"I don't want things to be this way between us, Rafe."
"Well, now I do. Take it or leave it." He rammed another nail into wood. She wasn't going to get the chance to hurt him again, he told himself. No woman hurt him like this.
She opened her mouth, primed to tell him she'd leave it. Leave him. And couldn't. Tears burned in her eyes, in her throat. Could there have been a worse possible time, she wondered, for her to realize she was in love with him?
"Is that the way you really feel?"
"I try to say what I mean, too."
Unwilling to humiliate herself, she swallowed the tears. "And all this is because you're angry about what happened. About how I dealt with it."
"Let's just say it made everything clear. You don't want to clutter up your life, right?"
"No, I—"
"Hell, neither do I. Call it ego— I've got one. I didn't like you running to my brother instead of me. Like you said, I've got it out of my system. We can just go back to the way things were. The way things are."
She hadn't realized how much she could prefer that lethal temper over this calculated disinterest. "I'm not sure that's possible. I can't give you an answer right at the moment."
"You mull it over, Regan. You do that real well, too."
"Would you rather—" She pressed a hand to her lips, waited until she could steady her voice. "If you'd rather suspend our business relationship, I can give you the names of some other dealers in the area."
"No reason for that. I'm already behind." When he turned to her, all he saw was that her eyes were dry, her face was composed. "I can take shipment on this room in about a week, if you've got a problem with storage."
"That'll be fine. I'll make the arrangements." She turned and reached blindly for the doorknob. Terrified she'd crumble, she walked away quickly. She didn't start to run until she was outside, with the wind slapping her wet cheeks.
When he heard the door close below, Rafe sat down on the floor. At the sound of weeping shimmering in the air, he rubbed his hands hard over his face.
"I know just how you feel," he muttered.
It was the first time in his checkered career that anyone had managed to break his heart. His only solace was that he'd make damn sure it was the last.
The predicted ice storm raged through, glazing the snow, turning the streets to glass. It was days before the temperature inched up enough to soften it. Each night the thermometer would plunge again, hardening and slickening every coated surface.
It didn't mean a damn thing to Rafe. The lousy weather gave him an excuse to stay just where he was, work twenty out of every twenty-four hours. With every nail he hammered, every wall he sanded, the house became more his.
When he couldn't sleep, even after exhausting himself, he wandered the house with the other ghosts.
He was too busy to think about Regan. Or so he tried to convince himself.
Whenever he did, whenever she snuck through his well-fortified defenses, he just worked harder, longer.
"You look a little ragged, pal." Devin lit a cigarette and watched Rafe hammer freshly painted baseboard into place. "Remember that book—Dorian Gray ? The way it's starting to look, you're the picture in the closet, and this house is old Dorian."
"Pick up a hammer, or beat it."
Instead, Devin crouched, ran a fingertip over the wide, carved trim. "Sure is pretty as a picture. What'd you call this color?"
"Rose dust." He framed the words like a dare.
"Yep, sure is pretty." Devin used an empty coffee can as an ashtray. "If you're into pink."
Rafe spared him a look. "You trying to start something?"
"Nope, just making conversation. They transferred Joe from the hospital today."
Rafe's eyes iced over before he turned away. "None of my business."