That Loving Touch

That Loving Touch
Ashley Summers

ONE WINTER NIGHTShe was pregnant… and he offered shelter from the darkest of nights. In the midst of a snowstorm expectant mother Carrie Loving found herself on the doorstep of CEO Sam Holt. And although Same seemed too good to be true, his offered warmth was guarded, hiding a hurt behind deep blue eyes.As the hours turned into days, Carrie and Sam forged a bond that could not be broken. And Sam could no longer deny the strong feelings Carrie - and her unborn child - awakened in him. But when the snow melted, Sam had to decide whether he should relinquish the solace Carrie promised or risk tearing down the fortress he'd built around his heart… .

Sam Was Concerned, Captivated And Intrigued By The Aura Of Mystery Surrounding His Snowbound Houseguest (#u3858119b-a56e-5dcc-97f8-2d462648ae19)Letter to Reader (#u41cc88b1-8f2b-5c38-aff8-dd13d5d7f751)Title Page (#u27ee8c27-823d-5d9c-a3f2-8acbac0bf5aa)ASHLEY SUMMERS (#u9d8e7ed2-30ab-5e06-a790-7196aef15f07)Dedication (#u294ad904-94ad-579b-a7b3-d5a0efa75496)Chapter One (#u21a13cf0-745e-5096-b3ff-5c7142c1a4dc)Chapter Two (#u80bd6052-657b-5179-899f-cfeb21e6ad29)Chapter Three (#ubd311b6b-8864-5187-ba2d-eeae3d02d2b3)Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

Sam Was Concerned, Captivated And Intrigued By The Aura Of Mystery Surrounding His Snowbound Houseguest

And he was dying to touch Carrie—but he knew that she’d be leaving. These thoughts ensnared him in confusion. Dammit, he wanted her gone. And soon, before his brain turned to mush.

Incredibly, she had the power to do that. He could tell himself that she was the same as all other women. But there was something different about Carrie Loving. For one thing, she made him think he was lonely, and he hadn’t even known it until she came along.

She changed things, he admitted grudgingly. Just her presence made the place nicer somehow. Warmer. More homey.

Oh, hell, he thought, disliking where this was taking him. It was just sex, he told himself. She made him hot and bothered, that’s all. But he knew that wasn’t the whole truth....

Dear Reader,

Merry Christmas from Silhouette Desire—where you’re guaranteed powerful, passionate and provocative love stories that feature rugged heroes and spirited heroines who experience the full emotional intensity of falling in love!

The always-wonderful Cait London is back with this December’s MAN OF THE MONTH, who happens to be one of THE BLAYLOCKS. In Typical Male, a modern warrior hero is attracted to the woman who wants to destroy him.

The thrilling Desire mimseries TEXAS CATTLEMAN’S CLUB concludes with Lone Star Prince by Cindy Gerard. Her Royal Princess Anna von Oberland finally reunites with the dashing attorney Gregory Hunt who fathered her child years ago.

Talented Ashley Summers returns to Desire with That Loving Touch, where a pregnant woman becomes snowbound with a sexy executive in his cabin. The everpopular BACHELOR BATTALION gets into the holiday spirit with Marine under the Mistletoe by Maureen Child. Star-Crossed Lovers is a Romeo-and-Juliet-with-a-happyending story by Zena Valentine. And an honorable cowboy demands the woman pregnant with his child marry him in Chnsty Lockhart’s The Cowboy’s Christmas Baby.

Each and every month, Silhouette Desire offers you six exhilarating journeys into the seductive world of romance. So make a commitment to sensual love and treat yourself to all six for some great holiday reading this month!

Enjoy!

Joan Marlow Golan

Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire

Please address questions and book requests to.

Silhouette Reader Service

U.S. 3010 Walden Ave., PO. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269 Canadian. P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3

That Loving Touch

Ashley Summers

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

ASHLEY SUMMERS

is an incurable romantic who lives in Texas, in a house that overflows with family and friends. Her busy life revolves around the man she married thirty years ago, her three children and her handsome grandson, Eric. Formerly the owner and operator of a landscaping firm, she also enjoys biking, aerobics, reading and traveling.

Here’s to the gang at the ole swimming hole:

Mary Bowers

Ione White

Ginny Johnson

Jewell Wright

And our peerless leader, Debbie Clayton

One

Her slim shoulders hunched against the biting wind, Carrie Loving plodded through the black December night with only the beam of a flashlight to guide her. She was trying to reach her rented cottage on Ohio’s beautiful Lake Prince John, but her car had skidded into a ditch half a mile from her destination. She’d stepped out into the icy waters of the half-frozen ditch and her ankle boots squished with each step.

The small duffle bag she carried contained a change of clothes and toiletries, but no dry shoes. Shivering, she pushed strands of damp, red hair back into her parka. Maybe leaving the car was foolish, she thought. But there wasn’t anything else she could do. She’d been warned that the cluster of cottages comprising the Blue Heron Fishing Camp was deserted this close to Christmas. That didn’t bother her; she was twenty-eight, not some young twit who jumped at shadows, she told herself stoutly. After months of emotional turmoil, the promise of peace and quiet helped soothe the misgivings she had about coming here.

The flashlight beam wobbled as a wave of dizziness threatened her balance. Carrie grabbed an overhanging limb to steady herself. She was freezing, yet inside, she felt on fire. Her green eyes ran hot with tears. That damn flu, she thought furiously, it’s come back. And I’m stranded out here in the middle of nowhere!

“Oh God,” she whispered, assailed by fear and doubt. She was divorced, alone, and nearly four months pregnant.

The dizziness passed. Carefully releasing her supportive tree limb, she started walking again, her gaze glued to the compellant little world of the flashlight’s beam. She ignored the nausea spiraling through her like a miniature whirlwind. She’d already discovered that morning sickness could strike at any time.

In a few short months she’d be a parent. A single parent.

Carrie acknowledged her fear of caring for a baby alone. But the baby mustn’t know it. A baby must have complete confidence in its mother. “Don’t worry, my love,” she murmured, spreading a gloved hand over the quilted fabric covering her stomach. “I’ll take care of us.”

As if mocking her brave assertion, another wave of dizziness hit her. She waited it out, then slowly began moving again. According to her directions, the road followed the perimeter of the lake, with a horseshoe curve looping around the camp itself. It shouldn’t be long now; she was already on the loop. “Soon, baby, very soon, I promise,” she whispered.

Rounding a curve, Carrie saw the first cottage. She stopped, surprised. Lights flickered through the swirling snow. Elation zinged through her—someone else was here! She was cold, tired and in need of human contact. Although her own cabin was farther down the lane, she veered toward the one directly ahead, drawn like a moth to the warm, golden radiance spilling from several windows.

Sam Holt tossed another log on the fire, creating a shower of sparks and sending blue smoke curling up the chimney and out into the night. When tongues of flame began licking around the fragrant applewood, he closed the fire screen, then slung an arm along the mantle. A tall man clad in navy silk pajamas, he moved easily, but nervous energy in his taut body transmitted itself through drumming fingertips. He was edgy as a cat and he didn’t know why.

Broodingly he stared into the fire. He wanted...oh hell, he didn’t know what he wanted. He was hungry, but not for food. What then? Not for female companionship; he could have that with a phone call. Their invitations filled his mailbox, cluttered up his answering machine. The usual holiday madness, he concluded cynically.

He grimaced as the television blared its urgent message; only six more shopping days! Maybe that was the source of his malaise. Christmas was once a time of magic. Now it was just an excuse to spend money and throw parties.

Sam jabbed the poker into a fire log. Feeling so jaded about something he’d once enjoyed—buying something special for a special someone—irritated the hell out of him. He used to enjoy the parties, too. Not anymore. He was fed up with the drinking, flirting, empty cocktail chatter and shrill laughter that fleshed out the elegant skeleton of a black-tie evening.

And he’d had his fill of sleek, sophisticated women with soft voices and predatory eyes, Sam thought, giving the log another savage jab. That included his ex-wife, a willful, self-centered society belle who could lie so sweetly even the angels were fooled. She’d certainly fooled him with her sweet and supposedly innocent ways. But it didn’t take long to realize she was just like all the rest—vain, deceitful, untrustworthy.

That sounded bitter and he was not bitter. Hurt and disillusioned, yes. Cautious as hell, yes. Maybe even a little screwed up. But not bitter. In his mind, the word equated to warped.

Still, if any man had a right to be bitter, he did. What she’d done was unforgivable. Had it not been for her narcissistic self-indulgence, he’d have a child now, instead of this stabbing regret for what might have been.

Sam was surprised that the memory was still so raw. But he’d always wanted a son. A daughter would’ve been nice, too, he reflected. The smile softening his mouth died in a flash of white-knuckled anger. Pure selfishness had kept Elysse from telling him she was pregnant! Her willowy figure was so important to her that she’d had an abortion before he even knew he’d fathered a child. He would never forgive her treachery.

Well, at least the experience had toughened him, Sam philosophized. It had also wiped out the last vestige of feeling he’d had for his wife. Expelling a sigh, he replaced the poker. The large, high-ceilinged room, more lodgelike than cottage, seemed to crouch behind him, ruffling his neck hairs as the wind keened in its eaves. “Getting neurotic, Holt,” he muttered, turning on a tall, halogen lamp. Since he was too antsy to sleep, he might as well work awhile—