What about Elliott? Helen immediately discarded her engagement as a deterrent. No matter what happened — or didn’t happen — with Rafe, Helen was not going to marry Elliott. She knew now that she didn’t love him, even though he was a good man. She couldn’t stop dreaming of marriage and a stable home and children, but they would mean nothing in a loveless marriage.
Control? I have no control over Rafe, or over myself when he gets too close. Helen didn’t like feeling so helpless. She’d built a life for herself based on logic over emotion. If she allowed herself to unravel this one time — this one night — would she be able to put herself back in order again? Probably not. Still… What would it be like to really lose control with a man? With Rafe? She closed her eyes for a second at the overwhelming tide of want that flooded her at that alluring possibility.
I don’t even like him. Well, that wasn’t quite true. The more she got to know Rafe, the more she realized she didn’t know.
Love. That was the big element here, Helen concluded. What if she fell in love with Rafe? What if she already loved him? Now, that was a dangerous prospect. They had no future. They were too different — their ideals, their backgrounds, their dreams.
He doesn’t want children, A one-night fling, that’s all it would be. Would that be enough? Of course not. But what was the alternative? Not knowing. Never experiencing. Taking no risks.
With a tinkling laugh of surrender, Helen rose and shook out the blankets, laying them near the fire. Later, she would move the saddles closer for pillows.
Pensively, she began to undo the buttons down the front of her gown, from neck to stomach.
“Helen.” Her name came off Rafe’s tongue in a rasp, like a dark, smoky plea.
She glanced up and saw him leaning against the cave entrance, watching her with a feral expression on his face.
“Don’t stop.” He folded his arms across his chest, waiting. His rampart erection gave visual evidence of his desire for her. His skin was dark everywhere, a reminder of his Hispanic heritage. Without the modern trappings of his clothing, he looked just like the wild, desperate bandit he was accused of being. A desperado.
Rafe’s heart was beating like a jackhammer. Hot breath burned his lungs. This was the moment he’d been awaiting for so long. His dream. “Don’t stop,” he repeated in a voice much harsher than he’d intended.
Helen stood frozen, like a frightened deer, her brown eyes wide. Did she view him as the hunter? A threat?
Calm down, calm down, he told himself, taking deep breaths. Put on the brakes. You’ll scare her with your raging hunger.
“Will you strip for me, Helen?” he asked gently. “Real slow.”
She nodded hesitantly and undid another button. Eight more to go.
“Make it last, baby. Make me want you so bad.”
Another button. This one at chest level. The fabric of her green gown parted, giving a glimpse of creamy white skin and a scattering of freckles.
He felt as if he would explode if he didn’t touch her soon. Instead, he clenched his fists. “How do you feel?”
“Wanton.” Another button.
Wanton?
The inside curve of her breasts was exposed. A shudder ran through him.
She waited.
“Feel your skin. Is it hot?”
Refusing to break eye contact with him, she popped another button, then pressed the fingertips of both hands against her bare abdomen. “Scorching.”
He gave out a short laugh of delight. Helen was losing her shyness. Good.
She undid two more buttons hastily and peered up at him questioningly.
“Do you know what I want, Helen?”
She smiled ruefully. “Oh, yes.”
He smiled back. “Not just that, babe. No, I want more… much more.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“Honey, I want to do things to you that no man has ever done. I want to make you feel things you’ve never felt before.”
“I already feel things I’ve never felt before,” she confessed. “I’m not a virgin, Rafe, but I feel like…” She fought for words. “I feel like… well… this is the first time.”