The MacKades Collection: The Return of Rafe MacKade / The Pride of Jared MacKade / The Heart of Devin MacKade / The Fall of Shane MacKade

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 unframed doorway.

“It was handy,” she said, matching his tone.

“That old shirt’s never had it so good. Restless?”

“I was thirsty.” But she set the glass down without taking so much as a sip. “I guess the quiet woke me. It’s odd, don’t you think, how quiet it is?”

“The snow always makes it quiet.”

“No, I mean the house. It seems different. Settled.”

“Even dead soldiers and unhappy women have to sleep sometime.” He crossed the room to pick up the glass and drink himself. “It’s almost dawn,” he murmured. “My brothers and I spent the night here once when we were kids. I guess I told you that already.”

“Jared rattling chains. And all of you telling ghost stories and smoking stolen cigarettes.”

“You got it. I came into this room then, too. It was just about this time of day, but it was late summer. Everything was so green, and the woods were so dense and thick they made you wonder what was in them. There was a mist over the ground like a river. It was beautiful, and I thought—” He broke off, shrugged.

“No.” She laid a hand on his arm. “Tell me.”

“I thought I could hear the drums, slowly, the sounds of camps breaking to prepare for battle. I could smell the fear, the excitement, the dread. I thought I could hear the house waking around me, the whispers and creaks. I was petrified, paralyzed. If I could have moved, I’d have hauled my butt out of here. The guys would’ve rubbed my nose in it for years, but I’d have run like a rabbit if my legs had moved.”

“You were just a boy.”

“You’ve never been a boy, so you don’t know that made it ten times worse. I’d gotten through the night, even gotten a kick out of it. And here it was morning, dawn breaking, and I stood here with my teeth chattering. When it passed, I just stood looking out this window. And I thought, no damn house is going to get the better of me. Nothing’s going to get the better of me. I’ll own this house before I’m finished.”

He smiled then, set the glass down. “I don’t know how many times I came back here, alone, after that. Waiting for something to happen, wishing it would, just so I could stand up to it. I crept through every room of this place at one time or another. I heard things, saw things, felt things. The night I left town, I promised myself I’d come back.”

“Now you have it,” she said quietly.

“Yeah.” Faintly embarrassed, he looked down at her. “I never told anyone that.”

“Then neither will I.” She lifted a hand, touched his cheek. “Whatever your reasons, you’re doing something important. This house has been neglected too long.”

“Were you frightened, staying here through the night?”

“No. Not of the house.”

His brow lifted. “Of me?”

“Yes. I’m frightened of you.”

The humor faded from his eyes. “I was rough with you,” he said carefully.

“I don’t mean that.” She turned away. Out of habit, she set a kettle on the stove, flicked on the burner. “I’ve never been the way I was last night, with anyone. So out of control. So…needy. I’m a little surprised when I think back and… Well.” She let out a shaky breath, searched out a filter for the drip cone.

“Surprised? Or sorry?”

“Not sorry, Rafe.” Making the effort, she turned back and met his eyes. “No, not sorry at all. Uneasy, because I know now exactly what you can do to me. I knew making love with you would be exciting. I didn’t know it would be so shattering. Nothing about you is tidy or predictable. The way I like things to be.”

“I want you now. That should be predictable.”

“My heart jumps,” she managed. “Literally, when you say things like that. But I do need things to be tidy.” Opening the can of coffee, she deliberately measured out scoops. “I imagine your men will be coming along in an hour or so. This probably isn’t the best time to talk this out.”

“Nobody’s coming today. There’s better than two feet of snow out there, on top of what we already had.”

“Oh.” Her hand faltered, spilling ground coffee on the stove.

“We’re snowbound for a while, darling. You can talk all you want.”

“Well.” After clearing her throat, she faced him again. “I just think it’s best if we both understood things.”

“What things?”

“Things.” She bit the word off, furious at herself for hesitating. “Things that we didn’t quite finish outlining last night. That what we’re having is a mutual satisfying and physical affair, no strings, no entanglements, no…”

“Complications?”

“Yes.” Relieved, she nodded. “Exactly.”

Surprised to find himself annoyed with her cool-headed description—one that should have mirrored his own wishes—he scratched his head. “That’s tidy enough. But if that means you’re planning on seeing somebody else, it’ll get messy when I break him in half.”

“Oh, of all the ridiculous—”

“And cut off his—”

“Stop that.” She blew out a heated breath. “I have no intention of seeing someone else while we’re involved, but if I—”

“Smarter to stop there,” he said quietly. “Let’s just say we have a mutually satisfying and exclusive physical relationship. That suit you?”

Calmer, she turned back to pour boiling water through the filter. “Yes, I can agree to that.”

“You’re a piece of work, Regan. You want the contract in triplicate?”