Libby frantically nodded.

What in hell was he doing there in the middle of the night?

But, more important, why wasn’t she afraid?

She should be scared to death, waking up to find a man she’d only met yesterday in her bedroom. But truth be told, Libby was more afraid of herself at the moment. It had been a long time since she’d felt the kind of energy that sparked between them.

And it was then that Libby realized why he was there.

Michael MacBain felt the energy, too, and it scared him just as much as it scared her. He was in her bedroom in the dead of night, hoping to unnerve her enough that she’d run back to California before that energy created a very big problem for both of them.

Oh, she was sorely tempted to call his bluff.

As if he could read her thoughts, he suddenly stood up.

Libby sat up in bed, hugging the blankets to her chest.

Michael took a step back and ran his hand through his hair. “Dammit, woman. Why in hell aren’t you slapping my face?”

Libby couldn’t help but smile as she ran her own shaking hand through her hair. “I can be contrary that way,” she told him. “When I think a person has an ulterior motive, I have this need to call his bluff more often than not.”

“My God,” he breathed. “You’re reckless.”

“I’m not afraid of you, Michael.”

“You should be,” he growled, taking a step toward the bed. “Do you not realize what could have just happened between us?”

“Nothing would have happened, Michael, so stop posturing. You didn’t really come here to mess up my sheets.”

He gaped at her, clearly at a loss for words, then scrubbed his face with his hands. He gave a growl from deep in his chest, and suddenly he was on top of her again—only this time, he wasn’t sitting, he was lying beside her, trapping her under the blankets.

One of his hands wrapped around her shoulders, and the other hand caught her hip as he pulled her tightly against him. Libby found herself nose to nose with the giant, staring into his turbulent gray eyes.

It was probably time to panic. Michael MacBain was obviously not used to having his bluff called. And truth told, Libby was not used to being manhandled by large, angry men.

Yes, she should have been scared. And she would have been, but for the simple, telling act of Michael carefully moving away from her swollen knee, using his leg to trap her thigh instead.

“Don’t mistake me for one of your civilized California men,” he said softly, contradicting his action. “It’s not only distance you’ve traveled to get here, Libby Hart.

Men in these mountains have a tendency to finish what we start, and we don’t allow anyone, especially a tiny thing like you, to call our bluff.”

“What’s your point, Michael?”

“Dammit, Libby. Do you even realize why you were lured here?”

She shouldn’t smile. But Libby simply couldn’t help herself. “Your son is looking for a new mama,” she told him. “And he seems to think I might be a good candidate.”

He reared back to glare at her. “So you admit you’re hunting for a husband?”

Her smile turned into a laugh. “I am not.”

It was obvious he didn’t believe her when his hand tightened on her backside. Libby quit smiling.

“So you admit you came here tonight to scare me away?” she asked, turning his question back on him.

“I came because I was worried about you in this storm.”

“What storm?”

He let out a sigh strong enough to move her hair. “The snow has turned to a driving rain,” he explained with growing impatience. “The electricity’s gone out.”

“You came all the way over here, broke into my house, and woke me up to tell me the power’s out? How very sweet of you.”

He leaned more of his weight on her. “Are you always this reckless when you have a two-hundred-pound man pushing you into the mattress, lady, or do you merely have a death wish?”

“I haven’t been on a mattress with a two-hundred-pound man in a very long time,” she told him, wiggling a bit so she could breathe more easily. “Are you going to get up?”

“I haven’t decided,” he snapped, moving back against her. He brushed a curl from her face but stopped and fingered what Libby knew was her white lock of hair. He studied it and then studied her face.

“Why have you come here?”

Libby guessed Michael had decided not to get up but to talk instead. And she didn’t know if she should be relieved or alarmed.

“I’m starting a new life.”

“What was wrong with your old life?”

“It didn’t fit anymore. I suddenly found myself unable to breathe. Like now.”

He lifted his weight, but only slightly, as he continued to study her. And Libby’s relief slowly turned to alarm. She was beginning to get hot under the covers, and it wasn’t from too many blankets.

Michael MacBain had the most beautiful eyes Libby had ever seen. And that little flutter in the pit of her stomach was becoming an internal storm that mocked the one raging outside.

“Are you going to tell me what you did in your former life?”

“No.”

“But you are saying that you’re not here to find yourself a husband and a ready-made family.”

“That’s the story I’m sticking to.”

“I won’t allow you to break my son’s heart, Libby.”

“I won’t, Michael.”

He was silent for a bit, his finger again toying with her hair. One corner of his mouth turned up. “Then that leaves us two choices. I can show you how to run the generator, or we can—how did you so nicely put it?—mess up your sheets.”

Oh, she was tempted. Making love to Michael MacBain would most likely be the experience of a lifetime.

“I’ve always wanted to run a generator,” she said.

Libby would give him credit, he didn’t appear disappointed. His smile was a little crooked, but her answer seemed to please him. Or was that relief she saw relaxing the harsh planes of his face?

She took her first full breath since waking, when Michael finally lifted himself away and stood up. He picked up the flashlight and shined it at her, keeping the beam out of her eyes.

“Dress warm,” he told her. “The power’s been out for several hours, and the house has grown cold.” He tossed the flashlight onto the bed and walked away but stopped at the door and turned back to her.

“And Libby?”

“Yes, Michael?”

“Contrary to what my son is hoping for, I have no intention of ever marrying. But you should know that I do intend to have you. And for that reason alone, you should fear me, lass. Be wise, Libby, and be afraid.”

Chapter Six

It was noon,and Libby was sitting in her new living room, watching the wonderfully smelly and messy wood fire crackling in her new hearth. She rearranged the towel of ice more comfortably over her knee and sighed in contentment.

The storm had blown itself out, and the power had come back on not twenty minutes after Michael had left without showing her the generator. He’d warned her of his intentions and then simply walked out.

Yeah. The sky had cleared, but it appeared the electrical storm between them had only just begun.

Libby wasn’t sure how she felt about that. She’d been honest when she told Michael she hadn’t come here looking for a husband or a ready-made family. She was trying to build a new life for herself. Well, she’d certainly started it off with a bang. She’d not only crashed into a farm pond, she’d crashed into the arms of a very sexy, very large mountain of testosterone.

A mountain who intended to have her.

Libby couldn’t remember the last time a man had said he wanted her. And never had it been put to her quite so bluntly—or so honestly.

And that was why she wasn’t afraid of Michael MacBain. Truly honest men, even those who thought of themselves as uncivilized, need not be feared. They were throwbacks to a nobler time—becoming quite rare in this day but definitely interesting to deal with.