Hannah reached around the edge of the door and flipped a light switch. “I’m probably going to kick myself for getting involved, but I feel compelled to ask. Did things go okay between you and your grandfather out there in the garden?”
“Sure.” Rafe glided, uninvited, through the opening into the front hall.
“I see.” She was not quite certain what to do with him now that he was inside her house.
She held the door open for Winston. He pranced across the porch and into the hall. He headed straight for Rafe.
Hannah closed the door and leaned back against it. Rafe crouched to scratch the dog’s ears. Winston promptly sat down and assumed a blissful expression.
“There was the usual stuff,” Rafe said after a moment.
“The usual stuff?”
Rafe kept his attention on Winston, who was clearly ready, willing, and able to absorb an unlimited amount of it. “Mitchell reminded me that it wasn’t too late to join Madison Commercial.”
“Ah, yes. The usual.” She straightened away from the door and walked into the kitchen. When in doubt, make a cup of tea. “And you gave him the usual response, no doubt.”
“Well, sure. That’s how Mitchell and I communicate. He tells me what I should do, and I tell him I won’t do it. We understand each other perfectly.”
“Aunt Isabel always said that you and your grandfather had problems from the day you hit puberty because the two of you were so much alike.” She filled the kettle and set it on the stove.
“I’ve heard that theory before.” Rafe gave Winston one last pat, got to his feet, and came to stand in the arched doorway. He propped one shoulder against the frame and crossed his arms. “Neither Mitchell nor I believes it.”
She was intensely aware of him taking up space in the kitchen. She could feel his disturbing gaze following her every move as she went about the business of preparing a pot of tea.
“It’s true, you know,” she said gently. “You’re both strong-willed, arrogant, independent, and downright bullheaded at times. The two of you probably have the same motto.”
“What’s that?”
“Never apologize, never explain.”
He contrived to look hurt. “Had it occurred to you that I might have something in common with your dog?”
“Such as?”
He smiled humorlessly. “I might actually believe you when you tell me what you really think about me.”
She raised her brows at that. “I can’t see you giving much credence to anyone else’s opinions.”
“Shows how much you know. I’m only human.”
“Got proof of that?”
“Okay, I’ll accept strong-willed, arrogant, and independent.” He gave her a derisive look. “But I object to the last part. What makes you say I’m bullheaded?”
She smiled with cool triumph. “Your refusal to talk about how we’re going to deal with the problem of Dreamscape.”
“Huh. That.”
“Yes, that.”
He raised one shoulder very casually. “Well, hell, nobody’s perfect.”
“Except Winston, of course,” she added swiftly, in case Winston had overhead the remark and had started to worry.
There was a short silence.
“Mitchell said something else while we were in the garden,” Rafe said eventually.
She glanced at him over her shoulder as she dropped a large pinch of tea into the pot. “What was that?”
He watched her with shuttered eyes. “He told me it was about time I got married.”
For some reason her stomach tightened. She hoped it wasn’t the grilled salmon they’d had at dinner. It had tasted so good going down, but fish could be tricky.
“Well,” she said. “Talk about pressure.”
“Yeah.”
“I’m sure you responded by telling him to stay out of your personal affairs.” She concentrated hard on the teakettle, willing it to boil quickly.
Rafe said nothing.
A tiny shriek rose from the kettle. Close enough, she decided. Grateful for the small distraction, she hastily poured the hot water into the pot.
It was okay, she thought a moment later. She was cool now. But when she turned around with her most polished smile firmly in place, she discovered that Rafe had left the doorway and was now standing less than two feet away.
Much too close.
“I didn’t come straight out and say it in so many words.” Rafe’s eyes never left her face. “But you’re right. I made it clear that I’d do what I wanted to do.”
“As usual.”
“Yeah.”
She tried to think of something clever to say in response to that. She wound up clearing her throat instead. “And what do you want to do?”
“Right now I want to kiss you.”
Chapter 7
She went very still. The really scary part, she realized, was that she wanted the same thing. She had a hunch that he could see it in her eyes.
She licked her lips and asked the only question that mattered. “Why?”
“Does there have to be a reason?”
“Yes.” She could feel the counter pressing against her lower back. She put her arms out on either side and gripped the curved tile edge. “Yes, I think so. Especially given the situation here.”
“Situation?”
“You. Me. Dreamscape.”
“What happens if I can’t come up with any reason except the fact that I want to kiss you?”
“The important thing,” she explained very carefully, “the really crucial thing, is that the reason, whatever it is, must have nothing to do with Dreamscape.”
He raised his hands and slowly folded them around the nape of her neck. His palms were warm and heavy against her skin. She could feel the strength in him but sensed the control. The combination was electrifying.
His thumbs moved gently just behind her ears. He eased her head back slightly and lowered his mouth to hers.
“This has nothing to do with the mansion,” he said against her lips. “You have my word on it.”
The kiss was a real one this time, not the chaste, meaningless little brush of the lips he had bestowed on her that night when he had walked her home. And it was just exactly what she had always suspected it would be: devastating.
Excitement sparked along every nerve ending. The effect was not unlike touching a match to extremely dry kindling. The flames erupted without warning, fierce and intense. A liquid heat welled somewhere in the region below her stomach. She was aware of the beat of her own heart. The breathless sensation would probably have warranted a trip to the emergency room under other circumstances.