Eight

      Rorie injected a cheerful note into her voice. She turned around, half expecting Kate to be with him. The two had been inseparable from the minute Clay had arrived. It was just as well that Kate was around, since her presence prevented Clay and Rorie from giving in to any temptation.

      Clay’s hands settled on her shoulders and Rorie flinched involuntarily at his touch. With noticeable regret, Clay dropped his hands.

      “Are you having a good time?” he asked.

      She nodded. “I didn’t think I would, which tells you how prejudiced I’ve been about country life, but I’ve been pleasantly surprised.”

      “I’m glad.” His hands clenched briefly at his sides, then he flexed his fingers a couple of times. “I would’ve danced with you myself, but—”

      She stopped him abruptly. “Clay, no. Don’t explain...it isn’t necessary. I understand.”

      His eyes held hers with such tenderness that she had to look away. The magical quality was in the air again—Rorie could feel it as forcefully as if the stars had spelled it out across the heavens.

      “I don’t think you do understand, Rorie,” Clay said, “but it doesn’t matter. You’ll be gone in a couple of days and both our lives will go back to the way they were meant to be.”

      Rorie agreed with a quick nod. It was too tempting, standing in the moonlight with Clay. Much too tempting. The memory of another night in which they’d stood and gazed at the stars returned with powerful intensity. Rorie realized that even talking to each other, alone like this, was dangerous.

      “Won’t Kate be looking for you?” she asked carefully.

      “No. Luke Rivers is dancing with her.”

      For a moment she closed her eyes, not daring to look up at Clay. “I guess I’ll be going inside now. I just came out to catch my breath and cool down a little.”

      “Dance with me first—here in the moonlight.”

      A protest rose within her, but the instant Clay slid his arms around her waist, Rorie felt herself give in. Kate would have him the rest of her life, but Rorie only had these few hours. Almost against her will, her hands found his shoulders, slipping around his neck with an ease that brought a sigh of pleasure to her lips. Being held by Clay shouldn’t feel this good.

      “Oh, Rorie,” he moaned as she settled into his embrace.

      They fitted together as if they’d been created for each other. His chin touched the top of her head and he caressed her hair with his jaw.

      “This is a mistake,” Rorie murmured, closing her eyes, savoring the warm, secure feel of his arms.

      “I know...”

      But neither seemed willing to release the other.

      His mouth grazed her temple and he kissed her there. “God help me, Rorie, what am I going to do? I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. I can’t sleep, I hardly eat...” His voice was raw, almost savage.

      “Oh, please,” she said with a soft cry. “We can’t...we mustn’t even talk like this.” His gray eyes smoldered above hers, and their breaths merged as his mouth hovered so close to her own.

      “I vowed I wouldn’t touch you again.”

      Rorie looked away. She’d made the same promise to herself. But it wasn’t in her to deny him now, although her mind searched frantically for the words to convince him how wrong they were to risk hurting Kate—and each other.

      His hands drifted up from her shoulders, his fingertips skimming the sides of her neck, trailing over her cheeks and through the softness of her hair. He placed his index finger over her lips, gently stroking them apart.

      Rorie moaned. She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. Clay’s left hand dug into her shoulders as her tongue caressed the length of his finger, drawing it into her mouth and sucking it gently. She needed him so much in that moment, she could have wept.

      “Just this once...for these few minutes,” he pleaded, “let me pretend you’re mine.” His hands cupped her face and slowly brought her mouth to his, smothering her whimper of part welcome, part protest.

      A long series of kisses followed. Deep, relentless, searching kisses that sent her heart soaring. Kisses that only made the coming loneliness more painful. A sob swelled within her and tears burned her eyes as she twisted away and tore her mouth from his.

      “No,” she cried, covering her face with her hands and turning her back to him. “Please, Clay. We shouldn’t be doing this.”

      He was silent for so long that Rorie suspected he’d left her. She inhaled a deep, calming breath and dropped her hands limply to her sides.

      “It would be so easy to love you, Rorie.”

      “No,” she whispered, shaking her head vigorously as she faced him again. “I’m not the right person for you—it’s too late for that. You’ve got Kate.” She couldn’t keep the pain out of her voice. Anything between them was hopeless, futile. Within a day or two her car would be repaired and she’d vanish from his life as suddenly as she’d appeared.

      Clay fell silent, his shoulders stiff and resolute as he stood silhouetted against the light of the Grange Hall. His face was masked by shadows and Rorie couldn’t read his thoughts. He drew in a harsh breath.

      “You’re right, Rorie. We can’t allow this...attraction between us to get out of hand. I promise you, by all I hold dear, that I won’t kiss you again.”

      “I’ll...do my part, too,” she assured him, feeling better now that they’d made this agreement.

      His hand reached for hers and clasped it warmly. “Come on, I’ll walk you back to the hall. We’re going to be all right. We’ll do what we have to do.”

      Clay’s tone told her he meant it. Relieved, Rorie silently made the same promise to herself.

      * * *

      Rorie slept