It had taken what seemed like hours to calm the raging need that had roared through his blood before he’d left her. The struggle to remain in control had taken more power than he’d known he possessed. After he’d shut the door behind him, he’d stood in the corridor for long minutes, pressing his forehead against the cool plaster of the wall.Patience. He could not sacrifice the fragile bond developing between them; could not let base desire overrun common sense.Becky required time to sort through her feelings, to pry off the stranglehold her dead husband held on her heart. If Jack had six months, he could seduce her into loving him completely, honestly. Hell, he could seduce her into begging him to marry her.He didn’t have that luxury. The fifteenth of December was three weeks away. Tom was near. Jack wouldn’t be surprised if he lingered outside the cottage on this frosty night. The man was wily, and he was experienced at tracking Jack.When Jack was sixteen years old, a school friend had invited him to spend the winter holidays at his family’s home in Somersetshire.
