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 out 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.
