“And is that what you want to do here? Start a—a what? Self-defense school? Here in Summerville?”

He nodded. “I wanted a fresh start. I…passed through here with my father when I was a child. I liked the place. I just always had it in the back of my mind that I’d like to settle here.”

“There are worse places to live.” A huge gust of wind rattled the windowpanes, and Caroline gave a wry smile. “And then, of course, there’s the delightful, balmy weather.”

He gave another half smile. “I’ll confess I didn’t plan on arriving in the middle of a blizzard.”

“I’ll bet you didn’t. Summerville’s a nice enough town, but I have to warn you that sometimes the winters can be vicious. The weather forecasters are predicting a particularly cold and long one this year. Is that going to scare you off?” It wasn’t entirely an idle question. It would be a pity if he went. He was going to make a nice boarder, and the steady money would be very welcome.

He froze, as if she’d said something of unusual importance. “No, ma’am,” he said softly, watching her eyes. “A little bit of cold weather isn’t going to scare me off, believe me. I’ve been thinking about this for a long, long time.”

Caroline was silent, watching him as he bent his head and finished off the last of his third helping of roast potatoes. Steadily, neatly, he’d tucked away an astonishing amount of food. Apparently what he’d said was true—he hadn’t had a good meal in months. “This meal was delicious, thank you.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it. I think a little extra effort is called for on Christmas Eve, don’t you? And I’ve got a nice meal planned for tomorrow.” She dabbed her mouth with one of the heavy linen Pratesi napkins she only took out on special occasions. “But I warn you, you won’t be getting fed like this every day.”

He took in a deep breath, clearly searching for the right words. Caroline was distracted for a moment by the sight of his massive chest wall expanding with the breath. She could see his pectorals through the sweater. He probably had thick chest hair, judging from the wiry black hairs on his forearms. A sudden image of that chest without the sweater bloomed in her mind, and a surge of pure heat shot through her.

It was so unlike her, she almost looked around to see if it was someone else who had turned hot at the thought of a man’s naked chest instead of her, Caroline Lake, Ms. Cool.

“I won’t be complaining, ma’am,” he said finally. “I spent seven years eating MREs, and they taste like year-old dog food mixed with rubber. ’Bout as chewy, too.”

“Well,” she answered, amused, “I’m not too sure what MREs are—sounds like some kind of a weapon, actually—but they must be dreadful. I’ll treat you better than the Army did, that’s for sure.”

“Yes, ma’am.” His dark eyes bored into hers. “I’ll just bet you will. I’m looking forward to it.”

His words were completely neutral, polite, even. There was nothing suggestive in either his tone or body language. He kept his gaze strictly above her neck. But there was no mistaking the undertone of his words. Sex hormones suddenly swirled in the air, a little flurry of them, so powerful she was not only at a loss for words but could feel the air leave her lungs.

Potent, dark, utterly male desire flared in the room, so powerfully she could practically see the waves of desire coming at her from across the shiny surface of the table. Caroline had been desired before, but she’d never felt this dark magnetic pull before.

She should say something, something lighthearted to dissipate the tension in the air. But for the life of her nothing came to mind. She couldn’t even look away from him, his dark gaze so compelling it was like a punch to the stomach. Her chest felt tight, and she found it hard to breathe.

It took Caroline a full minute to realize that it wasn’t just him. She was feeling desire back. It had been so long since she’d felt it she hadn’t even recognized it. Jack Prescott was so unlike the men she’d been attracted to in the past that it hadn’t even occurred to her that she could desire him.

Caroline was attracted to men who were witty and sophisticated and worldly. Men who enjoyed books and the theater and had an ironic take on life. The little she’d seen of Jack Prescott showed that he was almost the exact opposite. She hadn’t seen wit—indeed, he’d been serious to the point of grimness. He didn’t look sophisticated, or worldly. True, he’d traveled, but to outposts of civilization, where an ability to wield a gun was more useful than a knowledge of the local museums.

That was her head talking. The rest of her body simply wasn’t listening. It was completely taken over with hormonal overload, a reaction to the sheer…maleness of Jack Prescott. It was humbling to think that her body wasn’t paying any attention at all to what he was saying, what books he might have read, what his politics might be.

No, her heart rate and breathing speeded up because he had the most magnificent male body she’d ever seen. Her knees trembled at the sight of his hands—large, elegant, rough, strong. His deep voice set off vibrations in the pit of her stomach.

Oh, this was bad. Jack Prescott was her boarder. He was paying her an above-market price for life in her very beautiful but at times fiercely uncomfortable home. She couldn’t afford to be breathless when she spoke to him, or for him to catch her sneaking admiring glances at the breadth of his shoulders or the size of his biceps.

Caroline had to get a grip on herself now.

She had to put this back on a landlady-tenant basis. Cordial and impersonal.

She pasted a polite smile on her face and made polite landlady-talk. “Would you like some more roast beef?”

“No, ma’am,” he said, unsmiling. “I’m fine.” His eyes never wavered from hers.

They were so dark. She’d rarely seen eyes that dark, with only a hint of a distinction between the pupil and the iris…

She shook herself.

“I hope you saved some room for dessert. I made chocolate mousse. We can take it in the living room with the coffee, if you’d like.”

He became, if possible, even more still. His eyes probed hers, as if she’d said something compelling.

“Yes, ma’am. I’d like that very much.” He rose before she did, in a smooth, graceful motion, and pulled her chair out as she stood up. When was the last time a man had done that?

Caroline pointed at the living room. “Go on ahead, I’ll bring in the coffee and the mousse.”

When she walked into the living room carrying a tray with two bowls of mousse and two cups of coffee, she saw him crouching beside the fire, feeding a log, stoking the wood with the poker. Sparks flew up the flue. A log fell, bursting into red-hot flames, outlining his broad back in a rim of fiery red. The tight black jeans showed the long, massive muscles of his thighs, flexed in the crouch. He rose easily and turned.

“Here, let me get that.” He took the tray from her hands and put it on the coffee table.

The fire rose, renewed, great rolling flames greedily licking at the wood, filling the room with heat and the friendly crackle of the flames. It was like a third person in the room with them.

Caroline sat back on the sofa, sipping her coffee. As so often in difficult times, she tried to count her blessings. She was in good health. January’s bank payment would be made. February’s—well, that was in the future, wasn’t it? Jack said he was staying. He didn’t look like the kind of man who’d run screaming from a temperamental boiler. She might make it through February. She might not. One thing the last six years had taught her was not to sweat the things she couldn’t influence or change. And to make the most of things, thinking resolutely positively. She’d trained herself to do it.

Unfortunately, frantically thinking happy thoughts didn’t always work as well as she wanted. Tomorrow was Christmas Day, when the world as she knew it had come to a crashing end. Christmases were always so hard.