by Nora Roberts
They trembled, watching each other as they savored that timeless instant of mating.
Muscles straining, he lowered his head, covered her mouth. When the kiss was at its deepest, when her flavor filled him as intimately as he was filling her, they began to move together.
It was the cold that finally roused Regan. Though it seemed impossible, she thought she must have fallen asleep. As she struggled to orient herself, she discovered her back was against the cold, hard wood of the floor, pressed firmly against it by the weight of Rafe's body.
She looked around dazedly. Somehow or other, they'd gotten themselves several feet from the fire.
"You awake now?" Rafe's voice was thick, a little sleepy.
"I guess." She tried a deep breath, was relieved to find she could accomplish it. "I can't really tell."
He shifted his head, skimmed his lips over the curve of her breast. Her exhausted body quivered in response.
"I guess I can tell after all," she said. . "You're cold." He shifted, hauled her up and put her back on the sleeping bag. Wished, for her, that was a feather bed. "Better?"
"Yeah." Not quite sure of her moves, she tugged a corner of the bag up to her chin. She'd never been so exposed, so completely naked, body and soul, before anyone. "I must have dozed off."
"Just a couple minutes." He grinned at her. He felt as though he'd climbed a mountain. And could climb ten more. "I'll put another log on."
Naked and easy, he rose to go to the woodbox. The scratches scoring his shoulders had Regan's mouth falling open. She'd done that. She'd actually... Good God. "I, ah, should go. Cassie'll be worried."
Rafe set the screen back in place. Without a word, he reached into the duffel bag beside the woodbox and took out a cellular phone. "Call her."
"I... didn't realize you had a phone."
"It's a tool on a job like this." He handed it to her, then sat down beside her. "Call her," he repeated. "And stay."
She was sure there were reasons why she should go. But she dialed her own number, watching Rafe as the phone rang.
"Cassie, it's Regan. Yes, everything's fine. Snow?" Baffled for a moment, she pushed her hair away from her face. "Oh, yes, it's really coming down. That's why I'm calling. I got, urn, involved, and I think..."
She trailed off as Rafe tugged the corner of the bag out of her hand, as his fingers trailed down the curve of her breast.
"What?" She swallowed, then bit back a moan. His mouth had replaced his fingers. She slid bonelessly to her back. "Pennsylvania?" she mummied. "No, I'm not in Pennsylvania."
Rafe took the phone from her limp fingers. "She's with me. She's staying with me. No kidding? She'll call you tomorrow. Right."
He clicked the phone off, set it aside. "Cassie says we've got over a foot out there, the streets are a mess, and you should stay put."
"Oh." She closed her eyes, lifted her arms. "That's very sensible."
The candles had guttered out and the fire had burned to embers when she awoke. The house was so still, so quiet, she could hear her own heartbeat. The room was filled with shadows and darkness, but it was oddly peaceful. Perhaps the ghosts slept, she mused. Or perhaps she felt at ease with them because Rafe slept beside her.
She turned her head and studied his face in the dying firelight. Asleep or not, she mused, there was no innocent-little-boy look about him. All that power, and the potential for violence, were still there, carved into his face.
She knew he could be gentle, caring. She'd seen that in the way he was with Cassie. But as a lover, he was demanding, relentless and rough.
And, for the first time in her life, she'd been the same.
Now, with the quiet like a blanket over her, she found it hard to believe she had done what she'd done, had allowed him—wanted him—to do what he had done.
Her body ached from bruises, and she wondered if in the full light of day she would wince at the memory of how she'd come by them. Of how she'd ached and trembled and hungered under those big, hard hands.
Even more, of how she'd used her own.
Of how, she realized with a jolt, she wanted to use them now.
Taking a shallow breath, she eased out from under Rafe's possessive arm. She moved as quietly as she could, settled on slipping on his flannel shirt for covering. Buttoning it as she went, she padded toward the kitchen.
A cold drink of water, she told herself. A few moments to evaluate the situation.
At the sink, she filled a glass. As her eyes adjusted, she watched the drift of snow falling outside the window.
She didn't regret. That, she mused, would be foolish. Fate had placed an extraordinary lover in her path. The kind of man few women ever knew. She could, and would, be content with the physical thrill of it. She could, and would, prevent it, and him, from complicating her life.
They were both adults, as he had said. They both knew what they wanted. When the house was finished, he would probably grow restless and move on. Meanwhile they would enjoy each other. And when it was over, it would end with mutual understanding, and, she hoped, affection.
It would probably be wise to discuss those expectations, or the lack of them, before things went any further. But she found herself torn at the very idea of voicing them.
From the doorway, Rafe studied her, the way she stood, leaning a little on the counter, her eyes on the window. Her face reflected in it. His shirt skimmed her thighs, worn flannel against creamy skin.
It struck him, hard, that he'd never in his life seen anything more beautiful. He had the words to tell her; he was good with them. But he found there were none this time, none good enough to show how much she mattered.
So he chose easy ones, casual ones, and ignored the ache just looking at her had spreading around his heart.
"I like your dress, darling."
She jolted, nearly bobbled the glass before she turned. He'd tugged on jeans, but hadn't bothered to fasten them. Grinning, he leaned against the un-framed doorway.
"It was handy," she said, matching his tone.
"That old shirt's never had it so good. Restless?"
"I was thirsty." But she set the glass down without taking so much as a sip. "I guess the quiet woke me. It's odd, don't you think, how quiet it is?"
"The snow always makes it quiet."
"No, I mean the house. It seems different. Settled."
"Even dead soldiers and unhappy women have to sleep sometime." He crossed the room to pick up the glass and drink himself. "It's almost dawn," he murmured. "My brothers and I spent the night here once when we were kids. I guess I told you that already."
"Jared rattling chains. And all of you telling ghost stories and smoking stolen cigarettes."
"You got it. I came into this room then, too. It was just about this time of day, but it was late summer. Everything was so green, and the woods were so dense and thick they made you wonder what was in them. There was a mist over the ground like a river. It was beautiful, and I thought—" He broke off, shrugged.
"No." She laid a hand on his arm. "Tell me."
"I thought I could hear the drums, slowly, the sounds of camps breaking to prepare for battle. I could smell the fear, the excitement, the dread. I thought I could hear the house waking around me, the whispers and creaks. I was petrified, paralyzed. If I could have moved, I'd have hauled my butt out of here. The guys would've rubbed my nose in it for years, but I'd have run like a rabbit if my legs had moved."
"You were just a boy.''
"You've never been a boy, so you don't know that made it ten times worse. I'd gotten through the night, even gotten a kick out of it. And here it was morning, dawn breaking, and I stood here with my teeth chattering. When it passed, I just stood looking out this window. And I thought, no damn house is going to get the better of me. Nothing's going to get the better of me. I'll own this house before I'm finished."
He smiled then, set the glass down. "I don't know how many times I came back here, alone, after that. Waiting for something to happen, wishi
ng it would, just so I could stand up to it. I crept through every room of this place at one time or another. I heard things, saw things, felt things. The night I left town, I promised myself I'd come back."
"Now you have it," she said quietly.
"Yeah." Faintly embarrassed, he looked down at her. "I never told anyone that."
"Then neither will I." She lifted a hand, touched his cheek. "Whatever your reasons, you're doing something important. This house has been neglected too long."
"Were you frightened, staying here through the night?"
"No. Not of the house."
His brow lifted. "Of me?"
"Yes. I'm frightened of you."
The humor faded from his eyes. "I was rough with you," he said carefully.
"I don't mean that." She turned away. Out of habit, she set a kettle on the stove, flicked on the burner. "I've never been the way I was last night, with anyone. So out of control. So... needy. I'm a little surprised when I think back and... Well." She let out a shaky breath, searched out a filter for the drip cone.
"Surprised? Or sorry?"
"Not sorry, Rafe." Making the effort, she turned back and met his eyes. "No, not sorry at all. Uneasy, because I know now exactly what you can do to me. I knew making love with you would be exciting. I didn't know it would be so shattering. Nothing about you is tidy or predictable. The way I like things to be."
"I want you now. That should be predictable."
"My heart jumps," she managed. "Literally, when you say things like that. But I do need things to be tidy." Opening the can of coffee, she deliberately measured out scoops. "I imagine your men will be coming along in an hour or so. This probably isn't the best time to talk this out.''
"Nobody's coming today. There's better than two feet of snow out there, on top of what we already had."
"Oh." Her hand faltered, spilling ground coffee on the stove.
"We're snowbound for a while, darling. You can talk all you want."
"Well." After clearing her throat, she faced him again. "I just think it's best if we both understood things."
"What things?"
"Things." She bit the word off, furious at herself for hesitating. "Things that we didn't quite finish outlining last night. That what we're having is a mutual satisfying and physical affair, no strings, no entanglements, no..."
"Complications?"
"Yes." Relieved, she nodded. "Exactly."
Surprised to find himself annoyed with her cool-headed description—one that should have mirrored his own wishes—he scratched his head. "That's tidy enough. But if that means you're planning on seeing somebody else, it'll get messy when I break him in half."
"Oh, of all the ridiculous—"
"And cut off his—"
"Stop that." She blew out a heated breath. "I have no intention of seeing someone else while we're involved, but if I—"
"Smarter to stop there," he said quietly. "Let's just say we have a mutually satisfying and exclusive physical relationship. That suit you?"
Calmer, she turned back to pour boiling water through the filter. "Yes, I can agree to that."
"You're a piece of work, Regan. You want the contract in triplicate?"
"I only want to make sure we expect the same things." She concentrated hard on covering the grounds with water, on being sure not to pour too much water, or too little. "We haven't taken time to really get to know each other. Now we're lovers. I don't want you to think I'm looking for any more than that."
"And if I'm looking for more?"
Her fingers whitened on the handle of the kettle. "Are you?"
He looked away from her, toward the window and the softly falling snow. "No."
She closed her eyes, telling herself it was relief she felt at his answer. Only relief. "Well, then there's no problem."
"No, everything's dandy." His voice was as cool and detached as hers. "You don't want romance, saves me the trouble. You don't want promises, I don't have to lie. We want each other in bed." He reached for two mugs. "That keeps it simple."
"I want you in bed." Pleased with her casual tone, she took the mugs from him. "But if I didn't like who you are, we wouldn't have gotten there. I've wanted other men."
In a deceptively calm gesture, he flicked her hair behind her ear. "Now you're trying to make me mad."
The fact that he couldn't see how difficult it was for her to be so open, to keep things simple, made it easier. Oddly enough, this kind of openness seemed completely natural with him. "I'm trying to give you a complement. I wouldn't have come here last night, hoping you'd be here, if I hadn't cared about you." "You came to drop off candlesticks."
"You're an idiot." Amused at both of them, she poured coffee. She hadn't realized sexual frankness could be fun. "You didn't really buy that, did you?"
Intrigued, he took the mug she offered. "Yeah, I did."
She sipped, smiled. "Sucker."
"Maybe I don't like sneaky, aggressive women."
"Yes, you do. In fact, you're hoping I'll seduce you right now."
"Think so?"
"I know so. But I want my coffee first."
He watched her take another delicate sip. "Maybe I want my shirt back. You didn't ask if you could borrow it."
"Fine." With one hand, she undid the buttons. "Take it."
He nipped the coffee from her hand, set both mugs aside. Her smug smile had him scooping her off her feet. She was laughing and assaulting his ear as he carried her back down the hall. The front door swung open, letting in cold and blowing snow and a figure crusted with white.
Shane dragged off his cap and shook himself like a dog. "Hey." Casually he kicked the door closed. "Your car's buried to the wheel wells, Regan."
"Oh." With a fumbling hand, she clutched the shirt together and tried to mirror his easy tone. "We got a lot of snow."
"Over two feet." Unabashed, he grinned at his brother. "Figured you'd need someone to plow you out."
"Does it look like I want you to rescue me?" Disgusted, Rafe strode into the parlor and dumped Regan on the settee. "Stay right there."
"Rafe!" Futilely she tried to tug the hem of the shirt down over her legs. "For heaven's sake!"
"Right there," he repeated, and headed back into the hall.
"That coffee I smell?" Shane asked conversationally. "I could use some."
"Give me one reason why I shouldn't break your neck."
Shane took off his gloves, blew on his chilled fingers. " 'Cause I rode over here in a blizzard to save yours." He leaned forward, but couldn't quite see into the parlor. "She's sure got legs."
"Where do you want to die?"
"Just an observation." His grin only widened, the MacKade dimple flashing. "Hey, who knew? I figured you were stuck here, without transportation. Alone. Then, when I saw her car, I thought maybe she needed a lift into town." Again he inched forward, hopeful. "Maybe I should ask her."
"One more step and they won't find your body till spring."
"If I win, can I keep her?" When Rafe snarled, Shane erupted with laughter. "Don't hit me, I'm frozen. I'll break."
Muttering threats, Rafe grabbed Shane by the collar and dragged him down the hall. "Eyes front, MacKade." In the kitchen, he found a thermos, filled it with coffee. "Now beat it."
"I'm going." But Shane drank straight from the thermos. "The wind's a bitch." Grateful for the heat, he drank again. "Look, I didn't mean to horn in on your little love nest," he began, then stopped, lowered the thermos when he read quick fury in Rafe's eyes. "Hey, are you serious about her?"
"Mind your own damn business."
Shane whistled out a breath, screwed the top on the thermos. "You've always been my business. Regan's a real lady. I mean that."
"So?"
"So nothing." Embarrassed now, Shane shifted position. "I like her, always have. I thought about..." Realizing he'd taken a wrong turn, he pulled out his gloves again and whistled a cheerful tune.
"Thought about what?"
Cautious,
Shane ran his tongue around his teeth. He really wanted to keep all of them. "Just what you think I thought. Hell, look at her. A man's bound to think." Agile, he evaded Rafe's lunging arm. "Think is all I did. I'm not going to fight you over thinking." In a gesture of peace, he threw up his hands. "What I'm saying is, it's great. You hit the jackpot."
Temper vanished. Rafe reached for the pot again. "We're sleeping together. That's all."
"You gotta start somewhere."
"She's different, Shane." He hadn't been able to admit it to himself, but it came easily brother to brother. "I haven't sorted it out, but she's different. She matters a lot."
"Everybody's got to take the big fall sometime." Shane slapped a hand on Rafe's bare shoulder. "Even you."
"I didn't say anything about falling," Rafe muttered. He knew the implications of that. Falling in love. Being in love.
"You didn't have to. Look, I'll plow the lane, just in case. You got any food around here?"
"Yeah, there's enough."
"I'll take off, then. It's supposed to let up by mid-morning. I have animals to tend to, so if you need something, try Devin first. I might be out."
"Thanks. Shane?" He turned, eyeing his brother. "If you so much as glance in that parlor on your way out, I'll have to kill you."
"I already got a good look at her legs." Whistling cheerfully, Shane ambled down the hall. "See you, Regan." It cost him, but he kept his eyes averted on his way to the door.
The minute she heard it slam, Regan pressed her face on her updrawn knees. Stepping into the parlor, Rafe winced at her defensive posture, her trembling shoulders.
"Look, darling, I'm sorry. I should have locked the damn door." Gently he patted her shoulder and sat down beside her. "Shane doesn't mean to be an idiot. He was born that way. He doesn't mean any harm. Don't be upset."
She made a strangled sound, and when she lifted her face, it was wet with tears. Her laughter bubbled out like wine. "Can you imagine what we looked like, the three of us, in that hall?" She pressed her hand over her mouth and rocked. "The two of us half-naked, Shane looking like the abominable snowman."
"You think that's funny?"
"No, I think it's hysterical." Weak with laughter, she collapsed against him. "The MacKade brothers. Oh, God, what have I gotten myself into?"