This night had changed him and he’d never be the same again.
Eight
Larkin stirred, moaning as tender muscles protested the movement.
“You okay?” Rafe asked.
She lifted her head and forced open a single bleary eye, blinking at him. “I think that depends on your definition of ‘okay.’ I’m alive. Does that count?”
“It counts.”
“It’s the strangest sensation.”
“What is?”
“Most of my body is screaming, ‘Don’t move.’ But there are a few regions that are saying, ‘Again. Now.’” She decided to experiment and shift a fraction of an inch. “I’d be an absolute fool to listen to the ‘Again. Now’ crowd.”
“’Kay.”
He started to roll off the bed and she shot out her hand to stop him. “Call me a fool.”
A sleepy grin spread across Rafe’s face. “Call us both fools.”
She went into his arms as though she belonged, which maybe she did, despite all that stood in their way. He’d been so careful with her, so attentive, determined to make certain she enjoyed her first sexual experience. No matter what happened from this point forward, she’d always have the memory of this night to cling to.
“Thank you,” she told him.
He lifted an eyebrow. “For what?”
“For being perfect. Or at least, perfect for me.”
It took him a moment to reply. “You’re welcome.”
She lifted her mouth for his kiss, shivering as it deepened and grew more intense. Kissing she knew about. She’d kissed a fair number of men. But those experiences paled in comparison to what she shared with Rafe. With the merest brush of his lips, Rafe seduced her. That’s all it took for her to want him. To feel the rising tide of desire crash over and through her. One single kiss and she knew she was meant to be his. One single kiss and she knew…
She loved him.
The breath caught in her throat. No. That wasn’t possible. She pushed against his shoulders and tumbled away from him, fighting to drag air into her lungs. Sex was one thing. But love? No, no, no! How could she have been so foolish?
“Larkin?” He reached for her. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”
She evaded his hand. It was that hand. The hand that had started all their trouble. The one that had damned her with a single touch. The touch that had infected her with The Inferno.
She snagged the sheet and wound it tightly around herself, for the first time abruptly and painfully aware of her nudity. “How are we going to get out of this?” she demanded, her voice taking on a sharp edge.
He watched her, a wary glint in his eyes. “Get out of what?”
She shook her hand at him. Sparks from the diamond ring he’d placed there sent jagged shards of fire exploding in all directions. “Get out of this. Get out of our engagement. What’s your exit strategy?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Does it matter?” He patted the mattress. “Come on back to bed. It’s not like there’s any hurry.”
She ignored the second part of his suggestion and focused on the first. For some reason, his admission filled her with panic. “What do you mean, you don’t know? You must have a plan. You always have a plan.”
He stilled, his eyes narrowing. “What’s with the sudden urgency, Larkin?”
“I need to know how this is going to end. I need to know when.”
He vaulted from the bed and padded across the room to where his trousers lay in a crumpled heap and snagged them off the floor. “You’re having regrets.”
She thrust her hand through her hair, tumbling the curls into even greater disarray. “I don’t regret making love to you, if that’s what you’re getting at.”
He grunted in disbelief. “Right.”
Kicking the sheet out from beneath her feet, she came after him. “I’m serious. I don’t have any regrets about that. None. Zero.”
“Then what?” He tossed his trousers aside and cupped her shoulders. Dragging her into his arms, he examined her upturned face, his expression hard and remote. “One minute we were kissing and the next you’re freaking out about exit strategies. What the hell happened?”