The absolute absence of response was as effective as a slap. He stepped back, the first movement jerky before he could get a hold of himself. With his brows drawn together hard, he studied her passive face, the faintly interested eyes, the amused quirk of that luscious mouth.
“That was very nice,” she said, in a tone so mild he nearly snarled. “Was that your best shot?”
He only stared at her, his gorgeous sea-toned eyes molten. He could handle rejection. A woman had every right to reject a man’s advances. But he wouldn’t tolerate snickering. And, damn it, he knew she was snickering under that placid exterior.
To keep from humiliating himself further, he latched tight to control. Without it, he would have hauled her into his arms again and loosed some of the hot, violent passion she’d managed to incite in him without the least effort.
“Let’s just say, as experiments go, that one was a dud. I’ve got work to do.” With some dignity, he nodded toward the wall phone. “Go ahead and give Cass a call whenever you’re done here.”
“Thanks. See you tonight at dinner.”
At the door, he turned, glared at her. She continued to stand there, leaning bac
k against the counter. Her pretty cap of hair wasn’t even mussed.
“You’re a cool one, Rebecca.”
“So I’m told. Thanks for the drink, farm boy. And the experiment.”
The moment the door slammed behind him, she sagged against the counter. She wanted to sit, but was very much afraid her legs would buckle before she managed to cross the three feet of tile to a chair.
She’d never known that anyone, anywhere, could kiss like that.
Her head was still reeling. Now that she was alone, she pressed a hand to her jumping heart and took several long, deep breaths that echoed in the room like those of a diver hitting the surface. That was apt, she supposed. She felt as though she’d been dragged into some deep, dark, airless space and escaped just in the nick of time.
Obviously, the man was a danger to female society. No woman could be safe around him.
She picked up her drink, watched the ice cubes clink musically together as she brought it to her assaulted lips with a shaky hand.
But she’d held together, she reminded herself. Held herself aloof and distant by desperately reciting Henry V’s Saint Crispin’s Day speech. God knew where that had come from, but it had kept her from whimpering like a starving puppy. True, she’d begun to lose her concentration by the time she reached “We few, we happy few,” but then Shane had ended it.
If he’d kept it up for another ten seconds, she’d never have finished the speech, unless it was in incoherent mewings.
“Oh, boy,” she managed now, and downed every drop in the glass. The chilly tea cooled the heat in her throat, if not in her blood.
This kind of passion was a new experience. She imagined Shane MacKade would hoot in unholy amusement if he knew just how violently he’d affected her. Her. Dr. Rebecca Knight, professional genius, perennial virgin.
She could congratulate herself that she’d maintained her composure, that she’d maintained at least the appearance of composure while the top of her head was spinning around a good six inches above her cranium. If he had even a hint of her stupidity in the ways of men and women, the slightest clue of her dazzled reaction to him personally, he would certainly press his advantage.
Not only would she get nothing done during her stay, she was dead certain she would leave with a bruised heart.
She was sure wiser women than she had fallen hard for the charm of Shane MacKade. That kind of chemistry could only result in fiery explosions. The safest position was to keep herself aloof, to annoy him if and when it was necessary, and never to let him know she was attracted.
Safe, Rebecca thought with a sigh as she set her empty glass in the sink. She had good reason to know just how tedious safety could be. But she had come to Antietam to prove something to herself. To explore possibilities and to add to her reputation.
Shane wasn’t a part of the plan.
His house was, however. She drew another deep breath, tried to settle her jolted nerves. There was something here for her, she was sure of it. She couldn’t feel it now, not when her system was sparkling like hot, naked wires.
She would have to come back, she decided. She would have to come back and make sure she had time to explore the possibilities here. The only way to manage that, she decided, was to simultaneously charm Shane and keep him at arm’s length.
Dinner at Regan’s would be a good start.
It seemed to Rebecca that there were children everywhere—babies, toddlers, older kids, all going about the business of cooing, squabbling, racing. Toys were spread all over the living room rug, where Regan’s Nate could compete with his cousin Layla for the best and brightest building block.
She knew who belonged to whom now. Layla, who held her own with her slightly older cousin, belonged to Jared and Savannah, as did the slim, dark-haired boy, Bryan. She knew Jared was the oldest of the MacKade brothers, a lawyer who seemed very at home in his loosened tie.
His wife was quite possibly the most stunning woman Rebecca had ever seen. Hugely pregnant, her thick black hair twisted back in a braid, dark eyes sultry and amused, Savannah looked, to Rebecca’s mind, like some well-satisfied fertility goddess.