by Nora Roberts
Here was tenderness, so sweet, so unexpected. Her sigh whispered out like a secret.
He felt the change, in her, in himself. Marveled at it. Why had they always been in such a hurry? he wondered. Why had he hesitated to savor, and he savored, when there was so much here?
He loved the flavor of her, that quietly seductive taste that clung to her skin. The feel of her, soft curves, long lines. The smell of her hair, her clothes, her shoulders.
So he savored it now, all of it, with long, slow kisses that clouded his mind and made him forget there was anything beyond this room for either of them.
His hands were careful this time as he drew her sweater off, slipped the trousers down her hips. Rather than touch, rather than take, he kissed her again, drawing out the simple meeting of lips until her body went limp.
"Let me." With a dreamy murmur, she shifted until they were both kneeling. Already clouded, her eyes stayed on his while she unbuttoned his shirt. Trapped in the silky mood, she slipped it away and, with her hands resting lightly on his shoulders, swayed to him.
They held each other, moving only for quiet, sipping tastes, soft, gentle caresses. She smiled when his lips brushed her shoulder, sighed when hers tasted his throat.
When they were naked, he drew her down so that she lay over him, so that her hair fell to curtain them both.
She could have floated on this whisper-thin cloud of sensations endlessly, with the winter sun slanting cold light through the windows, the fire crackling, his body strong and hard beneath hers.
The feel of his hands on her, stroking, soothing even as they aroused, was like a gift. She felt the wonder of it in every pore, in every nerve, with every pulse.
There was no clash and fury now, no desperation, no vicious drive to mate. Now she was aware of everything—the dust motes spinning in the sunbeam that rayed over the floor, the sedate hiss of flame on wood, the scent of roses and man.
She could count his heartbeats, quicker, stronger, as her lips trailed over his chest. The bunching and quivering of a muscle beneath her hand, the sound of her own thickening breath.
With a sigh that caught in her throat, she wrapped around him as he rolled her to her back.
Time spun out, stretched, quivered. The clock on the mantel ticked the seconds away, and the minutes. But that was another world. Here there were only needs lazily satisfied, and hearts quietly lost.
For pleasure—his as well as hers—he eased her gently to the edge and over. His name was only a murmur on her lips as she arched, tensed, softened to silk. She opened for him, drawing him close with a velvety moan as he slipped into her.
Overwhelmed by her, by the simplicity of it, he burrowed his face in her hair. The tenderness shattered them both.
They didn't speak of it. When they parted in the morning, both of them were determinedly casual. But they thought of it. And they worried.
Rafe watched her drive off as the sun struggled over the mountains to the east. When she was gone, when there was no one to see, he rubbed the heel of his hand over his heart.
There was an ache there that he couldn't quite will away. He had a very bad feeling that she was the cause of it, and that somehow, in a matter of hours, he'd gotten in over his head.
God, he missed her already.
He swore at himself for that, then swore again for reaching like a trained dog for the cigarettes that weren't there. Both were just habits, he assured himself. If he wanted, he could just go buy a pack of cigarettes and smoke his brains out. Just as he could snatch her back anytime.
Sex was a powerful bond. It wasn't surprising it had caught him, as well.
It didn't have to be any more than that. They'd tidied that up, hadn't they? A man was entitled to be a little shaky after thirty-odd hours of sex and solitude with a gorgeous woman.
He didn't want anything more. Neither did she.
It was a relief and a pleasure to find a lover who wanted no more and no less than he did himself. A woman who didn't expect him to play games, make promises neither expected to be kept, say words that were only words, after all.
Scowling, he grabbed a shovel and began to deal with the snow that piled the walk. The sun was strengthening, and he worked fast, so that even with the bite of the northern wind he sweated satisfactorily under his coat.
She'd probably head straight for the shower, he mused, tossing heavy snow off the path. Wash that pretty doe-colored hair of hers.
He wondered what it looked like wet.
She'd dig some of those neat, classy clothes out of her closet. Nope, he thought, correcting himself. Regan would never dig. She'd select. Quiet colors, simple lines. One of those professional-woman's jackets, with a pin on the lapel.
She'd fix her face, nothing too obvious. Just hints of blush along the cheekbones, a touch of color above those ridiculously long lashes. Then lipstick—not red, not pink, a kind of rose that accented those full lips and that sassy little mole beside them.
Halfway down the walk, he stopped, leaned against the shovel and wondered if he was losing her mind. He was actually thinking about her makeup.
What the hell did he care what paint she slapped on before she went down to open the shop?
She'd put on the kettle for tea, or have cider simmering so that the place smelled of apples and spices. Then she'd go through the day without giving him a thought.
Snow flew as he attacked it. Well, he had plenty to do himself, and no time to brood about her.
He'd reached the end of the walk, and the end of his patience, when Devin rattled up the lane in the sheriff's cruiser.
"What the hell do you want?" Rafe shouted. "Haven't you got somebody to arrest?"
"Funny how a little blizzard quiets things down." Leaning on the open car door, Devin watched his brother with amusement. "Saw Regan's car was gone, figured it was safe to drop by."
"I've got men due any minute. I don't have time to chat."
"In that case, I'll take my doughnuts and go."
Rafe swiped a hand over his chilled face. "What kind?"
"Apple and brown sugar."
Some things were sacred, and an apple doughnut on a cold morning topped the list.
"Well, are you going to stand there all morning with that idiot grin on your face? Give me a damn doughnut."
Obligingly, Devin took the bag out of the car and sauntered over. "Had three fender benders in town yesterday from people not smart enough to stay put."
"Antietam's a wild town, all right. Have to shoot anybody?"
"Not lately." Devin took out a doughnut for himself before passing the bag to Rafe. "Broke up a fist-fight, though."
"Down at the tavern?"
"Nope, at the market. Millie Yeader and Mrs. Metz were going at it over the last pack of toilet paper."
Rafe's lips twitched. "People get a little nervous over necessities when a big snow hits."
"Tell me about it. Miz Metz conked Millie with a bunch of bananas. Took a lot of diplomacy to keep Millie from filing charges."
"Assault with tropical fruit. Could've done hard time for that." Calm again, Rafe licked apple from bis thumb. "Did you come by to give me the latest trials and tribulations of Antietam?"
"That's just a bonus." Devin polished off his doughnut, reached for a cigarette. His grin was wide and unsympathetic when Rafe groaned. He lit it, inhaled lavishly. "I hear food tastes better when you quit."
"Nothing's better," Rafe shot back. "But some of us have real willpower. Blow it over here, you bastard."
"Secondhand smoke's the real killer," Devin told him, and blew a stream in Rafe's direction. "You look a little out of sorts, Rafe. Trouble in paradise?"
Rafe gave some thought to beating his brother to death with the snow shovel and stealing all his cigarettes. Reminding himself it was all a matter of self-control, he leaned on the shovel, instead.
"How long did it take Shane to open his big mouth?"
"Let's see." Considering, Devin smoked and studied the landscape. "T
he way the roads were yesterday, I'd say it took him, oh, about seven minutes to get from here to my office." He flicked ash aside. "Let's say seven minutes and ten seconds."
"Now you're here to offer your sage advice?"
"Hey, it was pretty sage to talk those two snarling women into splitting the six-pack of pink toilet paper. But no." With a self-deprecating smile, he took a last drag, then flicked the cigarette away.
Rafe watched it wistfully as it hissed in the snow.
"I'm not exactly the expert on romance in the MacKade family." Devin's grin was crooked, and didn't last long. "I thought you might like the latest on Joe Dolin."
"He's locked up."
"For now. I got word he's copping to second-degree assault. If he listens to his lawyer, he'll agree to alcohol counseling. He'll get a fine, suspended sentence with probation, and a stern warning not to hit his wife again."
"What the hell kind of deal is that?"
"Prisons ass crowded. Domestic disputes don't usually equal tough sentencing. He says 'Yeah, I did it, I'm sorry. I lost my temper, I was drunk, I lost my job. My self-esteem is really low.' The judge says 'Get yourself into counseling, my boy, and sin no more.'"
Rafe studied his brother's face. Beneath the calm, he caught the twitches of fury and frustration. "You're just going to let it go at that?"
"I don't sentence." Devin struggled to bite back on his sense of anger and impotence. "There's nothing I can do except talk Cassie into letting me issue a restraining order, and make sure he doesn't get near her or the kids."
"Meanwhile, they're bunked down at Regan's. That puts her in the middle."
"I don't like it any better than you do. I've got the law to work around."
"I don't."
Devin's gaze was cool and level. "No, you don't. But you start something with Dolin, and it's going to come down in his favor. He'll make a mistake, Rafe. All it takes is one, and I'll have him caged again. Until I do... I don't know where things stand between you and Regan, but if you were staying there, it'd hold a lot more weight with me than some useless restraining order."
"You want me to ask Regan to let me move in with her?"
"And Cassie, and the kids."
The idea was surprisingly appealing. Waking up beside her, sharing that first cup of coffee. "You going to deputize me, Dev?"
"Not on your life."
"Too bad. Well, I'll run it by Regan and let you know."
Chapter 8
"Absolutely not." Regan planted her feet, folded her arms over her chest. "You are not sleeping in my bed with two little children in the next room."
"This isn't about sex," Rafe said patiently. "That's just a bonus. I'm telling you, this is an official request from the sheriff."
"Who just happens to be your brother. No." She turned away to set glassware back on the shelf she'd been dusting. "It would make Cassie uncomfortable and set a poor example for the children."
And if they weren't there? He found the question leaping to the tip of his tongue like a frog. He was barely in time to prevent himself from letting it jump out.
"It's Cassie and the kids who are the issue," he insisted. "You think Dolin's just going to leave them alone because Cassie signs some paper telling him to?"
"I have no idea what he'll do, but he'll have to get past me first."
The thought of it, just the thought of it, had his blood icing over. "Now you listen..."
She jerked his hand from her shoulder and whirled back. "No, you listen. The man is a bully and a drunk. I'm not afraid of drunken bullies. I offered Cassie my home, and she's welcome to stay there as long as she wants. I have a good solid lock on the door, which I'll use. I know the number for the sheriff's office, which I'll use, as well, if it's necessary."
"There's no lock on that door." Rafe jerked a thumb toward the front of the shop. "What's to stop him from walking in here during business hours and harassing you? Or worse."
"I am."
"Right." He wondered if shaking her would rattle her brains back into place. "Putting Dolin on the receiving end of that stubborn chin of yours isn't going to stop him. In case you haven't figured it out, he likes hurting women."
"I'll take a moment to remind you that for the past three years I've been here and you haven't. I've seen exactly what he's done to Cassie."
"And you figure because you're not married to him, you're safe?" He did shake her. "You can't be that stupid."
"I'm not stupid," she shot back. "I'm competent. I don't need or want you for a bodyguard."
His eyes changed, going from full heat to slow burn. On her shoulders, his hands tensed, then lifted away.
"I guess that's the bottom line, isn't it? You don't need or want my help."
Ego, she thought with a muffled sigh. There was no monster so fierce or so vulnerable as a man's ego. "The sheriff's office is five minutes away, if I need to call out troops." Hoping to calm them both, Regan put her hands on his shoulders. "Rafe, I appreciate your concern, really I do. But I can take care of myself, and Cassie, too, if it comes to that."
"I bet you can."
"I worked a shop in D.C. for years. One memorable evening, I was robbed at gunpoint. I know how to be sensible, how not to take chances and how to defend myself. I appreciate the fact that you're worried, but I'm not Cassie. He can't frighten or intimidate me."
"Regan—"
"Wait, let me finish. Cassie is so fragile right now, and the children are too quiet. I'm not sure how they would handle having a man around. The kids don't know you."
He jammed his hands in his pockets. "I'm not going to kick them around."
"They don't know that. Little Emma sits at Cassie's feet with her doll and barely says a word. And the boy— God, Rafe, he breaks my heart. They need time to feel safe again. You're too big, you're too strong, you're too... male."
Stubbornly he ignored the fact that she'd hurt him—that he could be hurt—and concentrated on the situation at hand. "You're being pigheaded."
"I'm doing what seems right to me. That's the only way I know how to handle things. Believe me, I've thought this through, weighed the options. Having you move in just isn't one of them."
"Invite me to dinner," he said abruptly.
"You want to come to dinner?"
"Ask me to dinner, so I can get to know the kids, so they'll get used to me being around."
"Now who's pigheaded?" But she sighed. It was a reasonable compromise. "All right, seven-thirty, and you're out by ten."
"Can we neck on the couch after the kids go to bed?"
"Maybe. Now go away."
' 'Aren't you going to kiss me goodbye?"
She huffed out a breath, then kissed him primly on the cheek. "Business hours," she said, then laughed when he grabbed her. "Rafe, we're right in front of the window. I—"
The rest was lost as he crushed his mouth to hers. "Might as well give them something to talk about." And give her something to think about, he told himself. She was damn well going to do a lot of thinking about Rafe MacKade.
He nipped her lip, let her go, then sauntered out the door.
A block away, Cassie sat in Devin's office, twisting her hands together. She knew it should be easier because it was Devin, someone she'd known all her life. But it only made the shame worse.
"I'm sorry, we got busy, and I couldn't take my break until now."
"That's all right, Cassie." It had become habit to keep his voice quiet when he spoke to her, as a man might speak to a wounded bird. "I've got the paperwork filled out for you. You just have to sign it."
"He's not going to go to jail."
A fist squeezed his heart at the emptiness in her tone. "No."
"Is it because I let him hit me?"
"No." He wished he could reach out to soothe those nervous hands. But the desk was between them, an official barrier. "He admitted that he hurt you, but the court took other things into consideration. His drinking problem, his loss of a longtime job. He'll have to go into counse
ling, report to his probation officer. Stay out of trouble."
"It could be good for him." She looked up, then, just as quickly, down again. "The counseling. If he stops drinking, maybe everything would be all right."
"Yeah." And he could run a Popsicle stand in hell, Devin thought. "In the meantime, you need to protect yourself. That's what the restraining order's for."
She lifted her gaze again, and this time her eyes held his. "That paper is going to keep him from coming back?"
Devin grabbed a cigarette out of his pack, then tossed it down. When he spoke, his voice was cool and official. "This bars him from coming near you. He can't come into the diner when you're working there. He can't approach you on the street, or come to Regan's house as long as you're staying there. If he breaks any one of the regulations set down here, he'll void his parole and serve the eighteen months."
"He knows about this?"
"He's been notified."
She moistened her lips. He couldn't come near her. The idea whirled around in her head. If he couldn't come near her, he couldn't hit her.
"I only have to sign it."
"Yes, you only have to sign it." Devin rose then, came around the desk to offer her a pen. When she made no move to take it, he bit back an oath. "Cas-sie, what do you want? Can you just tell me what you want?"
She shook her head, took the pen. She signed her name quickly, as though it hurt. "I know I've put you through a lot of trouble, Devin."
"It's my job," he said shortly.
"You're a good sheriff." When he glanced back, obviously surprised, she tried to smile. "You are, quiet and competent and good with people. Everyone knows they can count on you. My mother always said you and your brothers would end up behind bars." She flushed and stared down at the floor. "I'm sorry. That was stupid."
"No, it wasn't. I used to think the same myself." He smiled then, because just for a moment she'd sounded like the girl he remembered. "You know, Cass, that's about the longest little speech I've heard out of you in close to ten years."
"I'm always putting my foot in my mouth."
"Don't do that." He'd taken her chin to lift her head before he realized he meant to—before she flinched like a startled doe. Moving with care, he dropped his hand, eased a hip on the corner of the desk. "How are the kids?"