She nodded. “Why didn’t you call?” she asked weakly.
“I couldn’t. Why didn’t you wait for me?”
“Things changed.”
“What things?”
“Rafe, please, don’t make this harder than it already is. I was hurt, at first, by your betrayal, but — ”
“Betrayal? You thought I’d betrayed you?”
He’d backed her against the wall with an arm braced on either side of her head. His face was lowering toward hers. So close. She yearned to lean up into the impending kiss. She couldn’t. Instead she moaned.
“I love it when you moan for me,” he said huskily, placing his lips a hairbreadth from hers. “Does the colonel make you moan, Prissy?”
“Yes.”
“Liar.” He breathed against her mouth and brushed his lips across hers. A whispery caress. Not really a kiss. Hah! He made a low hissing sound, and cupped her face with his hands, devouring her with his hard kisses.
Her determination shattered under the onslaught of the passion that always flared between them. Between each devouring kiss, he kept murmuring, “Helen.” One word, that’s all.
Her rubbery legs gave way and Rafe chuckled against her neck, putting his arms around her waist and holding her against his aroused body. The whole time, he traced a path of searing kissing from her lips to her ears and neck and back again.
Helen surrendered to Rafe’s raw sensuality. She couldn’t help herself. Only Rafe could make her forget everything. Soon they would be engaging in sex on the hall floor, two steps away from her studio on the one side and the nursery on the other.
The nursery!
Alarm bells went off in Helen’s dizzy brain and clanged a halting message to her overcharged senses. The baby. I have to think about the baby.
She tore her mouth out from under Rafe’s kiss and shoved against his chest. “No!”
“No?” Rafe asked dully. He raked his fingers through his long hair with agitation. “Why?”
“Because… because we have to talk.” She stepped to the side, putting some distance between them.
He said something really vulgar about talking and moved closer, trailing a forefinger over lips that felt swollen from his kisses, and throbbing for more.
“Because I’m going to marry another man.” She swatted his finger away and edged farther along the wall, hitting a door jamb.
“No, you are not. You’re already married to me.”
“Yes, I am, Rafe. And our marriage isn’t legal.”
“You love me. It doesn’t matter what you say. Your body just told me that.”
“It was just…” Her words died off as she saw his eyes fix on something over her shoulder. Too late, she realized that her studio was visible through the doorway, cast in shadows from the hallway light and a full moon shining through the many windows.
“You’re painting again?” he asked with surprise, and, before she could stop him, he stepped into the room and switched on the overhead lights. A dozen paintings in various stages of completion stood on easels and stacked around the room. All of them depicted scenes of their travels together, most of them set in Angel Valley with the cabin in the background.
She groaned.
“They’re good, Helen,” he said, smiling at her with pride as he examined each of them in detail.
She leaned against the wall, not sure how much more she could take.
Rafe chuckled when he saw her depiction of Ben and Bertha. He grew serious at the image of him and Zeb standing in the stream prospecting for gold, highlighted by the magnificent mountains. He cast her a sidelong glance of awareness when he came to one painting — him standing in the snow, wearing only trousers and suspenders, his arms raised joyously to the skies. “Can I have this one?” he requested softly.
“No!” she cried, too quickly. It was her favorite painting.
His one brow rose inquiringly.
“It’s not done yet,” she prevaricated.
“Then this one?” He pointed to one of a man and woman standing before a primitive cabin. All of her paintings had a blurry, impressionistic character. The figures would be recognizable only to her and Rafe.
“All right.”
He tucked the painting under one arm and walked toward her, taking her hand. “I’m beat, Helen. I haven’t slept in two days. I came here directly from the airport. My mother’s probably catatonic with worry. I’ll come back tomorrow. We’ll settle things then.” He was leading her toward the front door, an arm looped intimately over her shoulder, her head resting on his chest.