She hadn’t known their suites were so close until he stopped in front of the door across from her own. He unlocked it and gave her a none-too-gentle push inside. Then he shoved his fist, index finger extended, toward the brocade-covered sofa.

“Sit.”

Although her brain had begun to issue the most alarming warnings, the warm tequila haze enveloping her made it impossible to take them seriously, so she gave him a mock salute as she followed orders.

“Yes, sir.”

“Don’t you get cute with me!” He splayed one big hand on his hip. “You stay away from my players, you hear me? These men are here to win football games; they’re not your personal love toys, and I don’t ever again want to see anything like I saw tonight!”

And that was just the beginning. He ranted and raved, turning red in the face just as he did on the sidelines when he was yelling at a ref. Finally, he paused for breath.

She gave him a lopsided smile and slipped the tip of her index finger into her mouth. “What’s the matter, puddin’? Didn’t you ever kiss a girl in a bar?”

He seemed stunned, as if he’d never before been sassed by a woman. God, he was cute. Cute and sexy and hunky and mean. Uhmm. Grrr. . . . It would take a lot of woman to tame a man like him.

She uncrossed her legs.

It would take a bed, too. And the smell of jasmine drifting in through the open window. And the soft nighttime creak of a paddle wheel fan turning in the ceiling of the old plantation house.

She stood.

Young Elizabeth could tame him with her smoldering violet eyes, and her white breasts spilling like vanilla pudding over the lacy cups of her slip.

Yowl! He had come home to her, this moon-howling man. Drunk again. Dissolute. Smelling of whiskey and cheap perfume from a slut named Lulabelle. But he still wasn’t sated, this hot-blooded, hot-cocked man. Only one woman could satisfy him.

Come to me, baby; I’ll make you feel so good. I’m all woman, and I know how to tame my man.

She sauntered toward him, lips wet and parted, a lock of blond hair playing peek-a-boo with her lashes, every pore of her skin feeling his heat and getting ready to scorch him with her own. Why had she ever been afraid of him, a hot, dangerous cat like her? Let him see what kind of woman she was. Let him feel her sizzle.

“Phoebe?”

She stopped in front of him and cupped those hard fists hanging at his sides into the soft palms of her own hands. She gazed into his sea-green eyes and realized there was no need to be afraid of his strength when her own power was so much greater than his.