Snowfall by Sharon Sala

at the tears on her face and groaned. They’d done it again. His shoulders slumped, his hands twitching at his sides as he dropped his head.
    “Goddamn it, Caitie, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
    She looked up, her face still streaked with tears.
    “I was rude. I had it coming,” she whispered. “I was raised with better manners. I don’t know why I behave this way around you.”
    Mac sighed, then crossed the room and pulled her out of the chair and into his arms, taking care not to hold her too tight.
    “I’m sorry.”
    Stunned by the thunder of his heartbeat against her ear, she couldn’t find breath to answer. And then his hands slid across her back and she felt as if she were being cradled.
    “I’m sorry, too,” she mumbled.
    Mac leaned back, wanting to see her face, but she wouldn’t look up. Sighing, he tilted her chin with the tip of his finger until they were eye to eye.
    “Truce?” he asked.
    Another set of tears pooled and rolled as she nodded.
    Mac’s gaze slid downward. He found himself staring at her mouth—at the slightly swollen bottom lip as well as the tremble in her chin. His resistance crumbled. Well, hell. He was already in trouble, but what he was about to do was going to make it worse. He exhaled softly, then lowered his head. The last thing he remembered before the floor tilted beneath his feet was thinking how unbelievably soft her mouth was and how well she fit in his arms.
    Time ceased.
    It wasn’t until he heard Caitlin moan that he realized what he’d done. He tore his mouth from her lips and held up his hands in surrender. She looked as stunned as he felt. His voice softened, even though his words were still taunting.
    “Don’t hit me, Caitie. You’re in no shape for me to hit back.”
    Caitlin shuddered, then took a deep breath, as if coming out of a trance.
    “You wouldn’t hit me,” she stated. “You don’t like me, but you wouldn’t hit me.”
    Mac frowned. He didn’t want her to be forgiving.
    “I don’t kiss women I don’t like. At least, I didn’t used to,” he muttered, then grabbed his coffee from the counter and stalked out of the kitchen.
    Still reeling from the feel of Mac’s mouth on her lips, Caitlin sat down at the table, picked up her fork and started to take a bite of her eggs when Mac’s parting shot finally sank in.
    “Oh,” she said, and then laid down her fork. “Oh my,” she mumbled, and looked up in disbelief. “Oh my Lord,” she moaned, and cast a frantic look toward the door where he’d disappeared.
    When had animosity turned into attraction? Better yet, what in the name of God was she going to do about it? She was on the verge of panic when Mac yelled at her from the other room.
    “Are you eating your breakfast?”
    The bubble burst.
    Attraction? That wasn’t attraction she’d felt. It was insanity. Chalk it up to the truck bumper colliding with her forehead.
    “Are you minding your own business?” she muttered.
    “I heard that.”
    “Just proving your chest isn’t the only big body part you have,” Caitlin yelled, then rolled her eyes.
    She’d been referring to his ears, but knowing Connor McKee, he was going to assume she was referring to what lay south of his belt buckle. If her lower lip hadn’t been so sore, she would have bitten it.
    To her relief, he said nothing, although she was certain she heard him laughing. Completely furious that she’d let herself be baited, she stabbed a fork into her eggs and ate, not stopping until her plate was empty and her stomach was full. She felt better for having eaten the meal, even if she’d made a fool of herself in the process. Shoving her chair back from the table, she carried her plate and cutlery to the sink, then poured herself a cup of coffee with the full intention of going back to her office when her phone rang.
    “Yes?”
    “Miss Bennett, Mr. Workman is here to see you.”
    “Good morning, Mike. Send him up.”
    “Good morning to you, too, miss. I trust