The Return of Rafe MacKade

  hammer in his tool belt. “I don’t need her, either.”

  With a sigh, Devin unfolded himself and stood. “You’re cross-eyed in love with her.”

  “No, I’m not. I got soft on her for a while, then I got over it.”

  Devin pursed his lips. There was one quick, potentially painful way to handle this. “You’re sure?”

  “I just said so, didn’t I?”

  “Good.” Devin smiled. “That clears the way. When I thought you had a thing for her, I didn’t want to muscle in. Since you don’t, I’ll go see if I can…stimulate her appetite.”

  He was expecting the punch, and took the fist on the jaw philosophically. It was always satisfying to make a point. He lifted a hand, wiggled his jaw, mildly relieved it wasn’t broken.

  “Yeah, I can see how you got over it.”

  “I ought to hit you again,” Rafe said between his teeth. It was infuriating, humiliating, to know how neatly he’d been conned.

  “I wouldn’t. That one was free.” Cautious, Devin moved his jaw again. “Damn, Rafe, you’ve still got a nice right jab.”

  Almost amused, Rafe flexed his aching fingers. “You’ve still got a face like a rock. You son of a bitch.”

  “I love you, too.” Cheered, Devin draped an arm over his brother’s shoulders. “Feel better now?”

  “No.” Then he paused. “Maybe.”

  “You want to go find her and straighten this mess out?”

  “I’m not crawling after some woman,” Rafe mumbled.

  You will, Devin thought. Sooner or later. “Well then, I got the night off. Want to get drunk and disorderly?”

  “Yeah.” They walked into the hall, started down the steps. “Why don’t I meet you at the tavern? Ten o’clock.”

  “Suits me. I’ll see if I can round up Shane and Jared.”

  “Just like old times. When Duff sees us coming, it’ll scare the—” Rafe broke off, felt his heart skip. Regan stood straight-backed and cool-eyed at the base of the stairs.

  “I’ve got your delivery.” She’d worked very hard on being able to speak without inflection. “Your message said you’d be ready for it by three.”

  “Just.” His stomach quivered, infuriating him. “You can have it hauled up.”

  “All right. Hello, Devin.”

  “Hello, Regan. I’m just on my way out. See you tonight, Rafe.”

  “Yeah.” Rafe kept his eyes on Regan’s as he came down the last few steps. “Have any trouble on the roads?”

  “No. They’re mostly clear now.” She wondered that he couldn’t see her heart bleeding. “I was able to get that feather mattress you wanted for the four-poster. I’ll be happy to set it up so you can be sure you want to go with it.”

  “Appreciate it. I’ll get out of your way. I’ve got—” Nothing, he realized. He had nothing. “Work,” he said finally. “Give a yell when you’re ready. I’ll have your check.”

  She wanted to say something, anything, but he was already walking away. Squaring her shoulders, she went back to the door to instruct the movers.

  It was nearly five when she finished arranging things exactly as she wanted them. She hadn’t noticed the quiet that drifted in to replace the steady bang and buzz of labor. But as the light changed, she switched on the rose-patterned globe lamp by the button-backed chair she’d angled toward the fireplace.

  There was no mantel there yet, no flames crackling. Faintly the scent of paint stirred in the air. But she thought the room was waiting to be lived in.

  And the scent of roses hung like tears in the air.

  A wedding-ring quilt, she mused, running her hand over one of the posts of the bed. A few pillows edged with lace to match the canopy that would drape overhead. A cedar chest, a hope chest, at the foot of the bed, filled with sweet-smelling linens and net bags of lavender sachet.

  Yes, she thought, those would be just the right touches to finish it off. Perhaps some Irish lace at the windows, a silver-backed brush for the vanity.

  It would be beautiful. It would be perfect.

  She wished to God she’d never seen the room, the house, or Rafe MacKade.

  He stood in the doorway, saying nothing, watching her move through the room, as graceful as any ghost.

  Then her back stiffened. She turned and faced him. Seconds passed, though it could have been eons for both of them.

  “I was just finishing up,” she managed to say.

  “So I see.” He stayed where he was, tore his gaze from hers and scanned the room. “It looks terrific.”

  “I have some tintypes and antique silver frames. I think they’d add a nice touch to the mantel when it’s in place.”

  “Great.”

  The strain of manners was tearing at her stomach. “I noticed you’ve made a lot of progress on the next bedroom.”

  “It’s coming along. I’ve got a couple more ready for drywall.”

  “You work fast.”

  “Yeah, that’s what they always say.” He pulled a check out of his pocket, stepped forward. “Payment on delivery.”

  “Thank you.” Very deliberately, she opened the purse she’d set on a table, slipped the check inside. And damned him to hell. “I’ll be going, then,” she said briskly. She turned back and bumped solidly into him. “Excuse me.” She took a step around. He shifted, blocked her. Made her heart pound like a drum. “You’re in my way.”

  “That’s right.” And since he was, he took a good long look. “You look lousy.”

  “Thank you so much.”

  “You’ve got shadows under your eyes.”

  So much for cosmetics, she thought in disgust. “It’s been a long day. I’m tired.”

  “How come you haven’t been eating over at Ed’s?”

  She wondered why she’d ever thought she liked small towns. “Despite what you and the Antietam grapevine might think, what I do on my lunch hour is my business.”

  “Dolin’s locked up. He’s not going to bother you again.”

  “I’m not afraid of Joe Dolin.” She tossed back her hair, proud of her own bravado. “I’m thinking about buying a gun.”

  “Think again.”

  She hadn’t really thought of it the first time, but it grated to have him dictate to her. “That’s right, you’re the only one who can defend himself, or anyone else. Back off, MacKade. I’m finished here.”

  When he grabbed her arm, she swung out without thinking. Her hand cracked against his cheek before she could stop it. Appalled, she stumbled back.

  “Now look what you’ve made me do.” Enraged and close to tears, she tossed down her purse. “I can’t believe you goaded me into that. I’ve never struck anyone in my life.”

  “You did a pretty good job on your debut.” Watching her, he ran his tongue over the inside of his stinging cheek. “You want to put your shoulder into it next time. Not much of a crack if you swing from the wrist.”

  “There won’t be a next time. Unlike you, I don’t have to hit people to make a point.” She took a steadying breath. “I apologize.”

  “If you head for the door again, I’m going to get in your way again, and we’re going to start this all over.”

  “All right.” She left her purse where it lay. “Obviously there’s something you want to say.”

  “If you keep aiming that chin at me, you’re going to make me mad. I’m being civilized, asking how you are. Civilized is how you like it, isn’t it?”

  “I’m fine.” She bit the words off. “And how are you?”

  “Good enough. You want some coffee, a beer?”

  “No, thank you so much.” Who the hell was this man, she thought, making uselessly polite conversation while her insides tangled into dozens of frayed knots? “I don’t want coffee or beer.”

  “What do you want, Regan?”

  Now she recognized him. It took only that sharp, impatient tone to bring him back. And to make her yearn. “I want you to leave me alone.”

  He said nothing at all, just stepped ou
t of her way.

  Once more she picked up her purse. Once more she set it down again. “That’s not true.” The hell with her pride, with sense, even with her heart. It couldn’t be any more battered than it already was.

  “You’d never have made it to the door,” he said quietly. “You probably knew that.”

  “I don’t know anything except I’m tired of fighting with you.”

  “I’m not fighting. I’m waiting.”

  She nodded, sure she understood. If it was all he was willing to give her now, she would accept that. And she would make it enough. She stepped out of her shoes, unbuttoned her blazer.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Answering your ultimatum of last week.” She tossed the blazer on the chair and unbuttoned her blouse. “You said take it or leave it. I’m taking it.”

  Chapter 11

  It was a curve he hadn’t been expecting. By the time he could speak, she was wearing nothing but two scraps of black silk. And all the blood had drained out of his head.

  “Just like that?”

  “It was always just like that, wasn’t it, Rafe? Chemistry, pure and simple?”

  He’d want her, she promised herself. By God, when she was done with him, he’d never stop wanting her. Keeping her eyes locked on his, she walked slowly toward him.

  “Take it or leave it, MacKade.” She put her hands on his shirt and stunned them both by ripping it open and sending buttons flying. “Because I’m about to take you.”

  Her mouth was fire on his, burning, flashing, shooting dozens of wild blazes into him. Rocked to the core, he gripped her hips, fingers digging through silk to flesh.

  “Put your hands on me.” She sank her teeth into his shoulder. “I want your hands on me.” Hers were dragging at his jeans, closing around him.

  “Wait.” But the bombs erupting inside him drowned out everything but pulsing, grappling need. With only his wounded heart as a pitiful weapon, he was defenseless against the spear thrust of desire. Against her.

  He kicked himself free of clothes, lifted her off the floor.

  He was deep inside her before they fell onto the bed.

  It was all sweat and speed and blind sex. The hard slap of flesh against flesh, the raspy gasps of labored breathing. Teeth and nails and tangled tongues drove them both over the sumptuous mattress, rolling and riding.

  It was a battle both had already surrendered to. Hot and hard and hurried, fast and frenzied and frantic, they pounded together. Wanting more, accepting less. The scent of roses choked the air with strong, sad perfume.

  She straddled him, bowed back as his hands streaked over her. She wanted him to take her to that tenuous edge between pleasure and pain. There she would be alive, as she hadn’t been since he’d turned from her.

  She had to know that here, at least here, he was as helpless as she, as unable to resist, as pathetically needy. She could feel that need riot through him, taste it each time he dragged her mouth back to his with a ravenous hunger.

  While her heart screamed at him to love her, just a little, her quivering body greedily devoured, fueling itself with whatever scraps he would give.

  No room for pride, no time for tenderness.

  When she sank toward him, limp as water, he rolled her ruthlessly onto her back and drove her on.

  He couldn’t breathe, didn’t think, just battered himself into her. He had to fill her, to empty her, to claim her in the only way he knew she would accept. With a jerk of his head, he tossed the hair out of his eyes. It was vital that he see her, every flicker of shock and pleasure on her face, every tremble of her lips.

  Love for her swamped him. All but destroyed him.

  “Look at me.” He grated the words out. “You look at me.”

  Her eyes opened, but remained blind with passion. He felt her body quake under his, saw those eyes glaze as her head fell back.

  He was powerless to stop himself from following her recklessly over the edge. But he cursed her, then himself, as he fell.

  It didn’t seem possible to have been so completely aroused, and to feel so utterly empty. He’d never understood how vitally entwined the heart and the body were, until now. And now, staring at the ceiling, with Regan silent beside him, he understood it would never be possible to separate his again.

  Not with her.

  And he wanted only her.

  She’d taken something from him that he’d struggled for years to build. His self-respect. How odd that he hadn’t realized that, either, until this moment.

  He wasn’t sure he could forgive either of them for it.

  She desperately wanted him to reach out to her, to fold her to him as he had in the past. It was miserable to be left like this, so cold, so alone, even as she was still quivering from him.

  Yet how could she reach out for him, when she was the one who had taken the step, made the stand, and agreed to take him on his own terms? His own terms, she thought, closing her eyes against the lovely rosy glow of the lamp. Bad Rafe MacKade had returned, she thought bitterly, and taken it all.

  “Well, we managed to have sex in a bed for a change.” She sat up, kept her back to him. She could control her voice, but was certain her face would show him that she was shattered. “It’s always firsts with us, isn’t it, MacKade?”

  “Yeah.” He wanted to stroke that back, but it was so stiff and straight. “We’ll have to try it with sheets sometime.”

  “Why not?” Her hands trembled as she slid off the bed, reached down for her underwear. “We could even throw in a couple of pillows, and a pretense of affection. Just for a change of pace.”

  His eyes sharpened, narrowed, as she snapped her bra into place. Hurt and fury bubbled together in a messy stew. Rising, he snatched his jeans, jammed his legs in them.

  “I don’t like pretenses much.”

  “Oh, that’s right.” She grabbed her shirt. Silk whipped through the air and onto her back. “Everything’s up-front with you. No frills, no spills.”

  “What the hell’s wrong with you? You got what you wanted.”

  “You don’t know diddly about what I want.” Terrified she might weep, she jerked on her slacks. “Apparently neither do I.”

  “You’re the one who took off your clothes, darling.” His voice was entirely too smooth. “You’re the one putting them right back on so you can move right along.”

  “And you’re the one who rolled off me the minute you were done, as if your twenty bucks was up.” Rushing now, she jammed her feet into her shoes.

  She might have had a chance if she’d been looking at him. A slim one. But he moved fast, and she was six inches off the ground, his hands like a vise on her, his eyes drilling holes in hers before she drew a second breath.

  “Don’t say that. I’ve never treated you that way. I’ve never thought that way.”

  “You’re right.” Oddly enough, it was the lash of his temper that calmed her. Stopped her, she hoped, from being a perfect fool. “I’m sorry, Rafe. That was unfair and untrue.”

  Very slowly, he set her back on her feet. He realized his fingers were digging hard enough into her flesh to meet bone, and dropped his hands. “Maybe I moved too fast, but you caught me off guard.”

  “No.” Yes, she felt very calm, she thought as she turned to pick up her blazer. Very calm, and very, very fragile. If he touched her again, she would crack like flawed glass. “I initiated things, and I agreed to your terms.”

  “My terms—”

  “Are clear,” she said, finishing for him. “And acceptable. I suppose the problem is that we’re both volatile personalities under the right circumstances. Any circumstances, as far as you’re concerned. And as for me, the past few days have been difficult. That doesn’t mean I should take it out on you.”

  “Do you have to be reasonable, Regan?”

  “No, but I’m going to be.” Though her lips curved brightly, she couldn’t move the smile into her eyes. “I don’t know what we’re fighting about, when we’ve found the
perfect solution. A simple, physical relationship. It’s perfect, because the rest of our common ground is narrow to nonexistent. So, I’ll apologize again for picking a fight. I’m just a little tired and out of sorts.”

  She made herself rise on her toes and kiss him lightly. “If you’d like to come by tomorrow after work, I’ll make it up to you.”

  “Yeah, maybe.” Why the hell couldn’t he read her eyes? He could always read her eyes if he looked hard enough. “I’ll take you home.”

  “No, really.” She had to will herself not to run to the door and escape. Instead, she picked up her purse. “I’ve got my car,” she added. “And I really am tired. I could use an early night.”

  He just wanted to hold her, to fold her into his arms and keep her there. “Whatever you say. I’m supposed to meet my brothers at the tavern in a few hours, anyway.”

  “Good, then we’ll try for tomorrow.” She made it to the door without stumbling. He didn’t offer a goodbye, and neither did she. Her coat was a bright red slash over the newel post, or she might have walked outside without it. She put in on, buttoned it carefully.

  Outside, she got into her car, turned the key in the ignition. She concentrated on backing down the lane as if her life depended on it. She took the turn toward town, drove a half mile.

  Then she pulled over to the side of the road, carefully put the car in gear, turned the engine off. And cried like a baby.

  Twenty minutes later, exhausted, she let her head fall back against the seat. It was freezing, but she didn’t have the energy to turn the car on again and pump up the heater.

  She was a competent woman, Regan thought. Everyone said so. She was bright, well-organized, moderately successful, and levelheaded.

  So why, if she was indeed all of those fine, admirable things, had she managed to mess up her life so miserably?

  Rafe MacKade was responsible, of course. She hadn’t had a full day’s easy running since he’d swaggered back into town. He was messy, arrogant, angry. Oh, so angry. And charming, she thought with a sigh, with all those unexpected sweet spots mixed with the rough.

  She should never have fallen for him. She certainly shouldn’t have deluded herself that she could have an affair with him and stay objective.

  He hadn’t been completely objective, either, she remembered. He’d had feelings tangling him up, too. Before she’d ruined it. If she had been just a little more of what he needed, if she hadn’t been so dead set on doing it all her way, he might have stayed tangled. Until he’d fallen in love.

  Oh, that was wrong, she thought, and banged her fist against the steering wheel. That was her mother’s kind of thinking. Make everything pretty, everything perfect for the man. Stroke his ego, cater to his whims. Play the game and win the prize.

  Well, she wouldn’t. She was appalled she’d even considered it. She would not squash her own needs, her own personality, her own ego, to lure a man into love.

  But hadn’t she just done that? She shuddered, but not from the cold. Hadn’t she just done that, up in that bedroom?

  At a loss, she braced her elbows on the wheel, her head in her hands. She wasn’t sure of anything any longer. Except that she loved him. She loved him, and in her stubborn stance against luring him into love with her, she had blocked, perhaps even rejected his feelings. And humiliated herself in the bargain.

  That, Regan concluded, made her an idiot.