couldn’t keep her hands from coming up to touch those physical reminders of how much danger he’d put himself in on a daily basis, but her hands froze just above them. “Do they still hurt?” she asked, almost as an afterthought. “No.” He was apparently amused that she’d asked, but she’d had to. She didn’t want to accidentally hurt him. They were hard and bumpy, those scars of his. There were four of them – two entry wounds, two exit wounds. They looked painful, and her brow furrowed as she pressed her lips to the ones in his side, then the ones on his arm. “I’m so sorry.”

His lips were just as busy as hers, once he got her to lie back down and stop kissing his boo boos. Pace shrugged. “Nothing to be sorry about. I had a job to do. Injuries are expected.” His blithe acceptance of the dangers of what he did was amazing to her, and her estimation of him, even with his palm prints still all over her butt, rose considerably.

Chapter 6 And then his lips found her nipples, and there was suddenly nothing in her mind but the pleasure he was creating. Quite literally. Her responses to him were so acute that it was almost painful for him to touch her. She felt as if each time that powerful mouth of his suckled, she was going to totally disgrace herself by orgasming before they’d even begun. But everything about him appealed to her. He was big but not clumsy, heavily muscled but not grossly muscle bound, and everything about him screamed unapologetically that he was a man. His skin was surprisingly smooth where it rubbed against hers. He wasn’t covered with a pelt of body hair like a lot of men, although his legs were relatively hairy. He was bare everywhere else, except for a thin smattering of hair on his chest, and she found she loved to run her fingertips up the outside of his arms, then over those impossibly broad shoulders . . . Until his hand began to travel slowly over her stomach, and she had to fight the urge to close her legs compulsively. And lost. But it didn’t seem to faze him at all. He merely kissed the tops of her knees and rubbed his hands over her legs, massaging in such a way that made her absolutely have to open her legs – her muscles would no longer support her urge to keep them closed. And when they fell open, he merely continued kissing her, all the way to her feet, which he also massaged, making her groan and stretch and forget all about being modest or nervous or whatever had made her deny herself to him. When he worked his way back up the insides of her legs, it was with his hands and his mouth, massaging and nuzzling almost at the same time. But he didn’t go where she thought he was going to – although he flirted tantalizingly with placing his mouth right where she wanted it, he didn’t, using his fingers instead, gently probing,

insistent but not marauding in the least. Just firm, following the unmistakable trail of her sighs and arching hips to feel his way. All of a sudden, he wondered if there was any lube in the nightstand drawer, but just as he was wondering if he would need it he discovered that he most heartily did not. She was more than ready for him in that capacity. He was able to take some of that silken dew and bring it up, up, up, on a two fingered path to that rigid button of flesh that he could literally feel tingling beneath his touch. Leah was positively vibrating as he rubbed those fingertips gently over her, exploring every nook and cranny of her nooks and crannies, coming back, though, regularly, to that very eager spot, but not regularly enough to let her actually get anywhere. He liked to take it slow. Leah, however, definitely wanted to take things fast. She wanted to rub against him in the worst way, but his weight was holding her naturally in place for his very frustrating pursuits. His certain, knowledgeable touch, at once tantalizing and insistent when he finally gave it to her, had her on the edge of her seat from the get go. Yet he didn’t seem to be in any hurry to cross the finish line on either of their accounts, and it was going to drive her absolutely crazy. His hands wandered all over every single inch of her as if he owned her, and she wanted him to touch her like that. She reveled in it. She wanted to feel those just slightly rough fingers on all of her delicate skin – in any way as long as it wasn’t a spanking. But even then, when he finally brought her as close that fever pitch as she’d ever been, very nearly hurling herself over the edge, he reached around to her still sore bottom as he applied those last few strokes that had her contracting endlessly, involuntarily, moaning and thrashing and arching against him, her hands clawing the bed

covers spasmodically as his fingers clenched the sore, sensitized flesh that still bore the marks of his discipline. Before she’d even begun to recover, before her body had stopped its blind contractions, she felt him carefully positioning himself between her legs, and gasped at the size of him even before he’d begun to truly enter her. Perhaps it had just been a while, but he seemed abnormally large. Pace smiled wryly, not that she could see it in the darkness, beginning to pulse himself gently further and further into her, giving her time to grow accustomed to his invasion, even though the slower pace was making sweat pop out on his forehead. Damn she felt good around him. He couldn’t contain a groan of absolutely pure pleasure as he sank into her, adjusting and pressing and nearly losing himself in that wonderful feeling of her body submitting to him. He had to start reciting elements from the periodic table in order to control the urge to thrust once he’d become completely seated within her. He didn’t want to. He wanted to just enjoy the feelings for a moment, to look down at how almost bleary eyed and relaxed she was. Pace reached down and gathered each of her legs under its knee, forcing them up and back merely by planting his palms on the mattress. Her whimper was music to his ears, although he had watched her very carefully throughout the entire process to make sure he hadn’t hurt her in the least, and that he wasn’t now. In fact, it seemed to be the exact opposite. She was actually arching against him, naturally driving him even further into her, but he could see how relaxed and almost bleary eyed she was in the afterglow. Until he began to move, excruciatingly slowly, dragging himself against all of those hypersensitive nerves all the way out then all the way back in to her, pulsing a bit at the very hilt, then repeating his movements.

Leah thought she was going to die from the pleasure he was causing. It was so bone deep, so thoroughly profound that she wondered if she was going to survive it. He held her eyes the entire time, watching her as she came to the realization that he wasn’t going to stop, that he was going to bring he to a natural completion, regardless of what that meant, that he was going to drive her to an orgasm that was going to make her scream and cry and beg and moan and then want to do it all over again. And he did. He did it for the both of them. When he let them both go, released the tight rein he’d held on both of them to let them fly, they each screamed loud enough to shake the big glass windows that looked out onto the Tetons, until they collapsed together in a panting, exhausted heap.

It was the middle of the night, and it was still snowing. Leah got up to get a drink of water, and when she came out of the bathroom she was startled to find him standing there, waiting his turn. “Are you all right?” he asked hoarsely as they passed each other. “I’m fine, why?” “Just asking. You were moving a little stiffly when you got out of bed.” Leah was impressed that he’d noticed something like that. She had been trying to be as quiet as possible when she left the bed, but apparently she hadn’t succeeded. He came back quickly, and settled down, bringing her against him in spoon fashion, which she didn’t expect – not that she was going to object, though. “You’re sure you’re all right?” he asked against her ear.

“Yes.” “Good.” “Are you?” He smiled. Few people would ever think to ask him something like that. It was something Allie always consciously asked in response to his own inquiries, especially in the middle of the night, that were derived from her frequent trips to the bathroom during the latter stages of her pregnancy with Josh. “Yes, I’m fine. But I didn’t just have a man who was twice as big as I was laboring over me.” It was too early – or too late – in the day for her to giggle, but she did. The question came out before she had a chance to stop it. “Am I the first person you’ve slept with since your wife died?” “Yes,” he growled. She could feel him tensing. “Don’t get defensive. It’s not an abnormal question.” He hated that she was so damned perceptive. But she felt incredibly good in his arms. It had been a long time. Too long a time. He liked this woman. He liked her a lot. He didn’t want to, but he did. In the past twenty four hours, he’d learned a lot more about her than just that she liked to paint on other people’s land. He’d found she wasn’t the hippy type he’d assumed she was, and that she was wonderfully intelligent, and funny, if incredibly stubborn.

And he’d made love to her. No other woman had been able to attract and hold his interest enough for that. She’d done it by annoying the piss out of him. That must’ve said something interesting about himself, but he was sure he didn’t want to know what it was. For now, at least for this evening, or maybe even as long as she was with him, he was going to give himself permission to enjoy anything and everything about her. He’d pay the piper later.

They were sealed off from the rest of the world, except for the radio, which he flipped on several times an hour, if only to hear the weather reports. They ate, they watched movies and they had sex. It was like a lost weekend, and Leah had already made up her mind that she was simply going to surrender and enjoy it, for however long it lasted. She wanted him, and she was afraid to think that it was going to develop into much more than that. She’d never had casual affairs. It just wasn’t her. She’d rather be by herself than with someone who was just there to get his rocks off. Despite the fact that most of their encounters had ended with him spanking her, and that should have been more than enough reason to hate his guts, as far as she was concerned. But she couldn’t hate him. In fact, although every bit of her brain was fighting against it, she thought she might be falling in love with him. But she refused to acknowledge that idea. Flatly refused. She was going to enjoy the hell out of this weekend, and not try to make it more than what it was. He was so obviously still in love with his wife, still trying to deal with the death of his family. And she knew she was no one’s idea of a savior. She wasn’t the type to be inspiring, to make him want to

live again or get involved in life again. She was just herself, and pretty much his opposite in a lot of things, and this was never meant to be a lifetime together. It was a weekend, snowstorm affair, and she wasn’t going to want or expect anything more than that. She knew she’d just end up hurt. The weather reports also listed what counties were out of power and when it was expected to be restored. When she’d been there three days, it was announced that Teton County could expect the power to come back online sometime that evening, and Leah knew she would have to leave the next day. The last night they would spend together, coincidentally, was New Years Eve. They stayed up late, huddled under the covers, casually groping and indulging in expensive Belgian chocolates, and a bottle of champagne he’d been saving for a special occasion that he’d known would never come once Allie and Josh had died. But he was wrong. Pace wrapped his arm around her and kissed her on the top of the head, absently, then froze. He’d always done that habitually to Allie. Leah knew exactly why he’d tensed. He was remembering his wife, and hurting inside so badly that her eyes filled with tears. The sex that night was more explosive than it had been all weekend, and neither of them would have said that that was possible, but it was. They collapsed into a heap in the middle of the bed, and fell instantly asleep in each other’s arms. When the alarm went off, Pace had one of those denial moments, where he didn’t want to realize exactly what was happening. But then he shook his head to clear the cobwebs of old champagne and hot sex from his mind.

Either someone was trying to break into his house – which was highly unlikely – or someone was trying to break out. Since Leah was nowhere to be found, he came to the right conclusion. There wasn’t any sort of alarm when someone left the house, but if someone climbed the fence, or otherwise tried to force it from the inside, the little beside alarm he’d had installed went off. Before he went down there, he refocused the security cameras and saw her practically swimming through the snow towards her home. The little idiot! She hadn’t taken the sled and she wasn’t dressed for the weather, wearing only her stupid coat that afforded almost no protection from the snow or the temperature. She might as well have been wearing a negligee, for God’s sake. And the snow was practically waist deep in some places. When he got a hold of her, she wasn’t going to sit down comfortably for a month. If he hadn’t had that alarm, she could have died out there, whether the snow had stopped or not. This woman was going to drive him to drink. And he was going to enjoy every minute of it, he realized with a small smile. Pace looked down at the glint of the wedding ring on his finger, and felt the first moment of peace he’d had in a very long time. Somehow, worrying about someone else, being able to concentrate some attention another place but at his own grief had been just the ticket he needed. And somehow, he felt that Allie was behind every bit of it. They were so inherently compatible that she had once told him that his next wife was going to be his exact opposite, just so he’d truly come to appreciate how wonderful she was. And she was right. Somehow, she’d arranged it, karmically. Her handprints were all over his back. She’d pushed him towards Leah, he knew. Somehow, she was behind it. His angel never feared to

tread anywhere, even dabbling in his life to bring him some measure of happiness. It was New Year’s Day, a time for renewal and change. Regardless of whether his feelings were just a flight of fancy, Pace felt freer than he had in more years than he cared to count as he mounted the sled and set off to where she had barely made it fifty feet away from the big fence. He rode up from behind her for the second time in their very new acquaintance, only this time he didn’t have a rifle. Pace didn’t say a word, but lifted her around her waist and plopped her shuddering, shivering body down in front of him, turning the big machine around and heading back to his place like some black knight riding in on a big, loud mechanical horse. “Put me down!” She seemed to spend a lot of her time with him saying that. All he said was, “When I put you down, I’m going to spank you.” Leah had no interest in being spanked out in the open, and she knew better than to put that past him. She knew from personal experience that he wouldn’t so much as hesitate to do it. “I just wanted to avoid a long drawn out goodbye scene,” she shouted over the roar of the machine. They were there at his front door in minutes, when it had taken her hours to get that far. “There wasn’t going to be one,” he growled. He stood her up in the house and stripped every bit of clothing off of her, and put her into a hot shower, following her in to make sure she got warmed up. Then he toweled her dry under the heat lamps he’d installed in the bathroom, dried her hair with his drier, and put her under the bed

covers in the bedroom, where he’d cranked up the heat. He joined her there once he’d put her clothes in the washer, pulling her close and feeling how cold her legs and extremities still were. “You are going to get such a spanking when you’re feeling better. Are you out of your mind going out there? You could have died.” Leah could barely speak through her tears, and they had nothing to do with the cold. “I know you’re still in love with Allie. And that’s okay. I didn’t want to impose any longer – on either one of you.” Pace didn’t say anything, because he couldn’t think of anything appropriate to say. She’d certainly gotten right to the heart of the situation, and he could hardly deny it. He was still in love with his dead wife. Probably a part of him always would be. He busied himself massaging her legs all the way down to her feet, not really happy that there was still a dusky blue undertone to her skin, but when he’d avoided her seeking eyes for as long as he could, he settled himself between her legs, silently asserting his dominance, and said in a hoarse voice that cracked occasionally, “You might have guessed, but you’re the first woman I’ve been . . . intimate with since Allie.” Pace cleared his throat, and Leah’s hand automatically came up and cupped his cheek, trying to give him solace. “You’re the first – the only – woman who’s caught my interest – annoying though you are,” he grumbled, but Leah couldn’t smile. “And I have to admit that I really think Allie would be pissed at me for shutting down so completely when she and Josh died. She’s probably up there - ” his voice broke and he took a breath, “ – I know she’s up there cursing me out for becoming a surly hermit. And I’m pretty sure she’d love you, since you’re so blasted stubborn and pigheaded and independent . . .”

“Stop – you’ll turn my head,” Leah gush, fluttering her eyelashes over tear filled eyes. He caught her hands in both of his. “But I – I don’t want to let you go, Leah. You’ve made me want to try again. With you.” She heard the truth of his words as he reached out to cradle her cheek in his palm, but it was his hand that reinforced it. His left hand. Sans ring. Leah caught that newly bare finger, saying, “You didn’t need to take it off for me, you know.” After quickly rearranging his clothes, Pace joined their bodies swiftly, with one quick, hard thrust. “I know. I did it for me. She’ll – they’ll – always be a part of me.” He leaned down and kissed the tears from her face. “But I would like you to be a part of me, too, and we’ll see where this goes.” Leah grinned stupidly up at him. “I think you’ve already accomplished the ‘part of each other’ part.” Then she became more serious and looked him square in the eye. “I’d love to . . . as long as it doesn’t involve my getting spanked.” “Too late. You have one coming,” he replied, nuzzling her neck. “In more ways than one . . .” she countered teasingly, lifting her hips to his and catching her breath at the sharp pleasure. “Well, you could try to convince me not to . . .” he suggested, dragging his tongue wetly down to an already peaked nipple. “Is that a challenge?” Leah asked slyly, trying to turn the tables and flip him onto his back, but failing miserably. She only managed to make him grin, which she chalked up as an accomplishment in and of itself. “Well?” she glared up at him. “I can’t hardly seduce you if

you won’t cooperate!” Laughing softly, Pace rolled over onto his back, taking Leah with him, and suddenly he realized that thinking of Allie didn’t hurt as much as it used to – like a sore tooth his tongue couldn’t help but worry. All he felt in place of the God awful grief was a profound sadness that was easily dispelled by his memories of their good times together. And when he looked into Leah’s eyes, he knew there were more wonderful – and aggravating – times to be had.

The End