"Look at me." He grated the words out. "You look at me."
Her eyes opened, but remained blind with passion. He felt her body quake under Ms, saw those eyes glaze as her head fell back.
He was powerless to stop himself from following her recklessly over the edge. But he cursed her, then himself, as he fell.
It didn't seem possible to have been so completely aroused, and to feel so utterly empty. He'd never understood how vitally entwined the heart and the body were, until now. And now, staring at the ceiling, with Regan silent beside him, he understood it would never be possible to separate his again.
Not with her.
And he wanted only her.
She'd taken something from him that he'd struggled for years to build. His self-respect. How odd that he hadn't realized that, either, until this moment.
He wasn't sure he could forgive either of them for it.
She desperately wanted him to reach out to her, to fold her to him as he had in the past. It was miserable to be left like this, so cold, so alone, even as she was still quivering from him.
Yet how could she reach out for him, when she was the one who had taken the step, made the stand, and agreed to take him on his own terms? His own terms, she thought, closing her eyes against the lovely rosy glow of the lamp. Bad Rafe MacKade had returned, she thought bitterly, and taken it all.
"Well, we managed to have sex in a bed for a change." She sat up, kept her back to him. She could control her voice, but was certain her face would show him that she was shattered. "It's always firsts with us, isn't it, MacKade?"
"Yeah." He wanted to stroke that back, but it was so stiff and straight. "We'll have to try it with sheets sometime."
"Why not?" Her hands trembled as she slid off the bed, reached down for her underwear. "We could even throw in a couple of pillows, and a pretense of affection. Just for a change of pace."
His eyes sharpened, narrowed, as she snapped her bra into place. Hurt and fury bubbled together in a messy stew. Rising, he snatched his jeans, jammed his legs in them.
"I don't like pretenses much."
"Oh, that's right." She grabbed her shirt. Silk whipped through the air and onto her back. "Everything's up-front with you. No frills, no spills."
"What the hell's wrong with you? You got what you wanted."
"You don't know diddly about what I want." Terrified she might weep, she jerked on her slacks. "Apparently neither do I."
"You're the one who took off your clothes, darling." His voice was entirely too smooth. "You're the one putting them right back on so you can move right along."
"And you're the one who rolled off me the minute you were done, as if your twenty bucks was up." Rushing now, she jammed her feet into her shoes.
She might have had a chance if she'd been looking at him. A slim one. But he moved fast, and she was six inches off the ground, his hands like a vise on her, his eyes drilling holes in hers before she drew a second breath.
"Don't say that. I've never treated you that way. I've never thought that way."
"You're right." Oddly enough, it was the lash of his temper that calmed her. Stopped her, she hoped, from being a perfect fool. "I'm sorry, Rafe. That was unfair and untrue."
Very slowly, he set her back on her feet. He realized his fingers were digging hard enough into her flesh to meet bone, and dropped his hands. "Maybe I moved too fast, but you caught me off guard."
"No." Yes, she felt very calm, she thought as she turned to pick up her blazer. Very calm, and very, very fragile. If he touched her again, she would crack like flawed glass. "I initiated things, and I agreed to your terms."
"My terms—"
"Are clear," she said, finishing for him. "And acceptable. I suppose the problem is that we're both volatile personalities under the right circumstances. Any circumstances, as far as you're concerned. And as for me, the past few days have been difficult. That doesn't mean I should take it out on you."
"Do you have to be reasonable, Regan?"
"No, but I'm going to be." Though her lips curved brightly, she couldn't move the smile into her eyes. "I don't know what we're fighting about, when we've found the perfect solution. A simple, physical relationship. It's perfect, because the rest of our common ground is narrow to nonexistent. So, I'll apologize again for picking a fight. I'm just a little tired and out of sorts."
She made herself rise on her toes and kiss him lightly. "If you'd like to come by tomorrow after work, I'll make it up to you."