Authors: Pamela Yaye
“Rafael, I'm not looking for anything serious.”
“Me, neither. A few more dinner dates and slow dances should suffice.”
His grin was dangerous, and so were his dark, piercing eyes.
“Next time I'm in Washington I'll look you up. How's that?”
His smile fell away. “It sounds like you're giving me the brush-off.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because you're scared of history repeating itself.”
Surprised and confused, she frowned and folded her arms.
What's
that
supposed to mean? Is Rafael trying to imply that I was sprung back in the day? That I was as desperate as Julietta?
The music faded and a hush fell over the room.
“I'd like to call the Morretti brothers up to the podium,” the DJ said.
“Hang tight, okay?” Rafael kissed her cheek, and affectionately squeezed her shoulder. “I'll be back in a couple minutes.”
The air was filled with excitement, and the whistles and applause were deafening.
“Cassandra, you're the best thing to ever happen to Stefano, and if he
ever
steps out of line, just let me know and I'll straighten him out,” Nicco said, with a rueful smile.
Demetri stole the microphone and pointed a finger at his chest. “Call me first! He's been scared of me since the tenth grade, and I
still
outweigh him by forty pounds!”
Guests hooted and hollered.
“In a few minutes we'll be going outside to watch a spectacular fireworks display, but before we do I'd like to make one last toast to the bride and groom.” Rafael raised his silver goblet in the air and spoke in a loud, clear voice. “I hope your marriage is filled with unspeakable joy and happiness, and may those of us who haven't found our soul mates be fortunate enough to find a love as strong as yours....”
Paris felt the tears coming and dabbed at her eyes with her fingertips. Rafael spoke with such passion and conviction the crowd gave him a standing ovation.
And no one cheered louder or longer than she did.
Chapter 8
“W
here are you rushing off to, pretty lady? I have big plans for you tonight.”
Paris groaned and dropped her gaze to the sleek marble floor. Glancing over her shoulder confirmed it was the groom's uncle strutting toward her with lust in his eyes. Paris was standing in the lobby of the Hotel Excelsior, had been for several minutes while wondering why the elevator was taking forever to reach the main floor. And why Stefano's uncle was pestering her.
“Where have you been? I've been looking all over for you.”
“Bye, Luigi. See you around.”
He growled and licked his dry, thin lips.
Yuck.
Paris didn't get it. How could someone as suave and well-bred as Stefano have such a sleazy uncle? Why couldn't he be more like Rafael and less of a horndog? A picture of Raphael popped into her mind, but she pushed the image aside and faced her tormentor. Stefano's uncle smelled faintly of vodka and cheap cologne. He was invading her personal space, standing too close for her liking, and she hated the way he was ogling her cleavage.
“You're working the hell out of that dress.” Grunting, he patted his protruding belly with gusto. “You look so tasty tonight I could sop you up with a biscuit!”
Ignoring him, Paris frantically jabbed the up button and tapped her foot impatiently. Cheers and laughter rang out behind her. The lobby was loud, filled with well-dressed guests and spirited conversation. Paris was enjoying her stay at the hotel with the spectacular view of the Grand Canal. She had already decided the next time she was in Venice she would definitely be paying Hotel Excelsior another visit.
Who knows? Maybe Rafael will join me.
At the thought, her heart skipped a beat. They'd had fun sightseeing yesterday and had flirted with each other throughout the wedding reception, but that didn't mean Paris wanted to rekindle their romance. She didn't.
Liar,
jeered her conscience.
You want him bad, and you know it!
“The bridal party and some of the out-of-town guests are going to The Zone nightclub, and I want you to be the lucky lady on my arm,” Luigi said, his tone full of bravado. “We have some unfinished business to discuss,
and
some dirty dancing to do.”
Paris wanted to smack the lewd grin off his face, but exercised restraint. She was anxious to return to her suite, and envisioned herself stretched out in the Jacuzzi tub, eating fruit and listening to cool jazz.
Now if I could only get rid of Stefano's uncle without having to use the can of mace in my purse, life would be golden!
“Thanks, but I'm not interested.”
“Of course you are.”
Is he deaf, or just hard of hearing?
Paris had plans to go upstairs to her plush, sixth-floor suite, and nothing was going to stop her. She'd toasted the bride and groom, smiled for so many pictures her jaw hurt and fulfilled all of her maid-of-honor duties. And although she wished she didn't have to wake up at the crack of dawn for her 7:00 a.m. flight, she decided to look on the bright side. She'd had a wonderful time in Venice with her girlfriends,
and
reconnected with Rafael.
Hopefully, he'll be at the Excel Construction charity gala in March,
she thought, excited by the prospect of seeing him again soon.
“I'll take you to the party bus. It's waiting just outside.”
Paris patted back a yawn and wrapped her arms around her shoulders. “I'm exhausted. It's been a long day and the only place I want to go is to my suite.”
“Do you want some company?”
“Do you want a knuckle sandwich?”
He popped his shirt collar. “Quit playing hard to get. You know you want me.”
Paris cracked up, laughing so hard that tears began to slide down her cheeks.
* * *
Rafael found Paris standing in the lobby, clutching her sides and laughing hysterically. He didn't like the way Luigi was ogling her, found his sneer disrespectful and struggled to control his temper. Paris looked smokin' hot in her silver gown and high heels but that didn't give Luigiâa three-time loser with a string of ex-wivesâthe right to harass her.
“What's up?” Rafael asked, unable to hide his disdain. “I hope I'm not interrupting anything.”
“You are. I'm talking to my girl, so kick rocks, Rafael.”
Paris pursed her moist, red lips. Her expression was one of pure shock, and her hands were balled into fists, like a boxer ready to fight. “Your girl? Luigi, please. You've got to be kidding, because we both know I'm
way
too much woman for you.”
A grin curved Rafael's lips.
I couldn't have said it better myself.
The elevator chimed, and several women with big hair, fake eyelashes and short dresses sashayed out. The trio gave him the once-over, then oohed like a game show studio audience. But Rafael pretended they weren't there. He kept his eyes on Paris, admiring her elegant, glamorous look. On the surface he appeared cool, like the smart, accomplished businessman he was, but inside he was a ball of nerves. And he had a hard-on the size of a two-by-four threatening to explode out of his pants.
“Good night, fellas.” Paris strode into the elevator and waved. “Happy New Year!”
As the doors started to close, Rafael slid inside the metal box, then pressed the button for the twentieth floor. “Are you okay?” he asked, gesturing to her leg. “It looks like you're favoring your left foot.”
Paris wore a sheepish smile. “I am. I love my Louboutins, but they're killing me!”
“Then take them off.”
“Good idea.” She kicked off her shoes, sighed in relief and scooped them up off the floor. “Are you going to the nightclub with the group?”
“Yeah, unfortunately. I'm just going upstairs to change.”
“Julietta finally wore you down, huh?” Paris took her key card out of her purse and shot him a coy smile. “Let me guess. She made you an offer you just couldn't refuse.”
“No, Angela and Jariah told me if I didn't come they'd create a profile for me online, and nothing scares me more than that!”
The elevator stopped on the sixth floor and the doors slid open. Rafael didn't know what came over him, but he scooped Paris up in his arms and held her close to his chest.
“Rafael, what are you doing? Put me down!”
He took a good, hard look at her, inhaling her sweet, floral scent. Her hair was swept up in a chic bun, her eyes shimmered with bronze glitter and diamond hoops dangled from her ears. Her beauty knocked the wind out of him, and it took every ounce of his self-control not to devour her lips and ravish her body. “I can't stand to see you limp.”
“I'm fine, really. I can walk.”
“Then humor me,” he said with a shrug. “I get a kick out of sweeping beautiful women off their feet, and you're a vision of loveliness tonight.”
“I'm heavier than I look. I don't want you to hurt yourself.”
“Don't worry, I got you.” Standing in the hallway, holding Paris in his arms, Rafael realized he wasn't much better than Stefano's uncle. He'd crossed the line, fell victim to his desires, but when it came to his first love his body had a mind of its own. Her smile, her walk and the poise and grace she embodied drew him to her. Rafael suspected that would never change.
“I can't believe you're carrying me to my suite,” Paris said, shaking her head in disbelief. “This reminds me of the day I twisted my ankle playing coed volleyball. You carried me all the way to the health clinic and never once complained.”
“That's what real men do. They take care of the women they love.”
Her breathing sped up and her eyes brightened.
Rafael could feel the electricity crackling between them, but kept his head
and
his body in check. He thought back on the fun they'd had tonight, laughing and joking around like they used to but he didn't want to push his luck or get smacked upside the head for trying to kiss her.
“Make a left and head straight down the hall,” she said.
As Rafael carried her along the corridor, a fragrant scent filled the air, one that made his mouth water and his stomach grumble. Though it couldn't compare to the sweetness of the woman he was holding in his arms.
“This is my suite,” she called out. “Thanks for the lift.”
Carefully, he set her down and stepped aside. “It was my pleasure.”
Paris unlocked the door, then cast a glance over her shoulder. Amusement shone in her eyes and her lips held a coy smirk. “Do you want to come inside for a drink?”
“I better not.”
Her smile fell away. “Why not? You used to love my dirty martinis.”
“You've had a lot to drink tonight, and I don't want to take advantage of you.”
“Who's to say I won't be the one taking advantage of
you?
”
His erection strained against his tuxedo pants, threatened to break free of his zipper. All his life he'd been criticized by his friends and brothers for being boring, for playing it safe, but tonight Rafael wanted to break every rule in the book. He saw the twinkle in her eyes, heard the thick huskiness of her voice and realized his first love had the same thought in mind. He'd never wanted anyone more, but refrained from quickly pulling her into his arms and crushing his mouth against hers.
There's nothing worse than a desperate man, so play it cool and don't rush her.
“Join me for a nightcap.” Meeting his gaze, Paris boldly stepped forward and draped her arms around his neck. “I can't think of a better way to ring in the New Year. Can you?”
* * *
Paris knew the kiss was coming and had been craving it since the moment she'd first spotted Rafael three days earlier. But she was still blown away by the intensity and ferocity of it. Her body hummed and throbbed, vibrated and quivered at his touch. Kissing him was like coming home, as natural as breathing. His mouth was sweet, flavored with champagne and intoxicating. One kiss and she was hooked, hungry and desperate for more.
“You taste even better than I remember,” he said, in a guttural tone.
Lips locked, their bodies pressed flat against each other, they stumbled inside the suite and collapsed against the door. His lips were made for kissing, for licking and sucking, and Paris couldn't get enough of his mouth. His hands ran through her hair, then caressed her neck and shoulders. Salsa dancing, her new vicarious pleasure, helped her stay fit, relieved stress and bolstered her confidence, but nothing made Paris feel sexier than being in Rafael's arms.
Inhaling his scent, she relished the feel of his touch and the pleasure of his kiss. His lips felt oh so good, and tasted even better.
The kiss took on a life of its own, growing more intense with each flick of his tongue. Her desire for Rafael was insatiable, more powerful than any drug. They pawed and fondled each other for what felt like hours. It was the hottest foreplay she'd ever had, and they were still dressed.
Anxious to stroke and taste his physique, she shrugged his jacket down his shoulders and let it fall to the floor. She whipped off his shirt, undid his tie and took off his pants in the blink of an eye. Baby-fine hair sprinkled his upper chest, his stomach was as flat as a surfboard and his skin was smooth to the touch. He was every woman's dream, and Paris couldn't wait to feel him inside her.
Overcome with longing, she sprayed kisses along his collarbone and over his pecs and biceps. Tasting and touching him intensified her need. Paris felt lost, out of it, as if she were in another world. It was a struggle to stay present, in the moment, when all she could think about was throwing him to the floor, climbing onto his lap and riding him until he said
her
name.
Cradling his head in her hands, she stroked his ears, his neck and his shoulders. Pressing her hips against his, she slowly massaged his erection with her pelvis. The champagne she'd had at the wedding reception brought out her boldness. Paris reached between Rafael's legs and seized his length. He was well-endowed, long and thick, and as she worked her fingers up and down his shaft her nipples hardened under her dress.
Rafael's cell phone rang, and Paris froze. She feared their intimate party for two was about to end abruptly and imagined herself tossing his clothes out the balcony window to prevent him from leaving.
“Aren't you going to answer your phone?”
“Ignore it,” he said, flashing a grin. “It's just Nicco.”
Paris felt a twinge of guilt and wondered if Rafael was having second thoughts about being with her. Her doubts grew and her desire fizzled. “You're supposed to be going clubbing with your brothers tonight. Won't they be disappointed if you blow them off?”
“Don't know. Don't care.”
“Of course you do,” she argued. “They're your family.”
“True, but you're the sexiest woman in Venice and I'd rather be here with you than in a smoky nightclub with my brothers and their fiancées.”
“I'm flattered.”
Rafael nipped at her earlobe and cupped her ass in his hands. “I aim to please.”
His low raspy voice aroused her, causing her breath to catch on a moan.
“This dress is in my way,” he grumbled. “It needs to go.
Now.
”
Paris felt him fumbling for the zipper of her gown and gasped when she heard the fabric ripping. “Rafael, stop!” she shrieked, bracing her hands against his muscled chest. “This is a Badgley Mischka gown, and it cost five grand!”
“And?” Moonlight cast a faint glow inside the suite and illuminated the amused expression on his lean, chiseled face. “I can afford to buy you the entire collection, and anything else your heart desires. You know that.”
“When did you get so smug?”
He pinned her hands high above her head. “When you lured me inside your suite.”