Free Too Hot to Handle: A Loveswept Classic Romance by Sandra Chastain

took a long sip of his apple juice. Callie could feel the tension he radiated. Finally, he turned dark, purposeful eyes on her.
    “I’ve had some wonderful relationships with kind, loving women,” he said softly. “I’m not a hermit, but I’m not promiscuous, either. I’m often accused of being old-fashioned by my male contemporaries.” His voice dropped to a lower, taut level. “And I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t sneer at me as if I’m a hedonistic playboy. Like most women, you think all men are heartless and superficial about sex. Well, I’m not.”
    Callie realized that her face was hot and that she felt ashamed of herself. She realized something else too. He wasn’t angry as much as he was hurt. She had hurt him. “I apologize, Matthew,” she said sincerely. It was very important to her—for reasons she didn’t want to analyze yet—that she not hurt him. “I’m … I’m a turkey,” she added.
    She looked so glum and so intense about the fact that she was a turkey, Matt’s anger faded away. He chuckled, squinting his eyes shut as he did so. He shook his head.
    “Callie, this is a dumb conversation, and it’s giving me indigestion. Let’s change the subject.” When he looked at her again, she nodded eagerly.
    “Exercise,” he said. “That’s a good, safe subject. Do you like to run?”
    “No. I’m much too lazy. Walking? Now, that’s another story, provided it’s done slowly and you take the time to experience new things along the way.”
    Matt reached across the table and wiped a smear of strawberries from the edge of her upper lip with his fingertip. Callie drew a soft, rough breath. He continued to touch her.
    “Matt, you make me want to take up running. I think I could do the fifty-yard dash in three secondsright now.” All she could think of was the rough texture of his finger against her sensitive skin as he traced the outline of her mouth, teasing the corners as though he wanted her to open it. There was an intensity in his eyes that turned the usual brown to a beautiful hickory-nut color.
    “No, don’t run,” he urged. “Callie, consider this one of those new experiences you’re so fond of.” His thumb began to move in slow motion as he traced little circles at the corners of her lips. “I’m absolutely crazy about you, you know.” He leaned forward and began to lower his head toward her.
    For a moment she waited, drinking in the heady male scent of him, awakening an aching yearning that she wanted so badly to give in to. She lifted her lips, ready to meet his dangerous invitation boldly, when a warning “baa” destroyed the silence.
    “William!” she cried. She heard a banging sound, the sound of the door’s screen stretching and the frame cracking. Callie jumped up and watched the white goat ram the kitchen door once more. “Stop that this instant! What’s gotten into you?”
    He snorted and backed off the porch, shaking his head. Callie watched, speechless, as he trotted away. Beside her, Matt buried his face in his hands.
    “You have a goat chaperone.” He moaned. Then he began to chuckle. “I can fight every obstacle except William.” He sounded comically undone. “I’m being victimized by a prudish goat!” Matt sank back onto his stool, and Callie went back to hers. They shook their heads simultaneously, and she began to laugh along with him.
    After breakfast, Matt took her grandfather’s old straight-edge razor and a bar of soap. He went off,whistling, to the water spigot. Callie watched him swish the razor blade through the air in a figure eight.
    “Come on, you crazy little goat!” he yelled in a maniacal tone. “I’ll carve you into goat burgers!”
    “Pretty brave talk!” Callie yelled after him, “since William’s in the pen!”
    Matt turned around and bowed deeply. He drew himself up in a gallant pose. “M’lady,” he called, “ ’tis for the best! God didn’t mean for a poor dumb beast to fight a duel.”
    She couldn’t