He bent his head and took her mouth in a soft, firm kiss that was equal parts romance and knee-weakening passion. “Will you be my almost-fiancée?” he whispered, his voice hoarse and ragged. His hands slid down the silky fabric of her dress all the way to her hips. Dragging her closer still, he buried his face in her neck. She could feel him trembling.
Emotions tumbled in her heart with all the random patterns of the snowflakes. She had grieved for so long, too long in fact. Cowardice and the fear of being hurt again had constrained her equally as much as Leo’s workaholic ways had hemmed him in.
The old man tending the fire had gone inside, probably to get warm. Phoebe gasped when Leo used the slit in her skirt to his advantage, placing a warm palm on her upper thigh. His fingers skated perilously close to the place where her body ached for him.
Teasing her with outrageous caresses, he nibbled her ear, her neck, the partially exposed line of her collarbone. “I need an answer, my love. Please.”
Heat flooded her veins, negating the winter chill. Her body felt alive, spectacularly alive. Leo held her tightly, as if he were afraid she might run. But that was ludicrous, because there was no place she would rather be.
She gave herself a moment to say goodbye to the little child she would never know. So many hopes and dreams she had cherished had been ripped away. But the mountains had taught her much about peace, and in surviving, she had been given another chance. A wonderful, exciting, heart-pounding second chance.
Laying her cheek against Leo’s crisp white shirt, feeling the steady beat of his wonderfully big heart, she nodded. “Yes, Leo Cavallo. I believe I will.”