Hard Habit to Break by Linda Cajio

unconditional surrender to him.
    A red haze of fury clouding her vision, Liz snatched up the rose and scrambled off the bed. She stopped only to throw on her blue terry robe before racing down the stairs and unlocking the front door.
    “I’ll show him that he can’t play mind games with me,” she muttered, clutching the rose in her right hand like a baseball bat. “Break into my house … leave a rose like some stud lover … see me asleep. See me asleep? That lowlife watched me sleep! The hell with showing him, I’ll kill him!”
    She slammed the door behind her, marched across the adjoining lawns, and up the steps of Matt’s porch. She banged her fist against the brightly painted red door, shattering the early morning quiet. When the door didn’t open instantly, she banged on it again. And kept banging.
    The door finally swung open, and a dark-velour-robed Matt stood glaring at her, like a harsh and omnipotent god, the impact of his presence momentarilyoverwhelming. Then his green eyes softened and his big body relaxed.
    “Liz!” he exclaimed before she could speak. He reached out and quickly pulled her inside. “I’m so glad you’ve finally decided to give up this farce. But this is hardly discreet, honey. It looks like I’ll have to arrange our meetings from now on.”
    He shut the door, and it was another shocking moment before Liz finally found her voice. More angry than ever, she slashed the air in front of him with the rose. “What the hell do you think this is, Matt Callahan?”
    He tilted his head to examine the flower. “It looks like a rose.”
    “Damn right, it’s a rose!” she shouted.
    “Do I go to the head of the class? Or do I have to guess what variety it is first?”
    “You can tell me how it got on my pillow last night.”
    “On your pillow?” he asked in a voice that sounded genuinely surprised.
    Liz took a deep breath and firmly told herself not to lose her temper. It didn’t work, and she swatted him with the rose. “You broke into my house last night, came into my bedroom, and left the rose on my pillow. You watched me sleep!”
    “If you were sleeping, how do you know it was me?” Matt asked logically.
    “Because you’re the only qualified pervert in Hopewell!”
    He grinned. “Nice to know you think so highly of me, Liz. Actually the rose sounds more like the work of a secret admirer. As you know, I’m an open one.” He paused and thoughtfully rubbedhis beard. “I don’t like having competition, though. Let alone one so suave and gallant as to leave a rose on your pillow.”
    Liz uttered a barnyard curse. If he ever set foot in her house again, she’d shoot him, she decided.
    “Shocking language for a banker,” Matt commented. “I wonder if your secret admirer knows you’ve got a mouth that would make a sailor blush. Personally, I think it shows you’ve got a good deal of passion. Besides, I curse when I’m angry, so why shouldn’t you? It just proves we’ve got passionate natures, although we already know that, don’t we?”
    She swallowed back the second curse on her lips, vowing not to give him the satisfaction of hearing it. Matt was deliberately trying to provoke her anger even further, and she’d fallen right into his trap. The thought was enough to cool her anger into a cold lump of ashes. He was obviously aware her emotions were always out of balance whenever she was around him, and he was using them against her. He was a very shrewd game player, but she didn’t have the inclination to play.
    Cool air drifting across her bare ankles made Liz aware of another, much more intimate fact. They were both dressed only in bathrobes. At least she was wearing the additional but flimsy protection of a nightgown. She had the feeling, though, that Matt’s robe was the only thing between her and his total exposure. She hoped not, but a helpless downward glance told her Matt’s feet were as bare as hers. Several inches of male legs showed between the hem of