Close Proximity (10 page)

The panting and moaning they emitted only inflamed the fervent rage that had caught them up, swept them away.

She kissed him full on the mouth. Blindly, her eager fingers reached for and found the metal fastener of his jeans. The zipper glided down, and she broke the kiss in order to tug the denim fabric over his hips and thighs. He stepped out of the pants, kicking them aside as if they had been a hindrance for longer than he could bear.

They moved into the hallway, kissing, touching, tasting, rubbing, kneading, aching, wanting,
craving.
Their breathing had become stentorian to her ears. Deafening. Exciting.

He tugged her trousers down over her hips and she walked out of them, leaving them where they lay.

The sleek curtain of his hair fell across the full length of her arm when he reached behind her to unclasp her bra. The lacy fabric was tossed aside.

They reached the threshold of his bedroom and he removed her panties, his strong hands sliding down the length of her legs. She stood breathless as his dark, feverish gaze made a slow, thorough scan of her nakedness. Rather than feeling shy and vulnerable, she marveled at how secure he made her feel.

Her heart pounded. Her throat went dry. Oh, how she wanted this man, this moment.

Almost as if reading her thoughts, he asked, “You're sure?”

She didn't hesitate. “I've never been more sure of anything in my life.”

He picked her up then and carried her to his bed. The mattress was soft, enveloping, and she reclined, letting her eyes feast on the sight of his nearly nude body. The fabric of his briefs and the small, square bandage on his ribs were both stark white against his golden skin. Her gaze darted to his briefs, and seeming to understand her silent wish,
he reached down and removed the last article of his clothing.

He was gorgeous. His body was heavenly. Tall. Strong. Beautiful.

The mattress depressed under his weight, and Libby closed her eyes and took great pleasure in the feel of his fingers lightly skimming up the full length of her. Over ankle, shin bone, knee and thigh. Then he tarried, lightly teasing her triangle of springy hair. Libby felt herself grow moist, need pulsing deep inside. But then his fingertips resumed their journey up her body, over her belly and breasts and neck, jaw and cheek and temple. There his roving stopped and he stretched out beside her, his handsome face looming above hers.

The fever pitch had calmed, his kiss was softer now, gentler, more giving, and she drank in the heat of him, the smell of him, the feel of his mouth, the taste of his tongue. His hands cupped her face. His hair tickled her skin with every move he made. His warm breath was on her neck. His fingers were in her hair.

She'd been stirred by his fervent attack just a moment ago, had enjoyed snatching and taking right along with him. But this slow, languid lovemaking was just as wonderful, just as arousing.

Her need was building. Pulsing, urging, calling.

Letting her fingers slide up his arms, over his shoulders, she whispered his name, and knew that the tremor in her tone conveyed all the yearning she suffered. His kiss was deep, one hand smoothing down her abdomen, finding and gently exploring the most sensitive part of her. When the pad of his fingertip grazed what to her at that instant was the very center of her being, she whimpered against his mouth and lifted her hips toward his touch. Her knees seemed to part of their own accord. He eased himself on
top of her, resting the bulk of his weight on his elbows, his breathing seeming to come in great and jagged gulps.

He guided himself into her, his movements unhurried, deliberate, and she thought she'd die from the waiting. When he filled her, he gazed down into her face. The dark mass of his shining hair was like a drape that hid them from the outside world. All that existed was the two of them—and the desire that vibrated and hummed and sang.

“Libby.”

She found the sound of his voice overwhelming, and she reached up and took his face between her hands.

“Kiss me.” The desperation in her tone was undeniable, and even that inflamed her. She guided him down, down, until their lips met.

His hips ground slowly against hers, and she lifted herself up to meet him. Her hands found his shoulders and she gripped them, her fingertips digging deep. The pulsing at her very center escalated, expanded, until the scope of it surrounded—
became
—her total consciousness.

Still, Rafe took her higher.

Emotions spiraled and tipped and careened, and she gasped when a thunderous explosion of feeling ended with a tumbling and rolling, glittering like colorful gems that had been tossed, helter-skelter, onto black velvet.

Libby lay there panting, smiling up into his face. But she could tell by the look in his eyes, by the hard length of him between her legs, that he hadn't reached orgasm. Excitement skittered in her stomach. Lifting one hip, she nudged at him, and they rolled together as one.

His hair pooled on the sheets, hers was wild about them. She splayed her hands on his chest, kissed the tip of his nose. And with tiny, lolling movements of her hips, she rode him. Drowsily. Lazily.

Rafe closed his eyes, let his arms relax in total enjoy
ment. This was his time, and evidently he meant to take full advantage of it.

But as she moved on him, her own need resurged. Her breath quickened. Her blood raced. And before she realized, her eyelids slid shut and she was once again focused only on the desire thudding through her. Again, she climaxed with what felt like a delirious rumble.

Her skin felt damp and she reached up to comb her hair out of her face.

How selfish could she be? She'd meant to pleasure him as he had her. However, she'd gotten caught up in the feel of him, in the passion he stirred in her.

But when she looked down at Rafe, there was no doubt whatsoever that his need had been satiated.

When he finally opened his eyes and gazed up into her face, she said, “Thanks for rescuing me at Jake's tonight. I was scared half to death.”

Rafe smoothed his hands over her thighs. “If this is how you're going to thank me, I'll fight off any man who comes within a mile of you.”

She chuckled, then she drew a small circle around his russet nipple. “This had nothing to do with your keeping that creep from stealing my purse.”

His brows raised. “You don't really believe that's what he was after, do you? That man meant to hurt you.”

“Oh, Rafe,” she said. “Don't start with that again. We haven't had any trouble for days. We weren't followed when we left here. How could anyone know we'd show up at Jake's?”

“It was in the paper. I read it.”

“What are you talking about?”

“After you'd been run off the road, you told the reporter you'd been on your way to Jake's. Don't you remember? You even said that Jake's had the best burgers in town.”

“Oh, that article about my accident was lucky to have received two inches of column space.” Her head rested on his bare chest. “I think you're wrong. I think someone was looking for some quick cash, and he thought he'd take some of mine.” She grinned. “Little did he know that I travel with my very own bodyguard.”

But he was obviously unconvinced.

She remained straddling him, the two of them most intimately connected. She reached out and traced down the length of his nose, over his top lip. He opened his mouth, took her fingertip between his teeth, his tongue skating the soft pad. Then he sucked gently. And Libby felt her pulse quicken.

Without warning, he trailed the fingers of both his hands up over her hips and waist. She squirmed off him, laughing as she tumbled onto the mattress.

“You're ticklish.”

He seemed delighted to have found a weakness in her. His dark eyes gleamed as he rose onto all fours. He looked the predator. Fierce as a wolf. Hungry as one, too. And Libby was giddy knowing she was the prey in his sights.

“Don't you dare,” she warned, wriggling toward the head of the bed.

She grabbed a pillow, trying to fend him off, but it proved a flimsy shield. He seized it with quick hands, tossed it aside.

“Rafe.” Her continued retreat only seemed to encourage him. The farther back she inched, the closer he came.
“Rafe.”

Finally, he grabbed her ankle, his long, tapering fingers gentle but persistent. He pulled and she found herself being dragged back to the center of the mattress. She laughed, but did not fight him. In the blink of an eye, she was pinned beneath him.

Pinned by his body. And by his burning brown eyes.

She was just where she wanted to be.

“You're a beautiful woman,” he said. “And I think I've wanted you my whole life.”

He kissed her, then. Long. Resolute. Arduous.

Healing.

And Libby felt the delicious heated spirals beginning all over again.

L
ibby felt the warm, buttery sunlight on her body even before she was fully awake. She stretched like a lazy cat and then curled over onto her side. Sensing she was alone in Rafe's bed, she reached over and pulled his pillow to her and hugged it.

Oh, but she had never experienced the kind of lovemaking Rafe had showered on her last night. He'd taken her to the very pinnacle, again and again, until she'd been weak and breathless. And she had loved every moment of it.

After her experience in the past, she'd never thought she could trust enough to fall in love again. But she had.

Rafe, she realized, was the man of her dreams. The love of her life. And she wanted to be with him forever and a day.

She chuckled. That sounded so silly. So schoolgirlish. But that was exactly how she felt.

Bounding out of Rafe's bed, she hurried to her room, picking up the clothes they had so thoughtlessly discarded the night before. Her face heated, thinking that he'd had to walk past her now wrinkled trousers, her crumpled panties, her top and bra on his way to the kitchen this morning.

After tossing the clothing on the perfectly made bed in the guest room, she shoved her legs into a fresh pair of panties and jeans and then tugged on a white cotton shirt. She couldn't wait to see Rafe this morning. To wish him a good morning. To thank him for the wonderment he'd shown her in the night. To express her gratitude for the pleasure he'd given. To tell him all that was in her heart. To show him all the things she felt. And finally, she meant to somehow articulate her appreciation that he'd healed her wounded soul.

Because of him, she was able to love again. That was the most important piece of information she needed to relay. She poured two cups of coffee and then went out the back door to search for him.

The Appaloosa he groomed was white, its black spots standing out sharply in contrast. It was a stately animal, and it nickered and nodded its head at her appearance.

“Whoa, boy,” Rafe crooned softly. “It's okay.”

He never stopped stroking the brush over the horse's coat.

Although it was hard to tamp down the thrill of seeing Rafe, she kept her tone quiet, her body movements conservative, so as not to startle the animals nearby when she said, “Morning.”

He tossed her a quick glance over his shoulder, and when her gaze connected with his, her nipples budded to life beneath the thin cotton fabric of her top. It never entered her head to feel self-conscious of her physical reaction to him.

Rafe ran the brush over the Appaloosa's mane, then he led the animal to its pen and hung a leather feeding bag within its reach.

“I brought you some coffee,” she told him.

Still, he remained silent. It was only when he turned to face her fully that she knew that something was terribly wrong.

 

Damn! Why did she have to be so exquisite? Why did her hair have to glow like liquid fire? Why did her skin have to be so creamy? Her eyes so sparkling and clear? Why did her breasts have to be so utterly perfect? Why did her nipples have to draw up into such tantalizing buds right before his very eyes? Why did her legs have to be so long and shapely? Why did she have to have such interesting opinions? Why was her wit so quick? Why did she have to be so caring?

Why did she have to be so…so…
appealing?

Damn it all to hell! Why did his flesh have to be so weak?

He'd promised to keep his hands to himself. No matter how much he might have burned to touch her, he'd silently vowed he wouldn't.

It was a vow he'd broken.

And he'd go to his grave being sorry for that.

But, sorry excuse for a man that he was, he'd forever cherish the memories of the night he'd held her in his arms. The night they'd made sweet love until the both of them had moaned with pure pleasure.

His eyes narrowed. He had to remain focused. He had to do what was right.

Libby was too good for the likes of him. It would be completely unfair to encumber her with such a heavy burden. His twisted childhood had left him emotionally crip
pled. One night of passion didn't change that fact. She should not have to deal with his problems, or the everyday burden he'd bring simply by being who he was.

She was worthy of only the best of men. She deserved normalcy. No, she deserved love and romance in its highest form.

Libby deserved happily ever after.

He was not the man to give her that. His emotions were maimed and mangled beyond recognition.

Sometimes, in the deepest hours of the night, thoughts of Curtis James and the brutal treatment he'd doled out would fill Rafe with such rage that he was unable to keep still. Half insane with anger and bitterness, he'd saddle one of his horses and ride hard into the darkness, hoping, praying for some kind of release.

He never wanted Libby to see him lose control like that. She should not have to pay for the dysfunctional upbringing he'd suffered. He would not allow that to happen.

Doing the right thing by her was all that was in his mind.

He went to her, took the coffee from her, keeping his face impassive. Then he paced to the door of the outbuilding and flung the steaming brown liquid to the ground.

When he turned back to face her, she looked as if he'd slapped her in the face. He had to ignore that. He simply had to disregard her reaction to what he was about to say.

She'd be hurt. But he must remain unaffected and tell her the truth, nonetheless.

“I don't want any coffee.”

A tiny crease appeared between her eyes. He wanted nothing more than to go to her, to smooth away her frown with a gentle touch. But he couldn't.

“And you need to know,” he continued, “last night was a mistake. A terrible mistake that can't happen again.”

He enunciated the word
mistake
both times he said it,
and she flinched with each utterance. His words were wounding her, he knew. And it killed him. It wasn't his intention to be cruel. Just honest. She needed to understand his thoughts in no uncertain terms. All of this was for her own good.

Her face was pale as porcelain. He'd derailed her with his attitude. She'd come out here anticipating everything would be rosy, expecting the morning to be filled with sunshine and kisses, but what she got was flat-out rejection.

Rafe hoped she wouldn't cry. He seriously doubted he could stand firm in the face of her tears.

When he saw her gaze light with ire, he was relieved. Anger. Now that was something he could handle.

“Men are such big, fat jerks.”

Her tone was low, ominous, and for a moment he feared she might throw a cup at him. He kept a careful eye on her, ready to dodge if the need arose. But she set it down, balancing it on top of one of the stall posts.

“You and Stephen are two peas in a pod.”

What was she talking about?
Who
was she talking about?

She turned and looked out the door. “But maybe it's me. Maybe the problem doesn't lie with the men, but with the stupid woman who trusts them. And that stupid woman is me!”

When she lifted her gaze to his, he was nearly knocked back a step by the fury registered in her aquamarine eyes.

“I trusted you,” she said. “Just like I trusted him. I gave him everything I had to give. I made him my whole world.”

Rafe felt his throat close up. He didn't want to hear this. But that didn't stop her.

“I fell desperately in love with a man who
I thought
wanted to spend the rest of his life with me. But there were a few things he forgot to tell me about. Like a wife and a couple of kids. When I found out about his family, I confronted him. And—”

Her voice broke then; however, she paused to take a deep breath and evidently to rein in her emotions.

“And you know what he did?” she continued, her tone once again resilient. “He laughed. Right in my face. I've never been more humiliated in my life. He said I was nothing more to him than a toy. A sexual plaything he'd never planned to keep around for very long.”

She seethed. “I vowed back then that I'd never allow myself to be used again. Yet here I stand, feeling just as exploited and abused and taken advantage of as I did back then.” She glared at him. “I just hope this little fling was fun for you. I just hope it was.”

Libby turned then and raced toward the house, leaving Rafe standing there not knowing what the hell to think.

 

The clothes she'd stuffed into her suitcase would be wrinkled beyond repair. But Libby didn't care. All she wanted was to get out of Rafe's house, to get away from that insufferable man.

She could not believe she'd let down her defenses. She'd let him into her heart. She'd freely offered him the gift of her body. To think that she'd awoken this morning actually believing he'd healed her. The very idea made her stomach solidify into a granite-hard mass. She couldn't believe she'd actually allowed herself to think that she might be in love with the man.

You
are
in love with the man.

The thought soughed through her brain like a cool breeze, but it did nothing to calm her spirit.

“No.” The spoken word reverberated off the walls of the bedroom. “I'm not. I won't let myself love him.”

You think you can stop what you feel? What is…
is.
You have no control over it. There's no changing reality.

What she'd felt for Stephen all those years ago in law school was a single, tiny drop in an overflowing rain barrel compared to what she felt for Rafe James. There was no disputing that fact. No denying it.

There was no changing reality.

The revelation depressed her.

“Well, then,” she said aloud, “that's just all the more reason for me to get the hell out of here.”

“That's not a good idea.”

Gasping, she whirled toward the door, toward the sound of Rafe's voice.

“You're not going anywhere.”

Her chin tipped up stubbornly. “Your days of telling me what I will and won't do are over.”

“Look, Libby, I understand why you're angry. You're furious with me. And you've got every right to be. But don't let your anger make you do something impulsive.”

“Oh, I think it's safe to say that I've used up all my impulsive chips in this game we've been playing. I used them up last night, as a matter of fact. Every single one of them.” She narrowed her gaze on him when she spoke the final sentence.

At least he had sense enough to grimace.

She closed the lid of the case and locked the latches with two sharp snaps.

“We can still work together, Libby,” he said. “What happened between us shouldn't hinder our working relationship.”

Her fingers tightened on the handle of the case and she lifted it off the bed.

He insisted, “There's too much for you to do all alone.”

When she tried to pass him, he took her arm. His touch felt like the bare wires of an electric cord, stinging hot, but she'd die before she cringed from him.

“Libby—”

His tone was emphatic, and her eyes were drawn to his face as if he were emitting some strange kind of magnetic current she was unable to resist.

“—it isn't safe for you to leave here.”

“Give it up, Rafe! No one believes that but you. The police agree with me that some inexperienced kid ran me off the road in the rain. And that man wanted my money last night not my life.

The muscle in his jaw tensed.

“You're wrong about my being in danger. Dead wrong.”

Her chest was heaving with a flurry of emotion. She felt humiliated that she'd given herself to Rafe and then he'd practically kicked her aside. She felt ashamed of herself for having lowered her guard after she'd promised herself she wouldn't. And she felt hurt. Oh, how her soul burned with hurt.

“But what if I'm dead right? What if you go out there and get yourself killed? Who will be David's champion then, Libby? Who will save him then?”

His questions seemed to hit her like solid punches to the chin, the stomach, the jaw. When he finished speaking, she was trembling. Surely, her knees wouldn't hold her weight for much longer.

“We can get over this,” he continued, his tone, his whole body stance, cajoling. Then his spine straightened. “In the grand scheme of things, what happened between us is a small bump in the road. We can roll over it, get beyond it and still work as a team. We need each other,
Libby. And more than anything else, David needs us. Working together as a team.”

Feeling pathetically confused, Libby stood there, silent. She didn't know whom she was more furious with—Rafe, for callously using her, or herself, for knocking down the wall she'd built around her heart and inviting the man in.

We need each other, Libby. And more than anything else, David needs us.

She might be an idiot where affairs of the heart were concerned, but she took the job of defending her father seriously. And she was determined to see him a free man once again. Nothing would keep her from that goal. Not even her own stupidity over her feelings for Rafe, over having trusted him with her heart when he didn't deserve that trust, nor over having been used and humiliated once again by a man.

Nothing mattered more than saving her father. Nothing.

Although she hated to admit it, she had to consider that small percentage of a chance that Rafe might be right about her safety.

She was the only family her father had left. He loved her. And he'd want her to play it smart. He certainly wouldn't want her taking chances—Libby glared at Rafe—no matter how much she might want to.

With a sigh that was laced with both irritation and resignation, she set down the suitcase.