The Fall of Shane MacKade by Nora Roberts Page B

totally unprecedented. He believed desire was as natural as breathing, and should cause no more discomfort than the easy exhaling of air.
    And yet he ached, fiercely ached.
    â€œYou… Let me by,” she managed.
    â€œWhen I’m ready. I’m waiting for your hypothesis—or would it be a conclusion now? I’m curious, Rebecca. How are you going to react the next time I kiss you? And which one of you am I going to find when I take you to bed?”
    She didn’t know—and wasn’t sure she could tell him if she did. She was saved from what she was sure would have been abject humiliation when Rafe swung through the kitchen door.
    He stopped, summed up the situation in a glance and scowled at his brother. “For God’s sake, Shane.”
    â€œGet out.”
    â€œIt’s my damn house,” Rafe shot back.
    â€œThen we’ll get out.” He snagged Rebecca’s arm and took two strides before panic gave her the strength to yank away.
    â€œNo.” It was all she said as she walked past both men and out of the kitchen.
    â€œWhat the hell’s wrong with you?” Rafe demanded. “You had her pinned up against the damn stove. She was white as a sheet. Since when have you gotten off on scaring women?”
    â€œI didn’t scare her.”
    But he realized abruptly that he had, and that for a few moments he hadn’t cared that he had. In fact, he’d been hotly thrilled that he could. That was new for him, and shaming.
    â€œI didn’t mean to. It got out of hand.” Frustrated, hedragged his unsteady fingers through his hair. “Hell, I got out of hand.”
    â€œMaybe you’d better keep your distance until you can handle yourself.”
    â€œYeah, maybe I’d better.”
    Because he’d been expecting an argument, Rafe’s brows drew together. He noted now that Shane was just about as pale as Rebecca had been. “You okay?”
    â€œI don’t know.” Baffled, Shane shook his head. “She’s the damnedest woman,” he muttered. “The damnedest woman.”

Chapter 5
    A s she was a meticulous woman, it took Rebecca hours to set her equipment to her specifications. There were sensors, cameras, recorders, computers, monitors. Cassie had been able to give her one of the larger suites for a couple of days, and she tried to be grateful for it. Yet it was confining not to be able to set up a camera or two on the first floor.
    She doubted any of the other guests would welcome one in the rooms they slept in.
    Still, she had space, and the thrill of occupying what had been Charles Barlow’s room. The windows afforded a lovely view of the sloping front lawn, the late-summer flowers, the wild tiger lilies lining the edge of the road, and the town itself. She imagined the master of the house would have enjoyed looking out, studying the rooftops and chimneys of the houses and shops, the quiet stream of traffic.
    Everything she’d read about Charles Barlow indicated that he had been the kind of man who would consider it his right, even his duty, to look down on lesser men.
    She wished she could feel him here, his power, even his cruelty. But there was nothing but a charming set of rooms, crowded now with the technology she’d brought with her.
    It was frustrating. She was positive every one of the MacKades had experienced something in this house, had been touched by what lingered there. Why couldn’t she?
    Her hope was that science would aid her, as it always had. She’d purchased the very best equipment suited to a one-person operation, and shrugged off the expense. Some women, she mused, bought shoes or jewelry. She bought machines.
    All right, perhaps she was buying more in the shoes-and-jewelry line these days. Money had never been a problem, and didn’t look to be one in the foreseeable future. In any case, she was entitled to her hobby, Rebecca told herself as she dipped her hands in her