"Makes sense."

"Good." She drew in a breath, released it. "So, we'll take a few steps back, get a clearer view of things." Her hand was still unsteady when she reached for her coat. "That's the sensible, the responsible route to take."

"Yeah." He set down his beer. "Regan?"

She gripped her coat like a lifeline. "Yes."

"Stay."

Her fingers went numb. Her breath came out in a long, shuddering sigh. "I thought you'd never ask."

With a jittery laugh, she threw herself into his arms.

Chapter 6

"This is crazy." Already breathless, she curled her fingers into his hair to drag his mouth to hers. Everything in her strained into the kiss, the heat of it, the danger, the promise. "I wasn't going to do this."

"That's okay." He dragged his lips from hers to race over her face. "I'll do it."

"I'd thought it all through." When her knees trembled, she gave a quick, helpless laugh. "I had. Everything I just said made perfect sense. This is just chemistry. It's just superficial attraction."

"Yeah." In one fluid movement, he yanked her blazer down her shoulders, locking her arms, trapping her body to his. Her gasp of alarm stirred his blood. The huge, wary eyes tightened his loins. "Stop thinking."

A smile curved his lips as he tugged the bunched material, pressing her against him. He watched her eyes glaze, heard the ragged moan when his mouth fed on hers. Then his lips rushed down over the line of her throat. It was as smooth, as scented, as he'd imagined it. So he feasted.

Her hands clutched at his hips, her head falling back to offer him whatever he chose to take. All the while the heat coursed through her painfully, forcing her breath out in harsh, ragged moans.

With a jerk, he freed her arms. Before she could reach out, his hands, his wide, clever hands, streaked under her sweater to mold, to possess.

Flesh and lace, curves and shudders. He found everything he wanted, and wanted more. His mouth continued its relentless assault, while his fingers tortured her skin, and her skin tortured him.

With a flick of his wrist, he unsnapped her trousers, then skimmed the tips of his fingers along her quivering belly, under the edge of more lace. She moved against him, pressed urgently against him, her teeth scraping along his neck in. greedy bites.

He could take her now, fast and hot, where they stood. The speed would release this terrible pressure that burned inside him.

But he wanted more.

He dragged the sweater over her head, tossed it aside and filled his palms with her breasts. The lace covering was smooth, delicate, and the flesh beneath already flushed and warm with desire. Ruthlessly controlling the pounding need to rush, Rafe watched her face, the flicker of light and shadow over it, while he rubbed his work-roughened thumbs over the points of her breasts.

"I've imagined you like this."

"I know."

His lips curved again, and his eyes were focused keenly on hers when he nudged a slim strap down her shoulder. "I don't think you've imagined what I've thought of doing to you. I don't think you could. So I'm going to show you."

His eyes stayed on hers, watching, measuring, as he skimmed a finger along the valley between her breasts, up over the curve, then back to flick open the center clasp.

So he saw that lovely sky blue gaze darken with the storm he set off inside her. And he felt it quake, in both of them.

Her breath caught in her throat when he jerked her off her feet and set his hungry mouth to work. Shocked, she arched back, her hands fumbling in his hair, over his shoulders, tugging desperately at his shirt. His teeth nipped into her, just short of savage, just short of pain. His tongue tormented, and aroused needs too violent to bear.

Wild, frantic, she clawed at him. Even as she felt herself failing, she tore and ripped at his shirt. She was on her back, on the thin cushion of the sleeping bag, and bucking desperately beneath him.

Finally she tugged his shirt away, cursing when she found yet another layer separating them. She wanted flesh, craved it with a mindless hunger. The moment he'd dragged the thin undershirt aside, she sank her teeth into his shoulder.

"Touch me." Her words were raw and urgent. "I want your hands on me."

They were, everywhere at once. Her world became primitive, dangerously exciting, pumped full to bursting with unspeakable sensations. Each rough, impatient caress sent fresh shocks erupting, until her body was nothing but sweaty flesh over sparking nerves.

Beside her, the fire shot hissing embers against the screen. Inside her, flames leapt and burned.

She could see him through the haze that blurred her vision. The dark hair, the fierce eyes, the muscles that glistened with sweat in the dance of light. Her moan of protest when his mouth left hers turned to one of giddy pleasure as his lips streaked down over throat, over breasts and torso.

He levered back and, blind with need, she reared up, her arms circling possessively, her lips searching for each new taste.

His oath was brief and vicious. "Boots," he managed, fighting to pry hers off while his blood screamed. She was draped around him, that wonderful body sliding over his, her hands... Those incredible elegant hands.

Boots thudded where he heaved them aside, then, quick as a snake, turned to take her.

She was tangled around him, all long, silky limbs. He wanted her naked and writhing beneath him. He wanted to hear her scream his name and watch the jolts and shocks of pleasure glaze her eyes. Breath ragged, he dragged the slacks down her hips. In one reckless swipe, he tore the lace to shreds. Even as her gasp echoed off the walls, he shoved her back. And used his mouth.

The climax slammed into her, a bare-knuckled punch that knocked her senseless. Reeling from it, she sobbed out his name. And, shuddering, shuddering, hungered for more.

He gave her more. And took more. Each time she thought he would end it, must end it, he found some new way to batter her senses. There was only him, the taste, the feel, the smell of him. They rolled over the floor in a wild, glorious combat, her nails digging ruthlessly into his back, his mouth searing hers.

Nearly blinded by need, he gripped her hands, fingers vised. He thought his own breathing must tear his lungs apart. Her face was all he could see as he drove himself into her. Twin groans mixed. A log shattered thunderously in the grate.

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?"