“No,” he said flatly.The brief pleasure he’d felt turned to a clump of clay in his throat.Disappointment made him angry, even though he had no right to that anger.
“If you trust me enough to go to Boston, why won’t you trust me not to say anything about you and your friends?”The question was reasonable, but Rafe didn’t feel reasonable.
“Please understand, Rafe,” she pleaded.“I have to know if he is my father.Why my mother left him.I have to know whether he’s done what you think he has.”
Rafe laughed harshly.“You think he’ll tell you?Jack Randall is a charmer, little girl.He’ll make you believe white is black and black is white.And he’ll have you telling him everything he wants to know.”
“No,” she said.“I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you.Or Clint or Ben.”
“I don’t believe that,” he said.“I’m making you one offer.Take it or leave it.”
“I’ll leave it,” she said, and those usually calm blue-gray eyes were spitting sparks at him.
In self-defense he attacked.He had to protect himself, his heart, his soul.He wouldn’t let her destroy what was left of them.She had to leave.His hand reached out to her, running up and down her arm, but there was no tenderness in the touch, no gentleness.Only ugly insinuation.
“Because you like this?”he said.He spoke as a man did to a whore.
Her eyes widened.“Don’t,” she said, in almost a whisper.
“Why not?”he said, forcing indifference into his voice.“Prison has made me … hungry.Any woman will do.Even a Randall.Abstinence does that to a man.”
He was playing with fire and knew it, but he couldn’t stop.He had to halt whatever was building between the two of them.Hehadto.For both their sakes.
His hand kept moving along hers, and then he raised it to her hair, pulling it back until she had to meet his eyes.“Last chance, Miss Randall,” he said.“Unless you want to become my whore while I finish with your father.”He wondered whether those words were hurting him more than her.He tried to shore up the wall around his heart, but her stricken face kept tearing it down.
“Let go of me,” she said, trying to jerk free as shock registered in her eyes.
“I don’t think I want to do that,” he replied coldly.
Her hand went back, and he knew she was going to strike him.He let her, feeling the stinging blow to his cheek.“Feel better, Miss Randall?”he asked.
She just stared at what he knew was a red mark on his cheek.
“That’s right,” he said.“Hate me.You should hate me, Miss Randall.And if you stay, you’ll hate me more.I can promise you that.”
She stood her ground even as she blinked back tears.Christ, he admired that stubborn backbone of hers.“I don’t understand you.Why do you believe once I get on the train I won’t get off and head right back?”
“Because unlike me,” he said, “you have an undeniable streak of honesty.Usually a trait I don’t particularly like, but now it serves my purpose.”
Something flickered in her eyes, and he knew he had made a mistake.She didn’t believe him.She was searching his face, seeking something he was afraid to reveal, was determined not to reveal.
“I lied to you before,” she said in a shaken but determined voice.“I promised I wouldn’t run, and I did.I think I’m as good a liar as you are.”
Rafe wanted to smile: She was the world’s worst liar.He shrugged.“Take the offer or leave it,” he said.
“I’ll leave it.”
He stared at her with astonishment.“I told you what that means.”
She looked at him solemnly for several moments.“Kiss me,” she said.“Kiss me and then tell me you don’t care.”
He didn’t move.
She stood up on tiptoes and lifted her head so her lips could meet his.
His mouth came down on hers.He meant to do it with the same disdain he’d used before.He meant to do it with careless cruelty, but the second he touched her, he couldn’t continue the charade.
He knew how foolish he was.He was denying everything he’d tried to tell her, tried to use against her, but he couldn’t stop.Shea was the first good thing that had touched him in many years; her touch was like a balm to his wounded soul, her giving like nourishment to a starved heart.
