And they would make their own. Together. Maybe even a sex tape. She tingled at the thought of filming him with his muscular back covered in sweat, his eyes fixated on hers as he pried open her willing legs and . . .

Her heart swelled as she pictured it, and the pulsing in her private parts . . . mmmm.

Oh, love, soon!

For now, though, she’d keep these to herself. The only person she dared confide in was Zena, who was her best friend and coworker, but no. Not yet. Zena had changed with her pregnancy, and Willow wasn’t sure she could be trusted, not with something like this.

She could possibly tell her sister, but if she spilled the beans about James tonight, Willow was sure to get a lecture, and God knew she didn’t need that. She’d had enough over the years from her older and—ugh!—wiser sibling. No need to suffer through that kind of torture, not again.

For a brief second, Willow considered staying here, in his room, in his bed, and surprising him, but, again, the timing wasn’t right. Reluctantly, she rolled off the mattress and straightened the bed, making sure the long hair was visible on his pillow. If anyone ever suggested it might be hers, she’d deny it, then, if it were proven to have come from her scalp, finally just admit that she had been in his room cleaning. That would explain it.

But Sophia would know.

“Good,” she said aloud.

Smiling, feeling like she finally was getting the upper hand, she reached for her sweatshirt and—

Crreeeak!

The noise came from outside the bedroom, as if someone or some thing were outside the doorway, maybe on the staircase.

Fear sluicing through her, Willow froze, strained to listen, hardly daring to breathe over the wild knocking of her heart. Maybe she was wrong about the noise; maybe it was the echo of that damned branch scratching against the kitchen windowpane.

She heard nothing.

Still, her insides clenched.

Had the noise all been a figment of her imagination?

No! It had been from inside the house.

Throat dry, she dressed quickly, noiselessly, and, with her ears straining for any other unlikely sound, carefully tugged on her boots.

Suddenly, bright illumination washed across the window, throwing the bedroom into relief.

Headlights!

No—oh, no!

Inching to the side of the window, Willow watched in horror as twin swaths of moving illumination played upon the trunks of the trees guarding the lane and sparkled against the blanket of snow covering the yard.

James was returning, his Explorer roaring toward the house!

Oh, crap!

“No, no, no,” she said under her breath and hastily zipped up her boots. She scrambled out of the room, more concerned about being caught by James than by whatever imagined threat she thought she’d heard inside the house.