Authors: Pamela Yaye
“I do. I think she's great, but I hate when you blab to her about my personal life.”
Nicco scoffed. “What personal life? You don't have one. All you ever do is work!”
Stroking his own jaw, Demetri slanted his head as if deep in thought. “Who knows? Maybe now that he's reconnected with Paris that will change.”
“You think?”
“Didn't you see them out on the dance floor last night?” Demetri wore a teasing smile and bumped Rafael's arm with his elbow. “You were gazing at her like a love-struck fool, and when Luigi told me you stole Paris away from him, I knew you had it bad.”
“Luigi's a sleazeball,” Rafael argued.
Nicco cocked a thick eyebrow. “And you're the perfect man for her, right?”
Yeah, bro, as a matter of fact I am.
“There's my handsome husband-to-be....” Angela excitedly yelled.
Rafael turned, saw Angela and Jariah approaching the booth and smiled. They were both strong, independent women who weren't afraid to speak their minds. He was proud of his brothers for snagging such incredible partners.
“Hola!”
Jariah sat down beside Nicco and gave him a peck on the lips. “How is my baby doing this morning?”
“Great, now that you're here.”
“Good answer!” she teased.
Everyone at the table laughed.
Rafael looked at his brothers, marveling at the admiration in their eyes. He recognized then what was missing from his own life: love. He wanted what Demetri and Nicco had. And secretly hoped to meet someone who'd love him unconditionally, a woman who didn't give a damn about his wealth and popularity. He'd been in love way back when in college, but he hadn't met anyone in the past fifteen years who stoked his fire the way Paris St. Clair did. She was in a league of her own, unlike anyone he'd ever met, and making love to her last night had only increased his desire for her, his insatiable hunger.
“I miss Ava, but this is turning out to be one hell of a weekend!” Jariah said with a laugh. “I can't remember the last time I had this much fun, and I owe it all to you, baby....”
Rafael took out his wallet, dropped two hundred euros on the table and got to his feet. It was time to go. His brothers and their girlfriends were kissing and hugging like teenagers out on a double date, and he felt like a third wheel. As always, the conversation would inevitably turn to wedding venues, flower arrangements and exotic honeymoon destinations. Rafael would rather go upstairs to his empty suite than listen to the couples discuss their upcoming summer nuptials.
“I'm going upstairs to pack,” he said. “I'll see you guys later.”
Jariah touched his forearm. “Don't go. We want to hear all about you and Paris.”
Me and Paris? There's nothing to tell.
“Paris is an old friend and nothing more.”
“Really?” Angela raised a thin, perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “You guys looked awfully cozy last night at the wedding reception....”
Rafael raised a finger in the air. “It was just a dance or two. It didn't mean anything.”
“Are you sure? Because my instincts are telling me there's definitely a story here.”
Demetri made his eyes big and wide. “Run, bro! She's on to you!”
Everyone at the table cracked up. The waiter arrived and loaded the empty plates and utensils on his silver trolley. Deciding to make a quick getaway, Rafael grabbed his cell phone and exited the hotel restaurant before Demetri's fiancéeâa popular TV news reporter with a knack for uncovering the truthâcould grill him about his one-night stand.
Chapter 10
P
aris should have been on cloud nine. Her meeting with Ebony Garrett, the gregarious CEO of the multimillion-dollar franchise Discreet Boutiques, had gone extremely well. If everything went according to plan, Excel Construction would be building ten more stores next year. And that wasn't all. They had been voted most improved business by the Better Business Bureau.
When her father had called an hour after her meeting with the exciting news, her staff had danced around the conference room, cheering, shrieking and laughing, but all Paris could muster was a weak smile. Hours later, she still couldn't shake her melancholy mood.
Up to her neck in lavender-scented bubbles, she sat in her bathtub, sipping wine and listening to music. Jet lag was kicking her butt, and she had more aches and pains than a boxer. More tired than she could ever remember being, she rested her head against the rim and allowed the slow, sensuous love song to soothe her troubled mind.
What's the matter with me? Why do I feel so empty inside?
Because you left Rafael without saying goodbye,
her conscience reminded her.
Guilt tormented her.
He must think the worst of me.
At the time, leaving Rafael in her suite had seemed like a good idea. He was tired and sleeping so soundly in her bed. But when she arrived at the airport and saw all the lovey-dovey couples in the first-class lounge, Paris had felt like the scum of the earth. And when she arrived in Washington next Friday she planned to tell him just that.
If
she could even muster the courage to face him.
They'd had wild, passionate sex all night long. Just thinking about how she'd begged and moaned and screamed his name made her cheeks burn with embarrassment. Paris closed her eyes to stop the explicit images that flashed in her mind, but to no avail. All day long she'd thought of him and nothing else. She'd always had a weakness for tall, dark-haired guys, and her first love was still the sexiest piece of eye candy she'd ever seen.
And a sensuous lover.
His kisses, caresses and passion were unmatched, unlike anything she'd ever experienced. He'd explored her body, ravished every curve and slope, and just when Paris thought she'd had enough he'd given her more. They'd made love on the couch, in the shower and on the bedâthree earth-shattering timesâbut Paris still couldn't believe it. If not for the hickeys on her neck and her sore thighs, she would have sworn she imagined the whole thing.
“Who is R.M., and why did he send you three-dozen roses?”
Startled, Paris shot up in the tub. Standing in the doorway, holding a glass vase filled with flowers, was her sister, Kennedy. Though the mother of three looked stylish in a belted sweater, leggings and ankle boots, Paris couldn't help but notice the dark circles under her eyes, and her lifeless brown skin.
“Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” Paris rested a hand on her chest and exhaled a deep breath. Her pulse pounded in her ears. “Don't sneak up on me like that. You scared me half to death.”
“Sorry, sis. I was so anxious to see you I wasn't thinking.”
Paris smiled for the first time all day. It didn't matter how stressful things were or how glum she felt, her sister always found a way to cheer her up. She was a petite powerhouse, and one of the strongest, most fearless women Paris knew. Kennedy had been her rock ever since their mother died, and she loved her sister more than anything in the world.
“Good thing I stopped by when I did or the delivery guy would have left with your pretty flowers.” Kennedy closed her eyes and buried her nose in the oversize vase. “They smell divine. Where do you want me to put them?”
It was the largest flower arrangement Paris had ever seen. The colorful, long-stemmed roses flooded the room with their fragrant scent. “It doesn't matter. Anywhere is fine.”
Kennedy set the vase down on the counter, plucked the card out of the plastic holder and read it out loud. “âWe'll always have Venice, R.M.' What does that mean?” Her eyes tripled in size and she cupped a hand over her mouth. “OMG, you met someone at Cassandra's wedding, didn't you!”
“Scream louder. I don't think the family across the street heard you.”
“Tell me who R.M. is or I'll unfriend you on Facebook.”
Paris splashed water at her sister and cracked up when she shrieked like a kid on a roller coaster. She trusted Kennedy wholeheartedly, and knew she'd never betray her, but didn't feel comfortable talking about her one-night stand in Venice.
“I'm waiting,” her sister trilled in a singsong voice.
Paris picked up her wineglass, and took a sip. “His name is Rafael Morretti.”
“And,” she pressed.
“And that's it. You wanted to know who R.M. was and I told you, so let it go.”
Kennedy crossed her legs and propped a hand under her chin. “What's he like?”
He's smart, sweet, chivalrous and he has the sexiest eyes I've ever seen.
“That depends on who you ask,” she said vaguely, pretending to inspect her manicure.
“Wow, you're a real wealth of information.”
Hoping her sister would move on to something else, Paris rolled her eyes to the ceiling.
“Why did he send you flowers?”
“Beats me.”
“You're lying, and I'm going to find out why.” Kennedy took her cell phone out of her pocket, slid her index finger across the screen and typed furiously. “Since you won't answer any of my questions, I'll just have to do some digging of my own.”
“Fine.”
Kennedy stuck out her tongue. “Bite me!”
Paris grabbed her towel off the hook, stepped out of the bathtub and swathed it around her body. “I'm going to get dressed,” she said, picking up the flower arrangement as she exited the bathroom. “When you're finished playing detective, meet me downstairs.”
Paris was in her kitchen, admiring the roses Rafael had sent her, when she heard Kennedy scream. High heels clacked on the hardwood floor, and the smell of hair spray tickled her nose.
“OMG! I think I'm in love!”
Holding up her cell phone, her sister marched over to the breakfast bar. All the blood in Paris's body shot straight to her core. A photograph of Rafael, dressed to kill in a sleek, charcoal-gray suit, was on the phone screen. Seeing his handsome face and how dreamy he looked made her panties instantly wet.
Paris dragged her gaze away from the cell phone, threw open the pantry door and searched the shelves for something quick to make for dinner.
“This is Rafael Morretti?”
All she could do was nod. Her sister had the discerning nature of a private investigator. If Paris wanted to survive their conversation, she had to keep her mouth shut, her emotions in check and her horny body under control.
That's easier said than done,
her conscience pointed out.
You're so weak for Rafael your body's still on fire from last night!
“He's a hottie,” Kennedy declared, leaning against the granite countertop. “And you can tell by his relaxed posture and smoldering gaze that he can work it between the sheets.”
Girl, you have no idea.
“I bet he's hiding a gorgeous physique under that suit....”
Broad shoulders, a washboard stomach and eight delicious inches, but who's counting?
“Rafael Morretti deserves to be the Sexiest Man Alive!”
Kennedy licked her lips as if she were about to devour a plate of baby back ribs, and Paris couldn't resist poking fun at her. “Damn, girl, sometimes you're worse than a teenager! Have you forgotten that you're a Sunday school teacher and a PTA president?”
A smirk lit her almond-brown eyes. “I'm married, not dead! Besides, there's nothing wrong with looking.”
“Does Anthony get a free pass to drool over beautiful women online, too?”
“Nope, and if I catch him, that's his ass!”
The sisters laughed and exchanged high fives.
“It says here that Rafael lives in Washington,” Kennedy said, gesturing to her cell phone. “How did you guys meet?”
Paris thought for a moment, decided it couldn't hurt to tell her sister the truth, and closed the pantry door. “Rafael and I dated when we were freshmen at University of Washington, and I ran into him at Cassandra and Stefano's wedding.”
“No way!”
Kennedy slanted her head as if deep in thought. “I don't remember you ever dating anyone named Rafael.”
“You were too busy hanging out with your friends to care.”
“Ouch. That's a low blow.”
Feeling contrite, Paris linked arms with her sister. “We weren't close back then, and whenever I tried to talk to you about school or boys, you ignored me.”
“I was pretty selfish back then, huh?”
“Still are,” she quipped, laughing.
“On paper Rafael seems like a great catch, but is he a nice guy?”
“Kennedy, don't be silly. Nice guys don't exist.”
“Of course they do, and if Rafael wasn't a good guy he wouldn't have sent you beautiful flowers.” Kennedy squeezed her forearm, and spoke in a sympathetic tone. “You can't paint all men with the same brush just because you had one bad experience....”
Yeah, one bad experience that almost killed me.
“After Mom passed, I lost my reason for living, but then I met Anthony and fell head over heels in love.” Kennedy's eyes twinkled and a dreamy expression came over her face. “And once I became a mother I realized there was no greater joy than having a child.”
“Then why aren't you at home with your kids now?” Paris said with a laugh.
Her smile vanished. “I had to get out of there. Anthony's driving me crazy.”
“Is everything okay?”
Kennedy sat down at the kitchen table and dropped her face in her hands. Seconds passed before she spoke, and when she did her voice was grave. “Anthony lost his job.”
“Oh, no, that's terrible. How's he holding up?”
“Not good. He's applied to tons of other computer software firms, but hasn't heard anything yet.”
Paris rubbed her sister's back and told her not to worry. Listening to her talk about the strain in her marriage and the stress she was under at her public relations job, broke her heart. Paris wanted to do something to help, but what? The answer came to her in a flash. “Call Dad,” she said. “He'll know what to do. He always does.”
Kennedy shook her head so hard her honey-blond curls tumbled around her face. “No way. I talk to that man once every year during the holidays, and that's more than enough.”
“Talk to him,” Paris repeated. “He can give Anthony a job.”
“No, thanks.”
“Kennedy, you're being unreasonable. Think about your family, the kidsâ”
Her eyes narrowed and the corners of her mouth twitched. “I don't expect you to understand. You're the golden child. You have no idea how mean and insensitive Dad can be.”
Paris dropped her hands to her sides. Her sister's icy tone put her on edge. Paris told herself to stay calm, but it was a struggle to keep her temper in check when all she wanted to do was scream. “The golden child? What's that supposed to mean?”
“You're his favorite. Always have been, always will be.”
“No, I'm not. Dad loves us all the same.”
“As if!” Kennedy gave a bitter laugh. “In Dad's eyes Oliver and I are screwups. You went to college, graduated with honors and became his right-hand man. Thanks to you, Excel Construction has grown by leaps and bounds the past ten years.”
What the hell? How did our lighthearted conversation about love and relationships turn so ugly, so quick?
Insulted, and confused by her sister's rant, Paris lashed back in self-defense. “Don't blame me for the mistakes you've made,” she retorted. The anger in her voice ricocheted around the kitchen walls. “No one told you to get pregnant and drop out of college your sophomore year. That was your choice.”
“At least I have a backbone and can think for myself.”
Shocked by the verbal slap, Paris hitched a hand to her hip and glared at her sister.
“Unlike me,” she continued, her voice filled with disgust, “you always do exactly what Dad says, and he rewards you handsomely for your obedience.”
Paris wanted fight back, but shrugged off the criticism. “That's not true.”
“Yes, it is. You quit cosmetology school because Dad said doing hair and makeup was beneath you. You drive a Lexus because that's the only car
he
likes, and when he tells you to jump you ask, âHow high?'”
“Mom's gone,” Paris croaked, her throat suddenly dry and sore. “He's all we have left.”
“No, he's all
you
have left. I have my husband and my children. I don't need Dad.” Grumbling under her breath, Kennedy unzipped her leather handbag and took out a red heart-shaped envelope. “I didn't come over here to argue with you about Dad. I came to give you this.”
“What is it?” Paris asked, taking the envelope from her sister's outstretched hand.
“Anthony and I are throwing an intimate soiree for our family and friends at The Hyatt to celebrate our anniversary.” She beamed from ear to ear. “A lot of people didn't think we'd last six months let alone a strong sixteen years.”
“Did you mail an invitation to Dad?”
“No, why would I? He's always been horrible to Anthony, and he shows zero interest in our kids. He sends a check every year for their birthdays, but it takes more than money and expensive gifts to be a good grandfather.”
“Kennedy, don't be so hard on him. He's tryingâ”
“Trying, my ass.”
Sick of arguing, Paris shook her head and exhaled a deep breath.
“Invite Rafael to be your date for the party,” Kennedy said, her tone much warmer than before. “I'd love to meet him.”