by Nora Roberts
“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.”
“I—”
“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?”
She tucked a sprig of lilacs into place. “Hmm… You asked me that before, as I remember. And never took me up on it, because I won’t watch baseball.”
She twirled to face him, and her limp hand knocked against the table. “Excuse me?”
“Look, we haven’t known each other very long.” He stepped toward her, stopped cold. She was staring at him as though he’d lost his mind. He was certain he had. “But we’ve got something going here. I know we said it was just going to be sex, and we’ve just finished deciding we really like each other.”
“Rafe, I can’t—”
“If you’d just let me fumble through this.” His tone went from quiet to testy in an instant. “I know how you are with having to weigh your options and think things through. But the least you can do is look at this from my perspective for one damn minute. It’s not just sex for me, and it never was. I’m in love with you.”
She stared into those sharp, angry eyes, heard the treasured phrase delivered in a furious snarl. And felt her heart swell like a rose blooming in her chest. “You’re in love with me,” she repeated.
It had always been easy to say the words when it didn’t count—when they were just words, and not these tiny, razor-edged little pellets in his throat. “I’m in love with you,” he said again. “It probably happened five minutes after I met you, maybe five minutes before. I don’t know. It’s never happened to me before.”
“Me, either,” she murmured.
He didn’t hear her, didn’t hear anything but the roaring in his head. “No one’s ever needed me. I’ve never wanted anyone to need me. It gets in the way. But I want that from you. I have to ask that from you.” He paused, fought to steady himself. “I don’t like asking.”
“I know. You don’t have to.” She walked to him, framed his face in her hands. “Rafe, you don’t have to ask.”
“If you’d give me a chance—” he gripped her wrists “—I could make it work. We could make it work. Come on, Regan, take a risk. Live dangerously.”
“Yes.”
His grip on her wrists went lax. “Yes, what?”
“Why do we have such a hard time hearing each other?” she asked. “Listen up,” she ordered, and kissed him firmly. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”
“Just like that? You’re not going to think about it?”
“Nope.”
“Good. Great.” A little dazed, he stepped back. “We could, ah, t-take care of…it. Take care of it tomorrow. The license. Whatever. You want a ring…or something?”
“Yes, I do. Rafe, you’re stuttering.”
“No, I’m not.” He stepped back when she stepped forward. “I just didn’t expect you to take the jump so quick.”
“If you’re trying to change your mind, forget it. Was it the skirt?”
His eyes went blank and baffled. “What skirt?”
No answer could have pleased her more. “I think you should tell me you love me again.” Before he could evade her, she wrapped her arms around his neck, linked her fingers. “I think you should get used to saying it.”
“I do love you.”
“And you were in love with me that first night, when we were alone, in the house on the hill?”
“I guess I was.”
“I didn’t know, didn’t have a clue. I wonder if the house did. I remember how quiet it got that night—how settled it all seemed. Would you like to go back there, tonight?”
“Yes.” He rested his brow on hers. “I would.”
“There’s something I should tell you first, Rafe. Something I think we should clear up between us.”
“Regan, if you’re going to slap down more rules and parameters—”
“I think I should tell you,” she said interrupting him, “that as attracted as I was to you, as aroused as I was by you, I could have slept with you without loving you.”
“I know.” He refused to be hurt by it. “It’s okay.”
“I could have done that because you’re the most incredibly attractive man I’ve ever met, all the way through. But there’s no way I would have squeezed myself into that ridiculous outfit tonight unless I’d been wildly, stupidly and completely in love with you.” Her eyes shimmered and smiled. “Is that okay?”
“Say it again.” He took her face in his hands. “Look at me straight-on and say it again.”
“I love you. I’m so very much in love with you, Rafe. There’s nothing I want more than to go on loving you, and needing you for the rest of my life.”
The thrill of it sprinted through him, then settled, warm and easy. “You could get used to saying it, too.”
“I’m a very quick study. I love you,” she murmured against his mouth, then poured the words into the kiss.
“It’s going to get complicated.” He gathered her close and held her. Just held her. “Life’s going to be messy.”
“I hope so.” Eyes closed, she pressed her cheek against his. “Oh, I hope so. Why was I so scared?” she whispered. “Why was I so afraid to let you know?”
“Probably for the same reason I was.” He tilted her head back. “It happened so fast, and it matters so much. And it always will.”
“It always will,” she agreed.
Later, when they were curled together in the deep feather bed, she laid her hand on his heart and smiled.
“I’m awfully glad you came back to town, MacKade. Welcome home.”
The house was quiet around them, and slept as they slept.
