by Nora Roberts
"Then it'll be antique shows and ballets." Devin heaved a heavy sigh. "Poetry readings."
Because that hit entirely too close to home, Rafe jerked the cue and missed his shot. He wasn't going to think of her. Damn it, he wasn't going to give Regan or the hole in his gut a single thought. "Keep it up and I'll take both of you on."
"Well, I'm shaking." After lining up his shot, Devin leaned over the table. He made his ball cleanly. As he circled the table, he sniffed at Rafe. "That cologne, lover-boy?"
"I'm not wearing any damn—" Rafe hissed out a breath. "You're just jealous 'cause you're sleeping alone on some cot outside a cell every night."
"You got me there."
Enjoying himself, Jared plugged coins into the jukebox. "What time do you have to be home, Rafe? We wouldn't want you getting conked with a rolling pin for missing curfew."
"How long have you been a practicing ass?" It was some small satisfaction to note that Duff was shooting them uneasy glances. A man didn't like to lose his touch. "What's the fine for breaking up a couple of chairs?"
Nostalgia swam sweetly along with the beer in Dev-in's bloodstream. Unless he counted breaking his brothers up, and you could hardly count that, he hadn't been in a decent fight in years.
"Can't let you do it," he said, with mildly drunk regret. "I carry a badge."
"Take it off." Rafe grinned. "And let's beat hell out of Shane. For old times' sake."
Jared tapped his fingers on the juke in time to the music. He eyed their youngest brother, who was definitely making progress with the redhead. That alone was reason enough to punch him a few times.
"I've got enough on me to post bond." Jared told them. "And a little extra to bribe the sheriff, if we have to."
Devin sighed, straightened from the table. With brotherly affection, he studied the unsuspecting Shane. "Hell, he's going to get his butt whipped before the night's over, anyway, if he keeps playing with that girl. We might as well do it first."
"We'll be more humane," Jared agreed.
The bartender watched them move together, recognized, with despair, the look in each eye. "Not in here. Come on now, Devin, you're the law."
"Just doing my brotherly duty."
"What's the idea?" Scenting trouble, Shane danced back from the bar. He scanned his brothers, shifted as they moved to flank him. "Three against one?" His mouth curved in a wide, reckless grin as other customers moved to safety. "Come on, then."
He crouched, braced, then made the mistake of glancing over as the door opened. His mouth had already fallen open in surprise when Rafe caught him low and sent them both crashing into a table.
"You make it too easy." Laughing, Rafe turned and caught him in a cheerful headlock. Then he went numb, right down to his toes.
The skirt barely made it past the legal limit. It wasn't tight. It went beyond tight as it squeezed possessively over curvy hips in an eye-popping fire-engine red. The legs went on. And on. Rafe's dazzled gape followed them down to the razor-sharp skyscraper heels in that same bold color.
When he managed to lift his gaze, he saw that the skinny black top was as snug as the skirt, and dipped down low over firm, unfettered breasts. It took him a full ten seconds to get to her face.
Her mouth was red and wet and curved. Beside it, the little mole was a bold exclamation of sex. Her hair was tousled, and her eyes were shadowed and heavy. She looked like a woman who'd just climbed out of bed, and was willing to climb right back in.
"Holy hell." It was Shane's strained muttering that jolted him out of shock. "Is that Regan in there? She is hot."
Rafe didn't have the strength to put much behind the punch. When he gained his feet and moved to the door, his head was still buzzing, as if he'd been the one to take the blow.
"What are you doing?''
She moved a shoulder, causing the excuse for a blouse to follow her stretch. "I thought I'd play a little nine-ball."
There was something stuck in his throat. "Nine-ball?"
"Yeah." She sauntered over to the bar, leaned an elbow on it. "Going to buy me a beer, MacKade?"
Chapter 12
If he kept staring at her, she was going to lose it, Regan thought. She was already so nervous that if her clothes hadn't been girdled on, she'd have jumped out of them.
Because she'd wanted to make an entrance, she'd left her coat in the car. Only the heat of possible humiliation kept her teeth from chattering.
Her feet were killing her.
When Rafe didn't answer, she scanned the room and tried not to swallow audibly at the stares. Gathering courage, she flashed a smile at the bartender. Even the weary-eyed Duff was goggling at her.
"I'll have what he's having." When she had the beer in her hand, she turned back. No one had moved a muscle. It was either run or play it out, Regan told herself, taking a quick swallow of beer.
She hated beer.
"Are you going to rack them, MacKade, or am I?"
"I'll rack them," Jared interjected helpfully. His hands were still a little sweaty, but he'd gotten over the worst of the shock. Rafe's face was almost as much of a pleasure to watch as the sway of Regan's hips, as she sauntered over to study the arsenal of cues.
Rafe heard the clatter of balls, and blinked. "You said you wanted an early night."
"Changed my mind." Her voice was breathy from necessity, rather than design. The leather and Span-dex were cutting off her air supply. "I had all this... energy all of a sudden." She walked slowly to the table, resisting the urge to tug at the hem of the skirt. "Who wants to play?"
Half a dozen men moved with scraping chairs and clattering boots. Rafe's snarl was the low, vicious sound of a wild dog guarding his bone. Half a dozen men decided they weren't in the mood for pool after all.
"This is a joke, right?"
Regan took the cue Devin offered, smiled and stroked her fingertips from the tip down the shaft. Someone moaned. "I felt like some action, that's all."
With her confidence building, she passed the bottle of beer to Jared. This, at least, she thought, she knew how to do. Planting her feet, bending one knee for balance, she leaned over the table. Leather strained.
Rafe's elbow plowed into Shane's gut. "Keep looking where you're looking, and you'll be blind for a week."
"Jeez, Rafe." Shane tucked his hands in his pockets and prepared to watch the show. "Where's a guy supposed to look?"
She broke cleanly, even managed to sink a ball. With the rules of the game Ed had drilled into her flipping through her head, she circled the table. She had to stop, smile, as Devin was still rooted in her path.
"You're blocking the table, Sheriff."
"Oh. Yeah, right. Sorry." When she draped herself over the felt this time, bis eyes met Jared's. They grinned at each other like two kids over a shiny new bike.
She managed to sink one more. That made her cocky enough to try a complicated shot that required a little English, Her hips wiggled as she set her position. From behind her, Jared stuck a hand under his shirt and mimed a thumping heart.
"You think what you're thinking again, and I'll rip your lungs out," Rafe muttered.
As the ball missed the pocket by a good six inches, Regan pouted with that red-slicked mouth. "Oops." She straightened, batted thickly mascaraed eyes at Rafe. "Your turn." She put her weight on one foot and ran a hand down his shirtfront. "Want me to... chalk your cue?''
The room exploded with whoops and whistles. Some brave soul made a suggestion that had Rafe's lips peeling back in a growl. "That does it."
He grabbed her cue, tossed it at Devin, then clamped a hand over hers to drag her toward the door.
"But we haven't finished the game," she protested, forced to scramble on the skinny heels to keep up with him.
He yanked his jacket from the hook by the door and bundled it around her. "Put this on before I have to kill somebody." She was still struggling with it when he shoved her through the door.
Devin let out a long, appreciative sigh. "He's a dead man.
"
"Yeah." Shane rubbed a hand over his stomach. "Did you ever notice her—"
In Rafe's stead, Jared rapped him with a cue.
"I have my car," Regan began, while Rafe towed her along.
He dragged open the door of his own. "Get in. Now."
"I could follow you."
"Now."
"All right." It wasn't a simple operation to get into his car. Snug red leather rode higher as she tried for graceful and dignified as she lowered herself into the seat. Rafe ground his teeth audibly. "Where are we going?"
"I'm taking you home." He slammed her door, stormed around the hood, then slammed his own hard enough to rock the car. "And if you're smart, you won't talk to me."
She was smart When his brakes squealed at the base of her steps, she stayed where she was. There was no possible way she could maneuver herself out of the tiny sports car without help.
He gave it to her, though no one would have called the hard yank a gentlemanly gesture. "Keys," he snapped, then snatched them out of her hand and unlocked the door himself.
Miffed, she strode in ahead of him. "I assume you're coming in, so—"
She was rapped back against the door, his mouth hotly devouring hers. The heels put them head-to-head, heat to heat, with a pressure that fried his already overheated brain. Both his mouth and his hands were hard, possessive. He could only think of branding her his.
His breath was ragged when he jerked back. He'd be damned if she'd work him this way again, make him a victim of his own needs.
He tugged his jacket off her shoulders, tossed it aside. "Get out of those clothes."
Something in her sank. With her lashes lowered, she reached around for the zipper of the skirt.
"No, I didn't mean— God." If she peeled herself out of that leather in front of him, he was lost. It was the confusion in her eyes that had him leveling his voice. "I meant I'd appreciate it if you changed into something else. Please."
"I thought you—"
"I know what you thought." He was dying here. "Just change, so I can talk to you."
"All right."
He knew it was a mistake to watch her walk toward the bedroom. But he was only human.
Inside, Regan stepped out of the ankle-breaking shoes, stripped off the red leather. It was good to breathe again. She wanted to be amused, at both of them, but she felt so incredibly stupid. She'd made a spectacle of herself, thrown aside every scrap of dignity. For nothing.
No, she thought as she fastened on pleated trousers. For him. She'd done it for him, and he didn't even have the sense to appreciate it.
When she came back in, face washed, her hair brushed back into place, an ivory sweater tucked neatly into the waistband of black slacks, he was pacing.
"I want to know what you were thinking of," he said without preamble. "Just what you were thinking of, walking into a bar dressed like that?"
"It was your idea," she tossed back, but he was too busy clenching his jaw and muttering to himself to listen.
"Five more minutes in there, and we'd have had a riot. I'd have started it myself. I've seen you naked, and I'm not sure I knew you were built like that. Now everybody in town's going to know."
"You said you wanted—"
"I don't give a damn what they say about me, but nobody's going to talk behind their hands about you. Where the hell did you get that skirt?" he exploded. "Tarts R Us?"
"Well, really..."
"Yeah, really. And leaning over the pool table that way, so everyone was looking at your—"
Her eyes narrowed to slits. "Watch it, MacKade."
"Now I'm going to have to go bash all of my brothers' brains in for what they were thinking."
"You like bashing their brains in,'' she retorted.
"That's beside the point."
"I'll give you a point."
She picked up her favorite Milton vase and tossed it to the floor. Rather than smashing satisfactorily, it bounced and rolled on the dainty floral rug. But the gesture shut him up.
"I humiliated myself for you. It nearly took a crowbar to get me into that ridiculous skirt, and I think I bruised my intestines. I'll probably never get all this makeup out of my pores, my arches are screaming, and I have not an ounce of dignity left. I hope you're satisfied."
"Shut up. This time you just shut up. You wanted me to be that way, so I tried. I was willing to be what you wanted, and now all you can do is stand there and criticize and worry about gossip. Well, go to hell!"
She plopped down in a chair, because her feet were cramping painfully.
He waited until he was sure she'd run down, watched her sniffle and rub her bare feet. "You did that for me?"
"No, I did it because I like teetering on four-inch heels and going around half-naked in the middle of winter. I live for it," she said nastily.
"You did it to get to me."
The bout of temper had drained her. She sat back, closed her eyes. "I did it because I'm crazy about you. Just like you said I'd be. Now go away and leave me alone. You'll have to wait till tomorrow to beat your chest and drag me off by the hair. I'm too tired."
He studied her a moment, then walked to the door and shut it quietly behind him.
She didn't bother to get up, or even to move. She didn't feel like crying. If she'd been ridiculous, she would weather it. She'd given him everything now, and there was no taking it back. Why should she bother? She'd never stop loving him.
She heard the door open again, and kept her eyes closed. "I really am tired, Rafe. Can't you gloat tomorrow?"
Something fell into her lap. Regan blinked her eyes open and stared at the bouquet of lilacs.
"They're not real," he told her. "You can't get them in February. I've had them in the trunk of my car for a few days, so they're cold."
"They're lovely." Slowly she ran her fingers over the chilly silk blooms. "A few days," she murmured, and looked up again.
"Yeah, so?" He scowled, jammed his hands in his pockets, shifted. "Man." He thought facing a noose would be easier than what he was about to do. It certainly couldn't burn his throat any less.
He got down on his knees.
"What are you doing?"
"Just keep quiet," he warned her. "And if you laugh, you pay." Mortified, he swore under his breath, dragged a hand through his hair. And bit the bullet.
"'When I arose and saw the dawn, I sighed for thee.'"
"Rafe..."
"Don't interrupt me." Miserably embarrassed, he glared at her. "Now I have to start over."
"But you don't have to—"
"Regan."
She drew in a breath, wondered if there was another woman in the world who had ever had Shelley quoted to her with eyes that threatened murder. "Sorry. You were saying?"
He shifted his weight. "Okay. 'When I arose and saw the dawn, I sighed for thee; When the light rode high, and the dew was gone, and...' Oh, hell." He raked his fingers through his hair and tried to concentrate. "I got it. 'And noon lay heavy on flower and tree, And the weary Day turned to her rest, lingering like an unloved guest, I sighed for thee.'"
His breath came out on a huff of tremendous relief. "That's all I've got. It took me more than a week to memorize it. If you mention this to anyone—"
"I wouldn't dream of it." Incredibly moved, she laid a hand on his cheek. "That was very sweet of you."
"It kind of fits the way I feel about you." And now that it was over—thank God—it hadn't been as bad as he'd feared. "I think about you, Regan, all day. Every day. So if you want poetry—"
"No." With a quick shake of her head, she reached out and laid her cheek on his shoulder. "No, I don't need poetry, Rafe."
"I haven't bothered to give you much romance." And he knew now, by the way her eyes had gone soft and dreamy, that he should have. "Now it's fake flowers and somebody else's words."
She had to cry now, but they were lovely tears, soothing ones. "I love the flowers, and I loved the words. But I don't need them. I don't want you to
change for me, Rafe. There's nothing about you I'd want to change. I said I'd take you as you are and I mean it."
"I like you the way you are, Regan, all neat and tidy. Not that I didn't appreciate the way you filled out that leather."
"I'm sure I could borrow it from Ed again."
"Ed?" He rolled his eyes and chuckled weakly. "No wonder it fit you like skin." Then he felt the warm drops on his neck. "Oh, don't do that, baby. Please don't."
"I'm not really crying. I'm just touched that you'd memorize Shelley for me. That you'd care enough." She gave him a hard squeeze before leaning back. "I guess we both won the bet, or lost it, depending on your viewpoint." She dried off her cheeks with the back of her hand. "Of course, you didn't lose yours in public."
"If you think you can talk me into giving that little recital down at the tavern, you really are crazy. I'd never get out alive.''
She drew in a deep breath. "I think we should both stick with who and what we are. I do like who and what you are, Rafe. And I need you more than you think. I needed you when Joe came into the shop and frightened me. I just didn't want you to know it. I was afraid to let you know how much I count on you."
He picked up her hand, kissed it, and felt dozens of wounds heal. "You didn't have to be."
"I figured that out for myself. I like figuring things out for myself."
"Tell me about it." He smiled and no longer felt foolish being on his knees. "I like the way you figure things out for yourself. The way you handle yourself, Regan. Even when it ticks me off, I like your style."
"I like yours, too." She leaned forward and kissed him lightly. "I'm going to get something to put these in."
He reached behind him and picked up the vase she'd thrown. "How about this?"
"That'll be fine." She took it from him and rose to arrange the silk bouquet on the table. "I can't believe I actually threw it."
"It's been an eventful evening. So far."
She glanced back, smiled. "It certainly has. Would you like to stay, and see what happens next?"
"There we are, on the same wavelength again. You know, Regan, I think we've got more common ground than either one of us realized. You shoot decent pool, I like antiques." He stood, moving restlessly, picked up a china cat in suddenly nerveless fingers, then set it down again. "So, you want to get married?"