A Valentine from Harlequin

body had other ideas.
    If he could get her into bed he could get her into the mood to talk. If she’d just talk to him, just listen to what he had to say, they could straighten this whole thing out.
    She crossed her arms under her breasts, and if she thought it would hide her pebbled nipples she was sadly mistaken. The gesture lifted her breasts like a silent offering.
    Oh, and how he wanted to take the offered dish and taste it, savor it, devour it.
    “I’d better get back inside,” she said. Even her voice gave her away. It was as husky as a torch song.
    He continued as though she hadn’t spoken. “What made you panic that night, Charlotte? I’ve wondered. I’ve imagined you so many times writing name after name of important people in your life. People you respected. Was it that? Were you so afraid to make a public mistake that you deep-sixed our future together?”
    Angry red stained her cheeks until her face almost matched her dress. “I wasn’t the one caught cheating with another woman at two in the morning.”
    He couldn’t help his grin. “That’s quite a picture you paint.”
    She withered him with a glance. “You know what I mean.”
    “You’ve always been the perfect one, and with the history of divorce in your family I think you couldn’t take the chance at failure. So you panicked.”
    “That’s ridiculous.”
    He eyed her speculatively. “If you weren’t afraid of failure, then…”
    The angry flush had died down and he’d caught her interest, as he’d known he would.
    Her eyes gleamed like melting chocolate in the moonlight. “Then what?”
    “Then you were more afraid of this.” Before she saw his intention, he’d fisted his hand round the elegant French braid at her neck, pulled her to him, and brought his lips down hard over hers.
    Giving in to the temptation that had teased him from the instant he saw her again was heaven. And hell.
    For a moment he felt her lips quiver open on a startled gasp. Soft and cool, they yielded beneath his.
    But only for a second. Just as she started to melt into him, he felt her murmured objection against his lips. Her body went rigid as she pulled away.
    “Don’t you dare,” she said, her eyes flashing, hands fisting, her lips wet and luscious from his kiss.
    “Looks like I came back too soon,” Sonya said, and he could have cursed his old friend for her untimely entrance.
    Glaring at him, Charlotte said, “No. Not at all. I was just leaving. I have a headache—and I feel a little sick to my stomach. Something at the party must have disagreed with me.” She stalked through the French doors without a backward glance.
    “Well,” Sonja said on a quiet laugh, coming to his side. “I think kissing me worked. She’s certainly jealous.”
    A smug grin tugged at his lips. If Charlotte was jealous, then she still cared.

Chapter Three
    Yoga was supposed to be relaxing. Charlotte had been deep-breathing for twenty minutes, curling her body into various positions, working toward the serenity she knew was in her somewhere.
    Except she was panting like a marathon runner—and twisting her body into a pretzel only made her feel foolish. And as for the meditation exercises, she no sooner closed her eyes than she began meditating on all the really rotten things she’d like to do to John for breaking her heart.
    Her doorbell rang and she gasped, her one-legged Tree position turning into Quaking Aspen Felled by Strong Wind.
    Thumping down onto both bare feet, she padded to her door and peered through the peephole.
    She felt like pounding her head on the door in frustration. John. Just what she needed when she was trying to relax. She’d ignore him until he left.
    “Char, I know you’re on the other side of the door. I saw your car in the garage.”
    So much for ignoring him. “Go away.”
    “I need to talk to you.”
    “I don’t want to talk to you.”
    “I can say it privately inside or I can yell the whole spiel through the door. Your call.”
    He was just stubborn enough to do it, too. And then she’d feel embarrassed every time she saw one of her neighbors at the elevator. She unlatched the door and let him in.
    The minute he crossed her threshold, she wished she’d made him shout at her from the hall. Him, her, and this apartment brought back too many memories. All the times they’d made love in her bed, on the floor in front of the fireplace, in the moonlight out on the balcony. All the plans they’d made curled up on the couch