by Nina Bruhns
"Don't you miss it?" he asked. "Having all those adventures?"
She shook her head. "No. It was great at the time, but I'm ready to settle down. House, dog, two and a half kids." She glanced up and quickly added, "Eventually."
He barely resisted taking her in his arms and making sure those two and a half kids were his.
"I take it you would?"
He licked his lips. "Um…"
"Miss the adventure, I mean. Being an undercover agent for the FBI must be pretty wild."
"Ah." He tried to pry his mind off the image of making babies with her.
"You know, the glitz and glamour. Riding around on your Harley with no one to answer to."
"Sure it's exciting," he said, hanging on to his wineglass for dear life. And launched into a description of his most interesting jobs and Navy gigs over the years, just to distract himself. Talking about his job was a lot safer than letting his imagination wander.
After the third story, she said with awe, "Boy, that's sure a long way from being a veterinarian."
He smiled nostalgically at the reminder of his long-held childhood dream. RaeAnne was going to be a music teacher, and he would become a vet. He loved animals, and had always had a house full of pets when he was young. He missed that.
"Maybe someday," he mused. "If I ever settle down."
"Do you have a place somewhere?" she asked, an odd note coloring her voice.
"No. Never been a reason to get a place of my own. My things are at my mom and stepdad's at Rincon. First the Navy and now the FBI keeps me on the road most of the time. I don't have a lot of ties."
She nodded, then after a moment asked about his parents and the other people she remembered from high school. Pretty soon they were laughing over memories of youthful antics perpetrated by themselves, Cole and Tanya on the unsuspecting citizens of northern San Diego County.
"So where do you live now?" he finally asked.
"Sonoma. Cotati, actually. I just got a teaching position at Cal State." She made a face. "But then, you knew that."
He chuckled. "Just the job part, because of the high school transcripts you requested for the application. Is it my fault the high school reunion committee is so efficient?"
She shook her head and said wryly, "What I want to know is how you found me at the dig. I'm pretty sure the reunion committee didn't know about that."
He leaned his chin in his cupped hand, staring thoughtfully into the fire. "You know, I was starting to wonder about that myself."
Her head came up, her brows furrowed. "You don't know?"
"Technically, yes." He shrugged. "When I learned you were going by the last name Martin, I put out feelers all over the state—cops, government employment, on the Internet, you know, the usual thing."
"And?"
"And in the mail a few days later I received a photocopy of your site permit with the Forest Service. I recognized the handwriting immediately, and was so excited finally to have found you, I didn't put much thought into the paper itself, or where it came from. But now that I think about it, it did seem a bit … fortuitous."
She looked surprised. "You think someone had ulterior motives for reuniting us? For what possible reason?"
"Heaven only knows. But whoever it was couldn't know I was looking for you for personal reasons. I used my FBI credentials."
Her eyebrows lifted.
He flashed a grin. "But don't tell anyone. The point is, maybe when I put out those feelers the person thought you were in trouble with the FBI and this was a convenient way to get rid of you and the dig without having to show his hand."
"Oh, my God! You think it was related to the murder? Doesn't that seem like a bit of a stretch?"
"Yeah," he admitted. "It definitely does. But I can't think of any other explanation, and I really hate coincidences. Are you sure you never told anyone where you were? Ever?"
RaeAnne's expression turned decidedly guilty.
He relaxed considerably. "Okay, spill."
"I may have sent Tanya a postcard or two…"
"Aha. One mystery solved. It was probably just Tanya trying to be cute." He shook his head. "I can't believe she knew about you all this time and never told me. The traitor."
"I wouldn't let her." RaeAnne's mouth turned down. "But she's hardly a traitor. Before I left, she always stuck up for you. Even when things were at their worst."
"Funny, she always gave me hell when I saw her. Not in words, of course. Just with that Look she has. She never even hinted she knew where you were.
"After the first month or two I forbade her to even mention your name. Then I left and communication ever since has only been one-sided."
They fell silent for a few minutes, gazing up at the incredible night canopy twinkling in the heavens above them. A shooting star pirouetted across the sky and be automatically made a wish. Let me have RaeAnne and the baby. He prayed there was a baby. He stole a look at her, and their eyes collided. She quickly looked away—too quickly—and he wondered what she'd wished for.
Probably for him to disappear.
He sat up and started gathering plates and glasses. "We should get to bed. Bugs'll be here bright and early, and I need to run those names we got from Tecopa through the system first thing."
Even in the firelight, he could see her face go pale. "All right."
She picked up a shovel and began to douse the fire with creek sand. He left her to finish up and visit the facilities while he did the dishes and put things away in the cabin. When she came in, he headed outside to do his own ablutions.
"May I borrow your sleeping bag?" she said before he was out the door.
He halted and turned around. "Why?"
"I'll sleep on the floor, here by the fire. You have the bed."
"No way. I'll take the floor."
"But your bruises. It'll hurt to sleep on the hard, uneven floor. You won't get a bit of sleep."
He crossed his arms. "I'll live. Like hell am I sleeping on the bed while you're on the floor."
She pshawed and went for his sleeping bag. "Don't be such a macho man, Roman. You'd do it for me if I was hurt."
"That's different. Besides, I'm not hurt. Just a bit bruised." He strode across the room and firmly plucked the bag from her grip. "You're sleeping on the floor over my dead body."
"That could be arranged," she declared, hands on hips.
An unwilling smile tugged at his lips. "I'll just bet. Look, this is not happening, so get a different plan."
Behind her frustrated scowl she actually looked worried. He was incredibly touched that she was so concerned for his still battered state that she'd give up her own comfort.
"Share the bed with me," he said, determined to get it out in the open. "That's the only practical solution."
Her lips parted. Then she shook her head.
"The bed, Rae. Not your body."
"No. It won't work."
He was getting a little tired of hearing those words every time the subject of them being together came up. If he could defeat them just once, over this issue, maybe he had a chance at the big picture, too.
"How about if I'm in my sleeping bag on top of the blanket? You couldn't possibly be worried about me attacking you through all that."
She pushed out a breath. "And what if I attack you?"
He tried not to smile, recognizing the reluctant tone of a confession. But it was no use. "I'll put up a valiant struggle, but you're pretty strong. And I am a wounded man…"
"Just give me the damn sleeping bag and get out of here," she groused, snatching it from his grasp. "And I'm warning you, touch me and you'll be a dead man."
"Whatever you say, cara." He was whistling as he opened the door to go out.
When he got back, she was already in bed. His sleeping bag was spread neatly over the bed on the side nearest the door, and she'd burrowed deep under the blanket on the wall side, so only her nose peeked out. A pool of moonlight streaming in from the window illuminated her watching eye
s and the halo of blond hair spread around her face on the pillow.
Was she naked under that blanket? He wondered if he should undress, and how far… Well, nothing ventured nothing gained.
After stoking up the woodstove, he turned out the lantern, took a deep breath, and reached for his belt buckle.
He could see her eyes get bigger and bigger as he stripped off his jeans and T-shirt, and went for the waistband of his BVDs.
"What are you doing?"
"Getting undressed."
She sprang up and grabbed for his sleeping bag. "That wasn't in the agreement."
He raised his hands in surrender. "All right, all right. I'll leave them on. Sheesh. It's not like you haven't seen what I've got. Fairly recently."
"I don't need a reminder sleeping less than a foot away," she said irritably.
"Okay. I'm covered," he said placatingly, sliding into the chilly bag. "Brrr. I could use some warming up."
"Roman," she warned.
"I'm cold all over. My lips, my fingers, my b—"
"Roman."
Part of what had made them so good together was that, no matter what, they'd always had fun with each other. So he gave it a stab. "I think they're turning blue."
"More like green," she retorted.
"Huh?"
"From all that blarney."
He grinned. "You telling me I have an Irish skeleton in my closet?"
"Undoubtedly."
"Promise you won't tell anyone."
There. That was a definite chuckle.
He turned on his side to face her. "How about warming them up for me?" Her eyes whipped to his and narrowed. "My blue lips, that is."
"God, you're obnoxious."
He feigned a squawk of pain as her forefinger poked his biceps through the pile of blankets and his sleeping bag, then his grin widened.
He inched the bag closer to her, crossing his fingers against the plush softness. "Just a good-night kiss."
"No."
But how did she really feel? "Come on. Just one."
"No."
Still, she didn't turn away. There was hope yet. "Ohhh," he moaned. "I think my bruises are starting to hurt again."
Above the blanket, her eyes twinkled in the moonlight, and crinkled just a little at the corners. "You are the biggest faker. If you think I'm falling for that one…"
"No, huh?"
"Uh-uh."
He sighed. "I won't be able to sleep, you know. All I can think about is the taste of you. I'm not asking for more, Rae. Just a taste."
He could see the hesitation in her eyes and thought for sure he'd spend a sleepless night craving her. Then she sighed, too, and whispered, "Just lips. No hands."
"I swear."
"And you have to promise not to make love to me. Even if I beg you."
His jaw dropped in surprise. "That's a pretty tall order."
"Those are my terms, take them or leave them."
"Oh, I'll definitely take them."
"Say you promise."
"I promise."
"All right."
The blanket slowly lowered to reveal her whole face, beautiful and luminous in the silver moonlight. Usually so strong and self-assured, she looked somehow vulnerable and fragile as she waited for him to make a move. A sudden rush of protectiveness nearly knocked the breath from his lungs.
"I never wanted to hurt you," he whispered. "And I'll die before I do it again."
Her eyes pooled. "I know."
As his lips met hers, he lowered his lashes and thanked God he was already lying down. For if he'd been standing he would have been brought to his knees by the overwhelming love that rushed through his heart for this woman.
Her mouth was warm and tender. Everything he wanted in life was offered to him in the welcoming succor of her parting lips.
In this she trusted him, and he felt enormous awe at the act of faith she bestowed upon him by letting him kiss her. He knew she didn't want to. Knew she was certain he would only hurt her again. And yet she laid herself bare to him. Admitted that despite her fears, she cared enough about him to risk it all for…
For what? A kiss?
He sank into her, his tongue a pilgrim seeking haven in the sweet paradise of her devotion. She matched his ardor, moaning softly with each stroke, each probe, each sweep of moist, supple flesh against flesh. He canted up against her, blankets and sleeping bag keeping them apart like a pair of unyielding spinster chaperons. He groaned in protest, wanting to strip them away. To feel her in his arms again, naked and eager.
"I want you," he whispered into her mouth.
"I want you, too," she answered breathlessly, rolling to her back in the age-old sign of surrender.
Elated, he followed, wrestling with the thick tangle of fabric surrounding him to free his hands. And stopped just before he pulled the blanket from her body.
"But I can't," he said.
She looked up at him, trust radiating from her eyes in a heavy-lidded glow. "Why not?" she softly asked.
She still loved him, really and truly. That had to be it. Love was the only explanation.
If only he could make her see it.
"Because," he said, laying his forehead against hers, "I promised."
* * *
Chapter 11
«^»
Happiness.
Happiness and guilt.
Those were the feelings RaeAnne awoke to the next morning. Happiness because she could feel Roman stretching by her side, his distinctive scent filling her bed, the taste of him lingering in her mouth. Guilt because once again she had let herself be carried away by her unruly passion, instead of following the practical dictates of her mind.
How could she ever reconcile this enormous craving for his body with the certain knowledge that if she gave in to it she'd be heading for another heartache? Thank goodness he was made of stronger stuff than she.
She smiled, remembering how noble he'd been the night before, keeping his end of their bargain even at the price of great personal discomfort. It had been cruel of her to extract that promise, but she'd known she didn't stand a chance otherwise. One thing about possessing a well-developed self-awareness—of both her own strengths and weaknesses—it was impossible to lie to herself. Once their lips met, she knew her surrender was inevitable. When it came to Roman Santangelo, she was as weak as dandelion fluff dancing in the storm of their desire, helplessly caught in the winds of his will.
"Morning," he said, and traced his lips over her cheek to her mouth.
She sighed, accepting his lingering greeting. After he'd thoroughly stirred her hungry hormones—again—she smiled languidly up at him. "Hi."
They had kissed all night. Neither of them had been able to sleep much. Not with the other so close yet so unobtainable. But Roman had refused to be absolved of his promise. And protected by the safety net of his word, she'd given free reign to her lust for him. She had taken shameless advantage of his kissing skills, indulging in a long, liquid exploration of his mouth and face and throat, the memory of which still left her dizzy and thrumming with unfulfilled need.
But humbled with a new respect for the man.
How could he be so calm and serene after spending a night like that? The smile on his face was worthy of a saint, not a man dying of sexual frustration. Like she was.
"What have you been doing in that sleeping bag?" she asked suspiciously. "You look way too happy."
"I am happy."
"I knew it. Cheater. That's not fair."
He laughed out loud, his deep baritone reverberating through the cabin. He peeled away his sleeping bag and slid out of it, rolling his feet to the floor.
"No, I'm happy because I spent the whole night kissing the sexiest woman in the universe." He stretched, showing off his broad back and rippling muscles. Her mouth went dry. "Why? Anything wrong?"
He quirked a brow as he rose and, whistling, padded to the woodstove to add a few sticks.
She sat up. "You aren't a bit �
� oh, say, frustrated?"
He dumped some coffee grounds into the coffeepot and added boiling water from the kettle that was always simmering on the back burner. "Nah. Should I be?"
She fell onto the mattress and rolled her eyes heavenward. "Must be some Native American thing," she muttered.
"What's that?"
Could he really be so obtuse? "Not being completely, utterly—"
He turned back to the bed carrying a steaming cup of coffee.
Oh, dear…
"Aroused?" he completed, since the word seemed to have gotten stuck in her throat.
She nodded.
He offered her the coffee with a grin. "You should get up, too, cara."
She shook her head. This was too much to bear.
God knew she shouldn't, but damn, she wanted him like crazy. After the night they'd shared she had completely lost her capacity to be rational. Hell, they'd already made love twice in the past few days. What harm could once more do? Or even twice, or three times?
He'd been right all along. They should enjoy each other while they had the chance. Because she knew so well the damage had already been done. She'd hurt just as badly regardless of what happened or didn't happen in this bed for the time he had left with her. The only difference would be how much she'd regret after he'd gone. And she suddenly knew without a shred of doubt, if she didn't let him make love to her ever again, she'd regret that most of all.
"Please. Come back to bed," she whispered, almost desperate in her need to feel him close.
Surprise furrowed through her when his grin melted into a wistful smile and he shook his head. "No."
"But why?" She blinked back the bleak knowledge that it wasn't going to happen.
He sat on the bed and pulled her into his arms. "Because you were right. It wouldn't work. Not like it is."
"What are you saying? I don't understand." She wouldn't cry.
His fingers combed through her hair, his thumb tenderly traced the outline of her kiss-bruised lips. "Last night, I realized I'd gotten things backward. I'd thought if we made love, you would start to trust me again."
"But I do trust you."
His smile turned sad. "With your body, yes. But not with your heart. And until I've earned the confidence of your heart, I have no right to the treasures of your body."
