"A little washed out, but well enough. Why?"

"Because I am feeling pretty pleased with myself and my life," he said, closing the second cupboard door and facing her. "My daughter, who is shy to the point of reticence, has been playing with a friend for hours. I hope I've been useful to you in a domestic sense by puttering around your house, and I'm looking forward to homemade pizza and a full-length movie to finish off this very nice day."

"Homemade pizza and a full-length?" Movie. A full-length movie.

"I've got It's a Wonderful Life out in the car." Trent grasped Hannah's wrist and pulled her closer. "Invite me to a sleepover, Stark."

"I should not." Though she would not send them out onto unplowed roads. Her adoptive parents had been killed in an accident that involved snowy roads.

Trent kissed her cheek and spoke quietly, almost whispering. "Mac gave me the best recipe for dough. I love the feel of it, soft and pliant in my hands, warm, smooth, with lots of give." He palmed her breast gently.

"You're invited," she said, scooting away a little-only a little. "You and Merle are invited. So is Trailclimber."

"We accept. Now come here and let me hold you."

"None of that pizza-dough business." Hannah curled against him, and without her heels, the fit was different. She felt more diminutive, more domestic. She liked the fit just fine. Liked this fit just fine-too.

Trent pulled her close, close enough she could feel a nascent erection, but other than that, she treasured a comfortable, trusting embrace.

"What time does Grace go to bed on a school night?"

"We'll have at least a two-hour school delay tomorrow," Hannah said, nuzzling his throat. "She's had a big day today, and we have to factor in that the girls will likely not drop off straight to sleep."

"I've had a big day too. Nine?"

"Nine sounds good." Though to Hannah, nine o'clock also sounded many eternities in the future.

Hannah lay awake for a long time, pondering the developments of the day.

Or trying to. Her ability to a.n.a.lyze and process rationally had been obliterated by a slew of small moments that should have been meaningless.

Trent winking as he shaped pizza dough on a floured cutting board.

Merle and Grace, giggling and laughing and tearing around the house and making noise, like children were supposed to.

Trent, gently reminding Merle-and therefore Grace as well-to ask to be excused at the end of the meal.

Grace telling her mother to go read a book, because she and Merle would clean up the paper plates and napkins from dinner, and Trent leading Hannah out of the kitchen to enforce the children's proclamation.

Hannah hadn't seen most of the movie. Oh, she'd been sitting on the couch, sandwiched between Grace and Trent, with Merle on Trent's other side. The evening had been cozy, sweet, warm, and precious. So, so precious, to cuddle up, not only her and Grace with a cat or a few stuffed animals.

Trent was a wonderful dad. He had the knack of setting limits without scolding, of bringing humor to his interactions with the children without making them feel ridiculed. He was affectionate with his daughter, and he genuinely liked his own kid.

He included Hannah and Grace in his affection, and that-that-was what stalled Hannah's mental engines. She could brief cases; she could manage the logistics of single parenting; she could a.n.a.lyze her client's situations and the best strategy for representing them in court.

She had no frame of reference for this lovely, dear, and confusing business of familiarity with another adult and his child.

Familial business, maybe.

Hannah had tried to stand emotionally outside of the day, to ignore the pang in her chest when Merle bellowed dibs on the bathroom at intermission, and Grace had tried to race her there instead.

Hannah had wanted to pretend the day had been simply pleasant, a break from routine. Except Trent would casually stroke a hand over her braid or loop an arm around her shoulders, and she'd melt inside and have all she could do not to curl into his warmth.

She rolled over and pushed aside the curtain to the window beside her bed. Moonlight illuminated the snow, making the nightscape beautiful and peaceful. The plows had gone by some time during the movie. Trent hadn't noticed, or if he had noticed, he hadn't said anything.

Neither had Hannah.

"I will have to oil your hinges."

Her door creaked closed, and Trent Knightley stood in her bedroom. He was dressed, while Hannah, nice and warm under her covers, was not.

"I thought we agreed the children are right down the hall, and we weren't going to jeopardize our virtue?" Hannah hiked herself up on her elbows as Trent began shedding clothes.

"The Vandal horde is fast asleep. I checked, and I won't overstay my welcome, Hannah, not in your bed, not in your house. Mooch over, before a guy freezes his parts off."

She hesitated for as long as it took to inspect him, the healthy adult male by moonlight.

"I don't know if I'm ready for this," she said, scooting across the mattress.

"I said we'd take it slow, and I meant that. Mostly, I am here for some adult conversation conducted without the hovering presence of a pair of nosy unicorns. Do you believe me?"

"No."

"That saves some time, then." Trent climbed in, threaded an arm under her neck, and pulled her close. "Ah, Stark, you feel good. You feel so very, very good." He let out a long, happy sigh.

"You feel different." Hannah gave herself points for honesty, then deducted them for lack of flirtatiousness.

To have a big, warm, naked man in her bed, all his planes and hollows and surfaces available for her exploration was novel. She'd seen Trent's lean, muscular strength gilded by moonlight for only a moment, but it had been a fascinating moment.

She took a sniff of his shoulder. "You showered."

"A cold shower. I had to do something while I waited for the natives to settle down. Touch me, Hannah Stark, or I'll find my own mischief to get into."

"Where?"

"Where? Oh, for the-"

Hannah felt him backing up and reconsidering.

"I am not your first guy."

What was that supposed to mean? The cozy sense of adventure Hannah had been nurturing shifted toward confusion, toward shame even.

"You are my first since Grace was born. Before that hardly bears mentioning."

He was quiet, and Hannah feared he'd soon get out of her bed and dress, because in two short sentences, she had made the situation awkward. Trent wasn't here for adult conversation; he was here to romp and play, just as James had offered to romp and play with her.

Except Hannah hadn't been offered even audit privileges in the cla.s.s on romping and playing.

When she thought Trent would push the covers aside and make excuses, his palm cradled her jaw. For a long moment, he traced her features with his fingers, and Hannah held still, lest he stop.

"So maybe I am your first," he said, brushing his thumb over her lips. "You've been around boys, I take it, but never been with a man."

"That says it as well as anything would. You know what you're doing, and I don't. I know the basics, but none of the-I know the basics."

His hands went still on her face.

Now he would leave. Now he'd decide she was too much work. Now he'd make some sweet, sad riposte, and she'd never know- He shifted over her, so he blanketed her with his naked length.

"Then you have to help me not bungle this. I'm out of practice, Stark, and I've never had the moves some guys have-or say they have-but I'm a fast learner, and I'm fascinated by the subject."

"The subject?" She stroked his hair, then the bare, warm skin of his back and shoulders and all down the length of his muscled arms to his wrists.

"The subject is Hannah Stark, and how to make her crazy with pleasure."

"Crazy?" She curled a leg around the back of his thigh, marveling at the sheer elegance of his form.

"You mustn't scream," he said, and Hannah felt his teeth-his teeth?-sc.r.a.pe her earlobe. "Or only a little, quietly. We can't wake the girls or those d.a.m.ned equine chaperones. Feels good to cuss."

He bit her earlobe gently, then sucked.

"I won't scream." She shivered instead, and pressed up against him.

"I might." He stopped tormenting her earlobe and settled his weight more heavily on her. "Scream that is."

"That feels good," Hannah said, clutching his backside to pull him even closer. "I like it, I like feeling you on me."

"d.a.m.n, your nails. No, don't let go. I like it, I love it. G.o.d help me." He shut up and used his lips to explore her face, just as he'd done moments before with his fingertips. Featherlight, he grazed his mouth over her brows and cheeks, down the length of her nose.

"Stop teasing me," Hannah whispered. Along her stomach, the heavy ridge of his erection lay strange, arousing, and a little frightening.

He could hurt her.

But he wouldn't. She knew he wouldn't hurt her that way no matter how aroused he became, no matter how inexperienced she was, no matter what.

"Tease me back," he said, giving her a glancing taste of his mouth. "Bully me without mercy. Read me the Riot Act. Torment me until I'm begging."

She angled her head to kiss him, to stop his foolish words, except there had been a desperate quality to his tone, suggesting it wasn't all foolishness. She brushed her mouth over his, and he sighed against her cheek. When she repeated the movement, the kiss caught them and held them, and soon Trent was running his tongue over her lips.

He was asking her a question with his kiss, and Hannah realized she could ask as well. She traced his mouth slowly with her tongue, provoking a soft groan from him. She did it again, sliding her hands up his sides, and he hitched closer.

When she parted her lips, he shifted again, up and more over her, and Hannah had the sense of him filling her awareness entirely, blocking out everything except him, his warmth, his maleness, his caresses. His tongue explored gently, until Hannah's wrapped both legs around his flanks.

Trent broke off the kiss and rested his forehead against Hannah's. "I want to be inside you. I want to come inside you."

"We can't." She was on birth control pills, but pregnancy was only one of the many risks holding her back.

"We won't," he said, turning his head so his cheek was against her hair. "You can trust me on that, Hannah. I need a distraction."

He shifted off of her, and Hannah wanted to howl with the loss of him.

"Where are you going?" She heard the insecurity in her voice and hated it, but if he left her now- "Not far," he said, rolling to his back. "Come here, and keep me warm." He caught her under the arms and pulled her over him so she straddled him.

Self-conscious and uncertain, Hannah folded down over his chest.

"You are shy," he said, burying his hands in her hair. "Let me see you, Hannah Stark. Let me admire you."

"That won't qualify as a distraction."

"I'll be the judge of that." He didn't hurry her, didn't manhandle her. He kept his touch on her back slow and easy, then settled his hands on either side of her hips. "I won't look if you don't want me to, Hannah, but I want to touch."

Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. He wanted her to sit up and expose herself to the moonlight coming in the window, while he looked at her and touched her and made her crazy.

"Close your eyes," Hannah said.

Trent did, so she eased up off his chest, took his right hand, and settled it over her left breast.

"No peeking."

"No peeking," he said on a slow exhale. His expression was a study in concentration, but Hannah had to close her own eyes, the better to feel his fingers shaping her breast.

"Lovely," he whispered. "Beautiful, wondrous." He explored her carefully, tracing his palm over her peaked nipple, his touch so light Hannah barely felt it on her skin, but registered it low in her body. She took his other hand and put it on her right breast, and he slowly closed his grip on both.

"Tell me what you like, Hannah." He kept his eyes closed, thank G.o.d. "Tell me if you want more, if you need more."

She closed her hands over his rather than attempt words, and he increased the pressure on her nipples slightly until she sighed with the pleasure of it, and pushed into his hands.

"You like that." He curled up and rested his cheek on her breast. "I like it too."

Then he turned his head and settled his mouth over her nipple, and liking didn't come close to Hannah's reaction. Currents of need sparked through her where only longing had been before. She sank her hands into his hair and held him to her, wanting to move, not daring to. His free hand came down to settle on her backside while the other plied her breast.

"Trent..."

"Move on me," he said, lifting his hips against her then dropping back to the bed. "Let me feel you moving."

His hand on her backside urged her to shift her hips with him, and Hannah picked up the rhythm. To undulate against him helped, but it also made all those low, humming currents burn hotter and faster.

"I'm making a mess," she said, mortified at the dampness between them.

"You're aroused. I'm making you wet. Lovely, wet, hot female. Make me wet too." He pushed up against her and rocked the length of his erection over her s.e.x.

Trent wrapped her tightly to him with an arm low across her back, and the pressure of their bodies moving together shifted something inside Hannah, made her dizzy and hot and incoherent with need.

Crazy. Beautifully, wonderfully crazy.

"Use me, Hannah." Trent arched up to get his mouth over hers. His tongue mimicked the rhythm of their bodies, and his hand settled over her breast, and Hannah could not have uttered an intelligible sentence to save her life. Something gathered deep inside her, something urgent and compelling. It made her cling and grind and clutch at him until pleasure coalesced inside her and stormed through her in cascades of novel and overwhelming sensation.