The MacKades Collection: The Return of Rafe MacKade / The Pride of Jared MacKade / The Heart of Devin MacKade / The Fall of Shane MacKade. Nora Roberts
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on, I’d like to take a look at the work in progress.”
He snatched her hand. “What kind of bet?”
She laughed, tugged him into the hall. “Rafe, I’m joking. Give me a tour.”
“Just hold on. MacKades never back down from a dare.”
“I’m daring you to quote Shelley?” She sighed, shook her head. “Okay, I dare you.”
“No, that’s not how it works.” Considering, he lifted her hand, nibbled on her fingers. The flicker of arousal in her eyes inspired him. “I say I can have you so crazy about me within a month that you’ll wiggle into a leather miniskirt. A red one. Walk into the tavern for beer and nine-ball.”
Arousal turned quickly into amusement. “What odd fantasies you have, MacKade. Can you actually see me in some tarty little skirt, playing pool?”
The smile turned wicked. “Oh, yeah. I can see that just fine. Make sure you wear those really high heels, too. The skinny ones.”
“I never wear leather without stilettos. Anything less would be tacky.”
“And no bra.”
Her laughed puffed out. “Really into this, aren’t you?”
“I’m getting there. You’ll do it, too.” He cupped a hand on her hip to nudge her closer. “Because you’ll be crazy about me.”
“It’s obvious one of us has already lost his mind. Okay.” Not one to refuse a challenge, she put a hand on his chest, pushed him back. “I say within that same period of time, I’ll have you on your knees, clutching a bouquet of…ah…lilacs—”
“Lilacs?”
“Yes, I’m very fond of lilacs. You’ll quote Shelley like a champ.”
“What’s the winner get?”
“Satisfaction.”
He had to smile. “That ought to be enough. Deal.”
They shook hands on it. “Am I going to get that tour now?”
“Sure.” He draped an arm around her shoulders and entertained himself with the vision of those very fine legs beneath a tight red skirt. “We went with your idea of a kind of bridal suite.” He led the way down the hall, opened a six-paneled door. “Just about ready for trim work in here.”
“Rafe.” Delighted, she stepped inside.
The delicate floral wallpaper was nearly all hung. The coffered ceiling gleamed with fresh paint. French doors were in place, and would one day open onto the wide porch, overlook gardens in riotous bloom. The floor was covered with drop cloths, but she could imagine it glossy and accented with a lovely faded tapestry rug.
She stepped around buckets and ladders, already arranging furniture in her head. “It’s going to be beautiful,” she murmured.
“It’s coming along.” He lifted a tarp from the fireplace. “The mantel was shot. I couldn’t fix it. Found a good piece of yellow pine, though. The woodworker’s using the original as a guide.”
“That rose-colored trim is going to be wonderful in here.” She looked through an adjoining doorway. “And this is the bath.”
“Mmm…” He studied the room over her shoulder. It was good-sized, and the plumbers had roughed it in. “Used to be a dressing room.”
She reached for his hand, gripped it. “Can you smell it?”
“Roses.” Absently he rubbed his cheek over her hair. “It always smells like roses in here. One of the paper hangers accused his partner of wearing perfume.”
“This was her room, wasn’t it? Abigail’s. She died in here.”
“Probably. Hey.” He tipped up her face, watched uncomfortably as a tear trailed down her cheek. “Don’t.”
“It’s so sad. She must have been terribly unhappy. Knowing the man she’d married, the father of her children, was capable of such cold-blooded cruelty. How did he treat her, Rafe? Did he love her, or did he only own her?”
“There’s no way to know. Don’t cry.” Awkward, he brushed the tear away. “It makes me feel like I have six thumbs. I mean it.” For lack of something better to do, he patted her head. “There’s no use crying over something that happened more than a hundred years ago.”
“But she’s still here.” Wrapping her arms around him, Regan snuggled into his chest. “I feel so sorry for her, for all of them.”
“You’re not going to do yourself, or me, any good if you get tangled up every time you come in here.”
“I know.” She sighed, comforted by the way his heart beat strong and steady against her. “It’s odd how you get used to it, a little bit at a time. Rafe, when I was downstairs alone…”
“What?” Uneasy, he tilted her face toward his again.
“It’s nothing.”
“What?” he repeated, giving her chin a little shake.
“Well, I walked into the library. What was the library,” she went on, torn between the need to tell him and embarrassment. “What will be the library. And I— Rafe, I could see it.”
His eyes were sharp, narrowed, totally concentrated. “See what?”
“The room. Not the stained floors and the new wiring you’ve put in. The room. Books on the wall, flowers on the table, drapes at the windows. I could really see it,” she repeated, her own brow creasing. “Not the way I do in my head when I’m planning things out. Not exactly like that. I was thinking to myself, sort of projecting, I suppose. I imagined this, well, I thought I was imagining a Bible stand, with an old family Bible opened on it. And I could read the page, almost touch it. Marriage and births and death.”
She took time to catch her breath. “You’re not saying anything.”
“Because I’m listening to you.”
“I know it sounds crazy.”
“Not in this house, it doesn’t.”
“It was so real, so sad. The way the scent of roses in this room is real, and sad. Then it was so cold, bitter, like a window had been flung open to the weather.”
She moved her shoulders, laid her head on his chest again. “That’s all.”
“That’s a lot for one day.” Wanting to soothe, he stroked his hand over her hair. “I can give Devin a call, have him come get you.”
“No, I don’t want to leave. It shook me for a moment, but it’s just as I said before. You get to accept it. I can handle it.”
“I shouldn’t have left you alone.”
“Don’t be silly. I don’t need to be guarded against grieving ghosts.”
But he wanted to guard her. He wished she had called for him. It surprised him just how much he wished she had needed him enough to call out for him.
“Next time you want to go in the library, let me know. I’ll go with you.”
“The house is already changing,” she said quietly. “You’ve done that by caring for it. I like feeling I’ve had a part in that, too.”
“You have.” He pressed his lips to her hair.
“When people live in it, make love in it, laugh in it, it’ll change again. The house needs people.”
She shifted, lifted her mouth to his. “Make love with me.”
He cupped her face in his hands, deepened the kiss. When he picked her up, carried her from the room, the scent of roses followed. She looped her arms around him, pressed her lips to his