Dr. Daddy by Elizabeth Bevarly

him, however, she relaxed some. But only for a moment. Then the wariness that always seemed to overcome her in his presence returned, and he felt like he always did when confronted by her—confused.
    “I couldn’t sleep,” he said before she had a chance to accuse him of anything. “I thought maybe a little cognac might help me to relax.”
    She nodded. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude. I just remembered that Keanu Reeves is on ‘Letterman’ tonight. I thought maybe I still had time to catch him.”
    “Keanu Reeves?” Jonas asked, taking a few idle steps toward her. “Isn’t he a little young for you?”
    She lifted one shoulder in what he supposed was meant to be a careless gesture, but somehow careless was the last thing Zoey appeared to be at the moment. For every step he took forward, she took one of her own in retreat.
    “What’s wrong with an older woman going for a younger man?” she asked him as she came to a halt near the door. He couldn’t help but notice that she was perfectly poised for flight. “No one ever comes down on a man who’s with a woman considerably younger than he is.”
    “No, not usually,” Jonas agreed, continuing with his approach until he stood nearly toe-to-toe with her. “Not unless the reason he’s with a younger woman is because he’s afraid of women his own age.”
    Zoey arched her left brow at him in a way he was beginning to find very alluring. “Are you suggesting I’m afraid of men my own age?” she asked.
    He shook his head. “Word around the east wing has it that you’re afraid of men of any age.”
    She stiffened, then strode past him in a wide arc to turn the television off again. “You shouldn’t listen to idle chatter, Dr. Tate,” she said as she spun around to make her exit again. “Somehow, I thought you were above gossiping.”
    “Zoey, wait,” he said, placing his drink on an end table before intercepting her. He caught up with her in time to block her retreat by positioning himself in front of the door. “I’m sorry. That comment was uncalled for.”
    Her green eyes flashed fire at him. “I’ll say it was. Jeez, I’m trying to help you out here, and you still can’t keep yourself from picking on me.”
    “I’m not picking on you.”
    “Oh, yes, you are.”
    “No, I’m not.”
    “You are, too.”
    “I am not.”
    Once again, they stood toe-to-toe and eye-to-eye, hands fisted belligerently on their hips as their argument escalated. Fighting with Zoey was the last thing Jonas wanted to be doing on a quiet, snow-crested night. One of his wildest fantasies of late had virtually come true—he had Zoey in his house in the middle of the night, her hair hung loose about her shoulders, and she was wearing what she would normally wear only in bed. Granted, in his fantasies he had envisioned her dressed in something decidedly less concealing than flannel jammies. But two out of three wasn’t bad.
    So, without thinking further, Jonas did what his instincts had been commanding him to do since the first day he’d laid eyes on her. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her.
    Almost immediately, he realized what a terrible mistake he had made. Almost, because for one brief, wonderful moment, he felt Zoey’s warm mouth open beneath his, felt the soft swell of her breasts pressing into his chest as her body relaxed against him, felt her fingers curl possessively into the lapel of his robe.
    Then he felt her knee come up faster than he ever could have anticipated, with just enough force to make him reconsider his action.
    So he did. Quickly. And he decided right away that he probably should stop kissing her. That he probably shouldn’t have kissed her in the first place. Not like that. Not without some kind of warning.
    “Jeez, why did you do that?” he gasped as he jerked away from her. Only a herculean effort—that and his determination that she would not see him in such a state—prevented him from doubling over to protect himself