Free Midnight Sins by Lora Leigh

always teased back before.
    She was drawing away from him because she had no
    idea how to be close to him without wanting him,
    needing him; without taking everything she knew he
    would be willing to give her. All she had to do was
    reach out for it. Reach out for him.
    Oh God, it hurt so bad to pull away from the
    warmth of his arms, to see that flash of hurt and anger
    brighten his eyes. It was like tearing a chunk of her
    soul out of her body. And here she thought she had
    already lost her soul.
    She hated how weak she was, and she hated
    that she had no idea how to take that risk again and
    survive it. She had lost too many people, too many
    things in her life that she had loved. Her mother, her
    father, or rather accepting he had no desire to be her
    father. And her child.
    The thought of allowing herself to weaken that far,
    to allow his touch again terrified her. The chances of
    losing Rafe were incredibly high. The chance of
    standing and watching as his body was lowered into
    the ground increased every day that he was in Corbin
    County.
    So she stepped back. Her fingers clutched the
    edge of her purse as she gazed up at him in regret.
    “I just wanted to say hello,” she said softly. “And
    to tell you how sorry I am.”
    His expression closed, when he saw her
    deliberately put distance between them. His eyes
    burned with anger.
    “You shouldn’t have wasted your time, Cami,” he
    drawled. “Run on home now, before I show you exactly
    how I make little girls like yourself admit that you know
    me a hell of a better than you’re pretending.”
    “I’ve never pretended Rafe,” she told him,
    refusing to hide, refusing to back down. “I’ve simply
    learned how to accept reality.”
    “Whose reality?” he snorted. “The truth or the
    reality the barons attempt to force feed everyone?”
    It was better that he was angry, she told herself.
    So much better that he hate her. Because any other
    emotion would just cause her to break the promise
    she had made to herself. The promise that she would
    never risk her soul again to the extent that simply
    surviving seemed an insurmountable obstacle.
    And the vow that he would never know what they
    had both lost. That he would never, ever know exactly
    how it had destroyed her.
    “Good-bye, Rafer,” she said softly. “Take care.”
    He didn’t speak as she turned and walked away,
    but she could feel his gaze on her back. It was like a
    caress. A dominant, fiery stroke of his hand along her
    body. A phantom reminder of everything she couldn’t
    have. Of everything she now denied herself.
    CHAPTER 3
    Eighteen months later
    It was colder than a witch’s tit. The temperature
    hovered just below zero with the windchill and a hard
    western wind blew across the mountains with a
    banshee’s moan. The blizzard had become a
    whiteout, with the rapidly falling fluff piling fast and
    hard against the house in heavy pristine drifts.
    The weatherman said to expect a blizzard, and
    he hadn’t been far off track. Problem was, this looked
    li ke blizzards combined. The previous year’s mild
    winter was cashing in interest during this late-season
    storm. He was snowed in on a Saturday night watching
    the snow pile up and wondering what the hell he was
    doing back in Corbin County. And he was doing it just
    after yet another funeral. Just after the death of
    another man who tried to stand against his
    grandfather, Marshall Roberts, and his two business
    partners. The group everyone called the barons. He
    was half-drunk, damned morose, and fighting
    nightmares from a past he couldn’t seem to shake.
    And son of a bitch if he wasn’t so fucking horny for
    one damned woman that he could barely stand it. His
    dick was iron hard, his balls throbbed. They were so
    tight and the need to touch her was almost torture.
    So it wasn’t exactly hard for Rafer Callahan to
    convince himself that the woman standing on his
    doorstep couldn’t be real.
    Could she?
    After all, why would this