Nick seemed to shake himself. He looked up at the sky and back at her and tugged his scarf off. “Here.” Before she could protest, he’d wrapped it around her neck twice. “It’s turning chilly. And as pretty as that coat is, it doesn’t look quite warm enough.”

The scarf was a deep midnight blue, very soft. Cashmere, triple ply. It still carried his body heat and the scent of him—a primal scent, male musk and pine, with a faint overlay of citrus.

“There.” He knotted it tightly, patted it, and stepped back, pleased. “That’s better.”

Actually, it was. She’d felt the chill and hadn’t been dressed warmly enough. “Thank you, but now you’re going to be cold,” she protested.

He just looked at her. But it was a look that spoke volumes. It was the kind of look men didn’t give women anymore. She recognized it as the look her father had given her mother when she tried to lift something heavy and he rushed to take it out of her hands.

It was the look only a certain kind of man could give to a woman and she hadn’t seen it in a long, long time. A totally politically incorrect look, sexy as hell.

Nick had almost ridiculously old-fashioned manners. He walked her to the passenger door, handed her in as if she were indeed the queen of Parker’s Ridge—maybe she should just buy herself a tiara and be done with it—buckled her belt for her, then got in himself.

She gave him quiet directions and they pulled out, that outrageously beautiful and powerful car doing something like thirty miles an hour.

Though Charity’s heart drummed, her hands were steady, folded in her lap. Anticipation zinged through her system, though. She couldn’t remember feeling so alive. Or so incredibly female.

Nick had barely touched her, and yet, it was as if they’d already had foreplay. Her breasts were so sensitized, she could feel the lace cups of her bra every time she breathed. When the car took corners, she could feel the pressure between her legs. It was entirely possible that she was already wet.

If the evening ended up with sex, she’d be thrilled. If not, she was still thrilled. It had been so long since she’d felt anything like this. Soft, female. So utterly alive.

They were gliding slowly through a heavily wooded area on their way back to town, the light snowflakes drifting down gently, two horizontal columns of gentle snowfall lit by the powerful headlights. The landscape looked enchanted, timeless. They could have been a prince and a princess in a horse-drawn carriage a hundred years ago.

Charity smiled at the thoughts in her head, so unlike the background hum of worry and duty that was its usual fare.

She turned her head to look at Nick, at his clean, strong profile outlined in the dim lights of the dashboard. Whatever happened between them, she owed him thanks for the gift of this evening.

At his glance, she smiled at him.

He didn’t say anything. The silence inside the car was unbroken. She liked it that he didn’t feel the need to chat. There was something magic in the air and words, the wrong words, could kill the magic.

Nick reached out and took her hand, bringing it to his mouth and pressing a kiss in the palm. She was so excited, she’d forgotten to put on her gloves. His breath was hot, like steam, and she felt that little kiss down to her bones. He returned her hand to her lap. She curled her hand around the kiss and waited, heart pounding, for what life would throw her way next.

It was like being encased in a magic bubble. Something big, something wonderful was about to happen and this was the moment just before. The very air was charged with anticipation. Even the weather cooperated, knowing it was a very special night.

Charity hated bad weather but this wasn’t bad—it was enchanted. Big fat flakes drifting out of the sky, gently settling on the ground, forming a thin blanket. Visibility wasn’t good, but it didn’t seem to matter as the big car purred slowly down the street. It was like being in a snow globe, cut off from the rest of the world.

Without Charity having to give any further directions, Nick somehow made his way unerringly to her door. The car glided up her driveway and Nick killed the engine.

The street lamp ten feet away gave just enough light for her to make out his expression as he turned to her, one big arm draped over the steering wheel. He wasn’t smiling, trying to charm his way into her pants. His face was drawn, the skin tight over his cheekbones, eyes intense even in the darkness of the car.

“So,” he said, his voice low. “About that cup of coffee you promised me.”

She waited a beat because her heart was pounding and her throat felt tight. She opened her mouth, but found that no words came out. Nothing at all. Even if she had words, she couldn’t find the breath to say them. Excitement had lit a ball of fire in her chest, making it impossible for her to speak.

So she nodded.

In a second, it seemed, he was at the passenger door, lifting her out with a strong hand. They stood for a moment outside the car. Nick must have pushed the key fob because behind her, all the doors of the Lexus locked with a quiet, expensive-sounding whump. So unlike the tinny sound her own car made.

He was standing so close to her, she had to tilt her head back to watch his eyes watching hers. Big puffy snowflakes touched her skin like cold little kisses, but she was so hot they melted immediately.

There was an unnatural hush, as if the entire world were waiting for them to take a leap into the unknown. She lived on a quiet street, it was true, but there were no noises whatsoever. They could have been the last man and woman on earth.

He bent down, slowly. So slowly she could have protested or turned her head if she wanted. The idea never even crossed her mind. If anything, Charity lifted herself a little on the balls of her feet, to meet him halfway.

Nick kept his hands by his side, so she did, too, though she had to curl her fingers into her palms to keep from reaching out for him. It seemed as if she’d wanted to touch him all evening, touch that un-businessman-like body hidden underneath the staid business suit.

Their lips met, clung. Charity opened her mouth to him, not thinking about it. Her mouth just opened as her eyes drifted shut. She didn’t want anything to distract herself from the feel of his mouth on hers, hot and soft at the same time. When his tongue touched hers—just a quick stroke—she felt it down to her toes.

She especially felt it between her legs.

Oh my God. A gentle kiss, they weren’t touching anywhere except their mouths, and Charity was as turned on as she’d ever been in her life.

Nick turned his head to get a bigger draft of her. She was on tiptoe now and she stumbled. Or would have if he hadn’t immediately put his arms around her, pulling her hard up against him, upsetting her balance. But she didn’t fall. Before she even had time to realize it, her world tilted and he was carrying her.

“Don’t want those pretty boots to get ruined,” he whispered against her mouth, and started walking.

The romance of it touched her heart. She didn’t protest, she didn’t wriggle or squeal. It was too luscious, this airborne feeling. She’d read too many books, and probably way too many romances, she knew that. So it wasn’t surprising that in her head, this nice New York businessman and a staid librarian from a small town in Vermont morphed into a knight carrying his lady to their bower.

He carried her easily, as if she weighed nothing, which told her he was as strong as he seemed. He didn’t look down, though the ground was slippery and icy. He didn’t even look forward, up the path to her front door. His eyes were locked with hers, gaze so intent it was as if he were pulling where he needed to go from inside her head.

It was all so magical, so bright and fresh.