Times Change by Nora Roberts Page B

on her shoulder. “Look, I only went through your bag to see—just to see, that’s all.” She turned, deciding a level look was the best defense. “How could I be sure you were who you said you were and not some maniac?”
    He kept his grip painfully firm. “And are you sure now?” He caught the quick flicker in her eyes and decided to exploit it. “There wasn’t anything in my bag to tell you one way or the other. Was there?”
    “Maybe not.” She tried to shrug his hand off. When it remained, she balled one of her own into a fist and waited.
    “So, for all you know, I am a maniac.” He leaned closer, until his face was an inch from hers, until her eyes saw only his eyes, until his breath mingled with her breath. “And there are all kinds of maniacs, aren’t there, Sunny?”
    “Yes.” She had trouble getting the word past her lips. It wasn’t fear. She wished it were. It was something much more complicated, much more dangerous, than fear. For a moment, with the firelight flickering beside them, the candles wavering, the wind beating soft fists on the window, she didn’t care who he was. All that mattered was that he was going to kiss her. And more.
    The fact that he would do more was in his eyes. The image of rolling on the floor with him sprang into her mind. A wild, willful tangle of bodies, a free, frantic burst of passion. It would be that way with him. The first time, and every time. Raging rivers, quaking earth, exploding planets. Such would love be with him.
    And after the first time there would be no turning back. She was certain, as she had never been certain of anything, that if there was a first time, she would want him, she would crave him, as long as there was breath in her body.
    His lips brushed hers. It could hardly be called a kiss, yet the potency of it sent shock waves streaking through her system. And had warning bells screaming in her head. She did the only thing a sensible woman could do under the circumstances. She drove her clenched hand into his stomach.
    His breath pushed out in a huff of pained surprise. As he doubled over, nearly falling in her lap, she slipped to one side and sprang to her feet. She was braced and ready for his next move.
    “You’re the maniac,” he managed after he’d wheezed some air into his lungs. “I have never in my life met anyone like you.”
    “Thanks.” She was nibbling on her lip again, but she let her tensed arms drop to her sides. “You deserved that, J.T.” She held her ground as he slowly lifted his head and sent her a long, killing look. “You were trying to intimidate me.”
    It had started out that way, he was forced to admit. But in the end, when he had leaned toward her, smelled her hair, felt the soft silk of her lips, it had had nothing to do with intimidation and everything to do with seduction. His. “It wouldn’t be hard,” he said after a moment, “to learn to detest you.”
    “No, I guess not.” Because he was taking it better than she’d anticipated, she smiled at him. “I tell you what—since we are family, so to speak . . . I do believe you, by the way. That you’re Cal’s brother, I mean.”
    “Thanks.” Finally he managed to straighten up. “Thanks a lot.”
    “Don’t mention it. As I was saying, since we’re sort of family, why don’t we call a truce? It’s like this—if the weather keeps up, we’re going to be trapped here together for several days.”
    “Now who’s trying to intimidate whom?”
    She laughed then and decided to be friendly. “Just laying my cards on the table. If we keep throwing punches at each other, we’re only going to get bruised. I figure it’s not worth it.”
    He had to think about that, and think hard. “I wouldn’t mind going for two out of three.”
    “You’re a tough nut, J.T.”
    Since he didn’t know what to make of that description, he kept silent.
    “I still vote for the truce, at least until the snow stops. I don’t hit you anymore and you don’t