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He understood the reaction. His own throat suddenly clenched, because all he could imagine was the two of them on that bed, all night long. With those mirrors above them, and the door closed to the storm...and the entire world.
“I’m pretty sure this room has been used in every episode of Supernatural,” she said, averting her gaze from the bed. As if she feared Rafe would think she was worrying about sleeping in it with him. Or that she wasn’t. “Sam and Dean always stay in one like it.”
“Even with only one bed and the mirrors?”
“Well, maybe not just like it.”
He rolled his eyes, chuckling. “Still into that spooky stuff, huh?” he asked as he tossed his duffel onto the dresser. He had also grabbed her carry-on, which had landed in the snow, and now put it beside his things.
“The spookier the better. Still only like to read nonfiction?”
“I’ve expanded my tastes a little,” he admitted. “Believe it or not, one of the guys in my unit has a sister who sends him cases of romance novels every so often. They really make the rounds and are usually worn out from rereading.”
She burst into laughter. “A bunch of tough army rangers reading romance novels.”
Yeah, it sounded pretty strange. Then again, considering the lives he and his squadmates lived, maybe something easy and familiar—something that lifted the spirits and reminded them of the girl back home—was perfectly normal after all.
“Do they read the super sexy ones?” she asked, her tone a little too innocent. Huh. He wondered if she asked because they’d just kissed as if they were about to make use of every inch of mirror above them.
“Those were the most popular ones,” he admitted with a wry grin. “Some of them are damned good. Plus it gets pretty lonely in the field when fraternization is strictly prohibited.”
“So, how long has it been since you’ve...fraternized?” she asked, again, obviously striving for friendly curiosity rather than any kind of personal interest.
He wasn’t buying it. She was interested. She shouldn’t be, he shouldn’t want her to be. But he felt it. Awareness sizzled and crackled in the cold room like sparks jangling off exposed wire.
“A long time,” he admitted.
She stepped closer, eliminating the space between them, and every step she took messed with his head a little bit more, until he could barely remember what the words nice and guy meant.
She licked her lips before asking, “Does that mean you’re not involved with anyone?”
He shook his head, his amusement fading, his jaw growing a little stiff. “No. Unlike you, Mrs...”
“Actually, it’s Doctor, remember?”
“Sorry. Doctor what?”
“Doctor Blake.”
“Didn’t take his name, huh?”
Ignoring the question, she tugged her gloves off her hands. She’d been wearing them all evening, since the heater in the rental car hadn’t quite managed to chase out the cold. Still silent, she brushed her soft fingertips across the small scar on his jaw. It had been joined by another on his temple—one he knew looked newer, rawer—and she gently caressed that one, too.
Rafe literally growled in his throat. “Ellie, don’t.”
“I hate that you’ve been hurt.”
He reached up and grabbed her hand, intending to push it away. But he couldn’t do it. Something within him rebelled at ever pushing this woman away again. He instead squeezed her fingers, turning his face toward her palm and pressing his mouth to her skin. He kissed her, breathed her in, let his head fill with that sweet, light scent she always wore, before growling, “Damn it. You’re a married woman.”
“Says who? Maybe you should take another look at my left hand.”
He froze. Slowly lowering their joined hands, he stared at that left ring finger. It was totally bare. Not only was she not wearing any kind of ring, there was no tan line, no crease indicating she usually wore any jewelry there at all.
His heart spun in his chest and tension coiled low in his belly. But he didn’t allow the emotions to rush through him just yet. She was a veterinarian, maybe she just didn’t wear a ring.
“What, exactly, are you trying to say?”
“I’m not married, Rafe.”
He slowly exhaled the breath he’d been holding. She’s not married? Ellie was free? He couldn’t quite get his mind to wrap around that. He’d drilled the she’s-off-limits message into his mind dozens of times over the past three years, during the many moments he’d longed to reach out to her. But it wasn’t true?
“Are you divorced?”
“No. I never got married at all.”
“Why not?”
“It just didn’t work out.”
His jaw flexed. “Did he hurt you?”
She laughed lightly. “Oh, God, no. Denny and I are still the best of friends—in fact, I work for him at his new animal hospital. He’s married to my friend Jessie now.”
Barely able to take it in, he swiped a hand through his short hair, sure it was a spiky mess. He watched her rub her fingers against her own palms, as if she were dying to reach up and stroke that hair, to twine her fingers in it and pull him down so they could get back to that kiss they’d started three years ago on New Year’s Eve, continued outside and ached to finish now.
She didn’t, though. Rafe was still stunned, and probably looked it, too. He’d been telling himself for hours that he’d blown his chance with her and needed to accept the fact that she would only ever belong in his past.
But he’d been wrong. Everything had been wrong. He still didn’t quite believe it.
“I don’t understand.”
“I haven’t even dated a man since Denny and I broke up almost three years ago.”
“Three years...” The timing couldn’t be coincidental.
“It wasn’t New Year’s Day,” she insisted. She went on to admit, “But it wasn’t too long after that, either.”
“Ellie, what are you really saying?”
“I’m saying, silly man, that after I ran into you on New Year’s Eve, I realized I didn’t love Denny the way a woman should love her fiancé. And I also realized he and Jessie shot a lot more sparks off each other than he and I did.”
Sparks were critical in a relationship, the two of them had shared enough to do more damage to Chicago than Mrs. O’Leary’s cow, the rumored start of the Great Chicago Fire. How she’d thought she could happily marry someone without sparks, he had no idea. Friendship and companionship and common interests were well and good, but a relationship also needed a healthy dose of pure passion. Like the passion he and Ellie had shared once.
And still did, he strongly suspected.
“Running into you that night was the best thing that could have happened to me. It helped me see things more clearly.”
“Running into you wasn’t a coincidence,” he admitted.
“What?”
“I knew you were going to be at that New Year’s Eve party. My cousin’s wife told me.”
She fell silent, evaluating how she felt about his confession. Had he told her then, she might have resented him, especially because he’d sensed she was angry at him for piercing her bubble of boring contentment.
“I’m sorry,” he added.
She slowly nodded, accepting the apology. “It’s okay. It worked out for the best. In the end, I returned Denny’s ring, and by February 14, he had a new Valentine and I couldn’t have been happier.”
He ran a hand over his stubbled jaw, still watching her closely, praying he hadn’t caused her any more heartache. Because, after all, wasn’t his need to protect her from hurt the very reason he’d broken up with her in the first place? And hadn’t he cursed his own noble instinct every day since he’d done it?
“I’m all grown up, Rafe. I’ve got a great job, a ton of friends. I’ve traveled the world. I’m happy. I’m successful. But there’s one thing I don’t have—one thing I haven’t had in a very long time.”
“What’s that?”
She stepped close again, until one of her legs slid between his parted ones and their hips brushed. Lifting her hands to encircle his neck, she stared into his eyes and rocked the world beneath his feet with two simple words.
“A lover.”
* * *
ELLIE WATCHED HIM absorb her words and interpret her meaning. She’d issued an invitation—or maybe a challenge. She held her breath, wondering how he’d answer it.
“Ellie, I didn’t offer you a ride so we...”
“Shut up, Rafe,” she said, tightening her arms around his neck. “Don’t analyze it, don’t explain it, don’t talk about it. I don’t expect anything, I’m not asking for anything beyond tonight. Tomorrow will come no matter what happens. So just make love to me like I’ve wanted you to for the past seven years.”
He searched her face, as if memorizing her, making sure this wasn’t another dream.
“I’m real. I’m here,” she whispered.
“Thank heaven.”
No more words were needed. With hunger that bordered on desperation, he wrapped his arms around her and hauled her up against his chest, covering her mouth with his. His lips parted, his tongue thrusting deeply against hers. She welcomed him hungrily, loving his taste, wondering how on earth she’d survived so long without it. The kiss went on and on, seven years of longing wrapped up in it, and in that kiss she found the answers to so many questions.
Yes, he still cared. Yes, they still had incredible chemistry.
Yes. Oh, God, yes, this was definitely going to happen.
Her arms tight around his neck, she let him pick her up, those strong hands gripping her hips, his fingers squeezing and then cupping her backside. She lifted her legs and wrapped them around his hips, groaning deeply as her groin struck directly against his. He was powerfully erect, and she suddenly recalled how generously he was built. She shivered, remembering how that massive shaft had filled her to the brink.
Heat flooded through her, landing between her thighs so hard she had to rub against that huge erection just to gain some relief. He thrust back, and she cooed in delight as that hot ridge hit her clit and sent bolts of pleasure rocketing through her.
“Oh, Ellie,” he groaned against her mouth. “It’s been so long.”
“Forever.”
It hadn’t merely been ages since she’d had sex. But what she’d had with Denny, or with anyone else before him, just didn’t compare with this intense connection she had with Rafe. There was no thinking involved here, it was all instinct and innate understanding and such pure, utter connection. He had understood how to please her the first time he’d touched her. He still knew just how to kiss her, just how to stroke her, just how deeply to plunge and how gently to lick and how firmly to caress. Everything about him seemed tailored specifically to her.
And with him, she never experienced a moment of misgiving, not the slightest hesitation. She wanted to do and to be and to explore and to indulge. She wanted his mouth on her thighs, his tongue on her clit. She wanted to lick all that male heat until he was groaning and helpless, to suck him until he couldn’t remember one single day that they’d been apart.
A single snowy night somewhere in Pennsylvania could never be long enough to make up for all the nights they’d lost. But in case it was all they had—in case the passion was still there, but the emotions were not, or in case they had both changed too much to really work as a couple again—she was going to take whatever she could get tonight and deal with the fallout tomorrow.
They kissed until neither of them could breathe, tongues wild and hungry, their bodies twisting and thrusting, then drew apart to gasp for air. She continued to hold him tightly with her arms and her legs as he carried her to the bed and tossed her down onto it.
Ellie quickly jerked the covers down, pushing them out of the way, but didn’t recline and beckon for him. Instead, she sat up on the edge of the bed. Rafe was bending over to take off his boots, and she did the same, her fingers shaking on the laces, every ounce of her attention on him rather than on what she was doing.
Rafe straightened and was unfastening his belt when he saw her reach for her own waistband and flick the button of her jeans. He froze, staring, and Ellie smiled a little, savoring this heady anticipation. They were both anxious—frantic, really. But, despite the fact that they’d been lovers and had shared incredible intimacies in the past, there was certainly a newness now, as if they were experiencing each other for the first time.
She was no longer a skinny college girl, she had a woman’s curves and a woman’s confidence. So she made sure she gave him something to look at, wanting him out of his mind with need before he so much as touched her again.
Lying back on the bed, she unzipped her jeans and wriggled out of them slowly. She thrust her hips up as if to scoot the fabric out from under her bottom, but she was in truth both issuing an invitation and making a promise.
Rafe continued to stare, his eyes glued to the tiny pink panties that remained in place once she’d pushed the denim out of the way. When she sat up enough to kick the jeans all the way off, letting her legs splay apart, he rubbed his hand on his jaw and opened his mouth to breathe deeply, trying to maintain control.
Silly man. She wanted him to forget the meaning of the word control.
Slowly rising again, she slipped her fingers under the elastic edge of her panties, stroking her hipbone. Rafe watched her closely, then moved his hand to his fly, flicking one button, and then another. He had to tug the material away from his stone-hard cock and she saw the way he stroked himself through his clothes as he studied her.
Rising onto her knees, she beckoned him closer.
“Let me help.”
He did as she asked, saying nothing as she began to unfasten the buttons on his heavy outer shirt. When she’d unfastened it completely and pushed it off him, she stared at the light green T-shirt he wore underneath, marveling at the way the cotton molded to that incredible body.
His chest was so broad, his shoulders massive, the muscles in his arms rippling and intimidating. He seemed fully capable of breaking her in half, though she didn’t have even the tiniest hint of fear. He would never hurt her. Despite what he’d been doing for the past seven years, she’d always known Rafe was a caretaker, a tender, loving protector who would sooner chop off his own hand than lift it in anger against any woman. He could never have changed enough to ever make her fear him.
She slid her hands under the bottom of his shirt, rubbing her palms against that hot, muscular stomach, and began pushing the fabric up. Delight washed through her as she stroked the ripples and ridges of his body, and she marveled at the beauty of every inch revealed.
Her breath suddenly caught in her throat, though, when she found the scars.
One was about three inches wide, on his side, between two ribs. The other was on his chest, below one flat nipple. She pulled away enough to look at them; the raw redness of the one on his ribs said the wound hadn’t been there long.
“What happened?” she whispered.
“Nothing.”
Tears came to her eyes as her mind tried to imagine how these marks had come to be on his body. But even these had a kind of beauty, told a story about the man he had become, so she didn’t press him for details. Rafe brushed the moisture away with his fingertips, just as silent. Finally, she moved on, continuing with the shirt, pushing it all the way up. He took over, yanking it over his head and tossing it to the floor, now wearing just his partly unbuttoned pants.
She sat back on her heels, staring at him, having to remind herself to breathe. He was just so amazingly perfect, so incredibly hot, her brain forgot to work. Her heart was falling down on the job, too; her heartbeat was a staccato jangle, all thuds and leaps. She wanted to kiss and stroke every inch of him, but just wasn’t sure which delicious spot to sample first.
“So,” he said, “one of us is wearing too much up top and the other too much on the bottom.”
She immediately pushed at her panties. “You mean these?” Yanking them down, she heard his hoarse gasp and laughed wickedly.
“Mmm, not exactly what I was referring to, but I definitely like the way you think.”
“Oh, wait, did you mean my shirt?” she asked, pretending to pull the panties back up.
