by Nina Bruhns
"I probably would have driven myself over a cliff."
The certain knowledge settled around him like the warm feeling of well-being just before you froze to death.
Her eyes glistened in the starlight, spilling twin rivulets of glittering tears down her cheeks. "Then I'm glad you didn't know," she whispered, the words catching on a single sob.
He couldn't take it, so he swept her up in his arms, wrapped her in the blanket, and somehow got her back to the cabin. She didn't protest when he undressed them both, her silent tears still falling as he laid her down on the bed and crept under the covers with her.
"Tell me," he quietly demanded.
He wanted to hear all of it—everything she wasn't saying about what she'd gone through. The very worst she could throw at him. He needed to wallow in his grief and know exactly the extent of his guilt. He wanted to take it all onto himself, so her burden would be lightened.
He held her close as she told him of her disbelief when she'd learned of his abandonment, then of her rage and fear, and of her sorrow. Of days in bed not eating, not caring whether she lived or died. He rocked her in his arms as she described how in her confusion she'd accidentally taken one too many of the sedatives the doctor had prescribed, the terrible cramps and the crushing remorse and horror at what she'd done. He silently comforted her as she spoke of the desperate loneliness and desolation over her mother's sudden death just short weeks later, and kissed her brow over and over as she told of her decision to change her name and start over, hoping for some kind of peace of mind in a new life in a new place.
He folded her in his arms and let her cry until she had no more tears left and fell into an exhausted sleep. And then he eased down her body, laid his cheek on her belly and all alone he wept.
* * *
Long before dawn, RaeAnne woke, strangely light-headed. Her eyes felt puffy, the skin of her face tight. There was an unfamiliar weight on her stomach. She reached down and touched a warm head and a large, masculine hand nestled against her bare skin.
Roman.
Everything came back to her in a rush, and for a moment she held her breath, dismayed by what had transpired last night.
For years, bitterness over his desertion had let her diminish her own responsibility for the miscarriage and heap the lion's share onto him. But last night she'd realized how cowardly that was. And how wrong.
She was to blame. She was the one who'd starved herself and taken the pills the doctor had given her, knowing deep down they couldn't be good for the baby no matter what assurances he'd made. To blame Roman was unfair. The baby's loss was her fault. Hers alone.
She stroked her hand over his hair, coarse and silky as it flowed over her abdomen. And slowly the knot of anger she'd carried in her heart for years dissolved, leaving an aching emptiness in its place.
She would have to forgive him. For everything.
I probably would have driven myself over a cliff.
Last night, she'd finally understood why he'd left. And now she understood that it had been the very best thing that could have happened. If he'd stayed under those circumstances, he would only have been caught in a dilemma for which there'd been no answer, other than the worst possible. She'd have lost both of them forever—the baby and her love. And that would have been unbearable.
Under her hand he stirred, then crept up from beneath the covers and gathered her to him. With a deep sigh, he slipped back into sleep.
It felt so right lying there next to him, their naked bodies tangled in comfortable disarray. It was ironic, really. For the two years they'd been lovers in high school, they'd never once spent the night together. And now when they finally did, it was as friends, not lovers.
Friends. She'd never thought the day would come when she could call Roman a friend again. Her lips curved into a smile and she gently placed a kiss on his chest. It had surely been a day for miracles.
Closing her eyes, she snuggled into his embrace, enjoying every muscle and masculine angle, from his broad shoulders to his athletic thighs—and everything in between.
But as she drifted off to sleep, she reminded herself that friends were all they could ever be. Though she yearned for love and a family of her own, she needed someone safe and secure to build her future with. Someone she could trust. And no matter how much she might care about Roman Santangelo, she knew she could never trust him.
Not again. Not with her heart.
* * *
When she awoke for the second time that morning, it was to bright sunshine and the sounds and smells of coffee brewing on the woodstove. Roman was padding around the kitchen area in wool socks, an open flannel shirt and unbuttoned jeans, looking very rusticated. And sexy as hell.
"Good morning."
His greeting started her out of her reverie, and she wondered how long she'd been staring at his chest.
"Hi," she answered, and tugged the blanket up a little over her breasts. They both tried to smile, and both failed miserably as memories of last night flared to life between them. He crossed the floor and sat next to her on the bed, handing her his mug of coffee to share.
"How are you doing?"
"Okay. Better." She took several deep sips from the mug. "Good."
His gaze fell to his hands and a desolate look clouded his eyes. "RaeAnne, I—"
"Roman, I know what you're going to say," she interrupted, setting down the coffee. "There's no need. Honestly." This time her tentative smile stuck. "It was just so good to get it all out. I needed that more than I realized."
"I'm glad," he said. "But I'm feeling kind of shell-shocked." She put her hand to his cheek and he grabbed it, held it there. "Why didn't you tell me you were pregnant?"
How she wished she had! Maybe if she'd told him on that perfect prom evening, he'd have broken his rule and spent the whole night with her. And never run across that accident…
"I was waiting until I knew for certain."
He nodded and shuddered out a sigh. "I just wish…"
"I know. Me, too."
His arms came around her, and she lifted hers around him. The flannel of his shirtsleeves felt soft on her back, and his skin against her bare breasts spread a soothing warmth through her whole being. It wasn't a sexual hug, but one between friends who desperately needed each other's nurturing.
She knew he was grieving the loss of the child he never knew he'd created, and so she just held him tight for a long, long while, as he'd done for her the night before.
As he struggled with his emotions, she kissed his temple, his eyes, his strong, square jaw. And when he finally looked up, she whispered, "I forgive you. I forgive you for everything."
Maybe saying the words he wanted to hear would make him get on his motorcycle and drive away. Because friends or no, she could feel herself falling faster by the minute for this powerful, sensitive, passionate man. And that was the last thing she wanted.
It didn't matter how much she wished things were different. It didn't matter how good his body felt next to hers. It didn't matter how much she hungered for just one more kiss. He was wrong for her. All wrong. She'd finally met a man who might be able to give her everything she was looking for, and it wasn't Roman. She had to think about Philip. She had to.
But when Roman's lips sought hers, tenderly, pleadingly, she couldn't resist giving him the comfort he so obviously needed. And steal one last, selfish taste of the man she knew she'd never completely get over.
So she pulled him closer and held him like she'd never give him up. She let herself be swept away by the sharp longing in her heart, and by his warm, persuasive mouth.
And barely noticed when the cabin door opened wide and a tall man dressed in a khaki uniform took one step into the room and halted.
"RaeAnne!"
She jerked away from Roman's embrace and gasped in dismay at the shocked intruder.
Disbelief, hurt, fury, flamed across his face before he silently turned and stalked out, slamming the door behind him.
&nb
sp; "Oh, my God," she whispered, and jumped from the bed. "Wait! Philip!"
* * *
Jealousy ripped through Roman as RaeAnne leaped up and called after the man who'd walked in on them. Philip. The man she was involved with.
He should feel like a bastard about what he'd just done to some totally innocent guy, but all he could think about was that she was getting ready to run out the door after him. Naked.
"Rae!" he yelled, ripped off his flannel shirt and tossed it to her.
She caught it, glanced down at herself and he could see the blood drain from her face. "Oh, no." Slipping on his shirt, she disappeared through the door.
Hell.
He fell back onto the bed and shot his hands through his hair. Damn, damn, damn. Remorse and exultation battled it out in his mind, one side telling him he should go out there and explain to the guy that things weren't at all what they seemed, the other side urging him to declare himself the winner and collect the spoils. But he knew darn well RaeAnne would only resent his interference, just as she surely resented his renewed presence in her life.
She'd also take care of it.
And if Philip O'Donnaugh was worthy of her love, and half a man, he'd believe what she said, come in here, beat the crap out of him and toss him out on his butt.
Roman almost looked forward to the prospect. If anyone deserved a beating, it was him, and after the past twenty-four hours, a good, hard physical release was just what he needed. If this was the way to get it, that was just fine by him.
Rising to his feet, he braced them apart, planted his fists on his hips and waited for his rival to bust through the door.
* * *
The defeated look on RaeAnne's face when she walked back in was enough to tell him there would be no fight.
Anger swelled in his blood. "What happened?"
"He dumped me."
He scowled. "Just like that?"
"Hardly a surprise." She hugged the flannel shirt around her middle and shook her head dejectedly.
"Didn't you explain?"
She only sighed.
He took a step toward her. "The man's a certifiable idiot."
"Roman, he caught me naked in bed with another man. I got what I deserved."
"No. You deserved his trust." He closed the distance between them. "If the man really knew you, he'd know you were telling the truth when you said nothing happened in that bed."
She bit her lip and gazed at the floor. "It looked bad, Roman. Really bad."
"Appearances aren't always reliable. I know that for a fact. And anyone wearing a sheriff's uniform should know it, too."
She looked up, tears welling in her eyes. "I can't believe he's gone."
Now he did feel like a bastard. He never thought— "You love him that much?"
"No. Well, yes. Oh, I don't know." She swiped at the tears. "The point is, now I'll never get the chance to find out. And he was perfect. Everything I wanted."
Roman's heart twisted. "Everything?"
She nodded morosely. "He was nice. Had a steady job, good standing in the community. Roots. He was secure."
She had to be kidding. He lifted his brows.
"And fun."
Roman had a hard time picturing the somber sheriff as the life of a party, but then, he'd caught him at a bad moment. "Really?"
"He likes to dance. And go fishing."
"Fishing. That's your definition of perfect?"
"And he's handsome, of course." She started to look distinctly uncomfortable. "Very attractive."
"Then why haven't you slept with him?"
Her mouth dropped open, and he reached out with one finger and slowly started to push open the flannel shirt, baring her breast. The nipple peaked as the soft fabric brushed over it. Or was it his gaze that caused the reaction?
"He's not perfect."
"Oh?" Her arms were still crossed stiffly over her waist, but she made no move to stop him when he exposed her other breast, too. The vein in her throat pulsed madly.
He drank in the sight of her, her beautiful body, her pale skin, her long, bare legs. And ached to see the treasure between them, concealed behind a short patch of plaid flannel.
"I'll tell you why you didn't ever sleep with him."
A blush had pinkened her skin from her chest to the tips of her cheekbones. "So tell me," she dared, her voice low and breathy. "Why didn't I sleep with him?"
He held her eyes as he slid his hands over her shoulders bringing the shirt with them, and down her arms, uncrossing them so it fell to the floor. The tips of her breasts tightened to two perfect rose-colored pebbles. A tremor passed through her body.
"Because," he said, putting his hands to her waist, pulling her up against him. "He doesn't make you feel like this."
* * *
Chapter 6
«^»
Roman crushed RaeAnne to him, covered her mouth with his, drove his tongue deep into her. She stiffened for a fraction of a second, then threw herself into his arms. He groaned, desire ripping through him like a .44 caliber bullet.
Yes, yes, yes.
He wanted this … wanted her more than he'd ever wanted anything in his life. More than when they'd been kids, more than redemption, more than air to breathe.
She melded into him, matching his fever, spurring his excitement. His hands sought her breasts and she whimpered, a sweet, throaty sound of pleasure. Pinching the crowns he turned with her, backed her to the bed. There was no doubt in either of their minds where this was leading, and there was nothing on earth that could stop him. He picked her up, tossed her onto the soft mattress and climbed on top of her. She reached for him, urging him down with a hand to the back of his neck.
Gladly he yielded, sliding between her legs, lowering himself onto her molten body. Greedily he ate at her mouth, her throat, her breasts. Her moans filled the air, and her hands were all over him, touching him, nails scraping over his back, fingers tugging at his jeans.
Want exploded into need. He was on fire.
He didn't give himself time to think, to consider what they were doing. He slid his pants off and in a single, fierce motion plunged into her.
She cried out, wrapping her legs around his waist, panting to the rhythm of his savage thrusts. He pounded into her again and again until, shuddering uncontrollably, she grabbed his hair, screamed his name and her body convulsed tightly around him. With a roar of pleasure, at the last possible second he withdrew. Sinking his teeth into the soft flesh of her shoulder instead, he marked her as his own, and release thundered through him.
"Again," she ordered breathlessly when the beating of his heart had slowed to the level of mild cardiac arrest.
"My pleasure," he answered with only a shade of smugness, and rolled them so she was on top. "Your turn."
"You remembered," she murmured, and proceeded to oblige him with an eagerness that thrilled him to the bone.
"Oh, yeah," he sighed as he lay prostrate beneath her a long time later, wrung-out as a dishrag. "That's not something a man ever forgets."
* * *
RaeAnne slowly regained consciousness, enjoying every nuance of the sensations she woke to. She'd dozed off where she lay, stretched out over Roman's body. Her feet hooked over his ankles, her face tucked under his chin. A sheen of sweat slicked their bodies, and the air was redolent with the scent of fulfillment.
So much for just friends.
He let her roll off him, and didn't move except to moan, "Cara, I think you've killed me."
She smiled ruefully at the ceiling. "No such luck."
His hand groped for hers, and he wove their fingers together, then tipped his head to look at her. "Mad?"
She met his gaze and smiled. "You show up, turn my life upside down, lose me my boyfriend and then remind me what I've been missing all these years. Any minute now you'll hop on that stupid bike of yours and ride off into the sunset. Why should I be mad?"
A little-boy grin crept onto his lips. "No reason I can see."
&
nbsp; She grabbed the pillow and whacked him in the head. "Such a jerk."
But in truth, she wasn't the least bit angry. Who could be angry when she felt so incredible?
Terrified, yes. Panic-stricken, yes. Regretful, maybe. Angry, no.
Except maybe a little at herself. This was definitely not on her agenda. If she wasn't very careful, she could end up in a world of hurt.
Best play it cool, so he'd never guess how much making love to him again had affected her. Made her yearn for things that could never be. Made the old feelings in her heart burst into bloom just as fresh and sweet as the first day she'd fallen in love with him, so long ago.
But it would never work. He had his motorcycle, his undercover job and a life filled with change and excitement. She had her burning need to find a secure nest and settle down. He had his mission to find his father, and she had her quest to find a man she could trust with her heart.
She thought briefly of Philip and the shattered possibilities with him. But, no, Roman had been right. Philip wasn't the man for her. If he had been, she wouldn't have been able to resist him any more than she'd been able to resist Roman. Philip was a nice man, and would make some woman a fine husband. But not her.
"Where are you, Cara?" Roman asked as he slipped his arms around her and gazed into her eyes. "A million miles away?"
Not nearly far enough, she thought achingly.
"No regrets," he murmured. "I couldn't take regrets."
She mustered up a smile. "Did I act like a woman who'd regret what she was doing?"
"Good," he said, "Because I don't. Not for a second." He kissed her and mirrored her smile. "I guess we aren't so impossible after all."
She sighed and answered, "Yes. We are."
When he seemed about to reply, she slid from his arms and reached for his flannel shirt. "We should get up. The Chairman is expecting us at the Board this morning."
He watched her for a moment, then followed her out of bed. "Okay."
She wished with all her heart she was brave enough to hear what he'd been about to say. But either way would be disaster.
She knew the only sensible thing was to fetch the rest of the artifacts, and send him on his way. But she couldn't stand to hear about his plans to leave her.
