He understood the reaction. His own throat suddenly clenched, because all he could imagine was the two of them on that bed, all night long. With those mirrors above them, and the door closed to the storm...and the entire world.
“I’m pretty sure this room has been used in every episode of Supernatural,” she said, averting her gaze from the bed. As if she feared Rafe would think she was worrying about sleeping in it with him. Or that she wasn’t. “Sam and Dean always stay in one like it.”
“Even with only one bed and the mirrors?”
“Well, maybe not just like it.”
He rolled his eyes, chuckling. “Still into that spooky stuff, huh?” he asked as he tossed his duffel onto the dresser. He had also grabbed her carry-on, which had landed in the snow, and now put it beside his things.
“The spookier the better. Still only like to read nonfiction?”
“I’ve expanded my tastes a little,” he admitted. “Believe it or not, one of the guys in my unit has a sister who sends him cases of romance novels every so often. They really make the rounds and are usually worn out from rereading.”
She burst into laughter. “A bunch of tough army rangers reading romance novels.”
Yeah, it sounded pretty strange. Then again, considering the lives he and his squadmates lived, maybe something easy and familiar—something that lifted the spirits and reminded them of the girl back home—was perfectly normal after all.
“Do they read the super sexy ones?” she asked, her tone a little too innocent. Huh. He wondered if she asked because they’d just kissed as if they were about to make use of every inch of mirror above them.
“Those were the most popular ones,” he admitted with a wry grin. “Some of them are damned good. Plus it gets pretty lonely in the field when fraternization is strictly prohibited.”
“So, how long has it been since you’ve...fraternized?” she asked, again, obviously striving for friendly curiosity rather than any kind of personal interest.
He wasn’t buying it. She was interested. She shouldn’t be, he shouldn’t want her to be. But he felt it. Awareness sizzled and crackled in the cold room like sparks jangling off exposed wire.
“A long time,” he admitted.
She stepped closer, eliminating the space between them, and every step she took messed with his head a little bit more, until he could barely remember what the words nice and guy meant.
She licked her lips before asking, “Does that mean you’re not involved with anyone?”
He shook his head, his amusement fading, his jaw growing a little stiff. “No. Unlike you, Mrs...”
“Actually, it’s Doctor, remember?”
“Sorry. Doctor what?”
“Doctor Blake.”
“Didn’t take his name, huh?”
Ignoring the question, she tugged her gloves off her hands. She’d been wearing them all evening, since the heater in the rental car hadn’t quite managed to chase out the cold. Still silent, she brushed her soft fingertips across the small scar on his jaw. It had been joined by another on his temple—one he knew looked newer, rawer—and she gently caressed that one, too.
Rafe literally growled in his throat. “Ellie, don’t.”
“I hate that you’ve been hurt.”
He reached up and grabbed her hand, intending to push it away. But he couldn’t do it. Something within him rebelled at ever pushing this woman away again. He instead squeezed her fingers, turning his face toward her palm and pressing his mouth to her skin. He kissed her, breathed her in, let his head fill with that sweet, light scent she always wore, before growling, “Damn it. You’re a married woman.”
“Says who? Maybe you should take another look at my left hand.”
He froze. Slowly lowering their joined hands, he stared at that left ring finger. It was totally bare. Not only was she not wearing any kind of ring, there was no tan line, no crease indicating she usually wore any jewelry there at all.
His heart spun in his chest and tension coiled low in his belly. But he didn’t allow the emotions to rush through him just yet. She was a veterinarian, maybe she just didn’t wear a ring.
“What, exactly, are you trying to say?”
“I’m not married, Rafe.”
He slowly exhaled the breath he’d been holding. She’s not married? Ellie was free? He couldn’t quite get his mind to wrap around that. He’d drilled the she’s-off-limits message into his mind dozens of times over the past three years, during the many moments he’d longed to reach out to her. But it wasn’t true?
“Are you divorced?”
“No. I never got married at all.”
“Why not?”
“It just didn’t work out.”
His jaw flexed. “Did he hurt you?”
She laughed lightly. “Oh, God, no. Denny and I are still the best of friends—in fact, I work for him at his new animal hospital. He’s married to my friend Jessie now.”
Barely able to take it in, he swiped a hand through his short hair, sure it was a spiky mess. He watched her rub her fingers against her own palms, as if she were dying to reach up and stroke that hair, to twine her fingers in it and pull him down so they could get back to that kiss they’d started three years ago on New Year’s Eve, continued outside and ached to finish now.
She didn’t, though. Rafe was still stunned, and probably looked it, too. He’d been telling himself for hours that he’d blown his chance with her and needed to accept the fact that she would only ever belong in his past.
But he’d been wrong. Everything had been wrong. He still didn’t quite believe it.
“I don’t understand.”
“I haven’t even dated a man since Denny and I broke up almost three years ago.”
“Three years...” The timing couldn’t be coincidental.
“It wasn’t New Year’s Day,” she insisted. She went on to admit, “But it wasn’t too long after that, either.”
“Ellie, what are you really saying?”
“I’m saying, silly man, that after I ran into you on New Year’s Eve, I realized I didn’t love Denny the way a woman should love her fiancé. And I also realized he and Jessie shot a lot more sparks off each other than he and I did.”
Sparks were critical in a relationship, the two of them had shared enough to do more damage to Chicago than Mrs. O’Leary’s cow, the rumored start of the Great Chicago Fire. How she’d thought she could happily marry someone without sparks, he had no idea. Friendship
