Secrets and Sins: Raphael: A Secrets and Sins novel (Entangled Ignite) (17 page)

“I figured you just didn’t want to talk to me. So I did what any sane, rational man would do after a woman makes it pretty clear she wants nothing to do with him… I parked outside your brother’s office and followed him home. Since according to your mother you weren’t at their home, his place was the next obvious choice. A couple of hours of waiting later, I saw you leave with Ethan and another man. You seemed okay and in good hands, so I left.”

“Probably Jason, Ethan’s partner,” she murmured, fascinated by his story. She shook her head, surprise continuing to careen through her at breakneck speed. “Mother never said a word.”

He’d tried to contact her. He hadn’t chalked her up to an irrelevant one-night stand or tried to distance himself from her and the horrible publicity. What would’ve happened if she’d answered the phone? Would they have started seeing each other? Would he have come to care about her? Would he have accepted her baby as his?

She shook her head. What-ifs and “should’ve/could’ve/would’ves” were pointless and added unnecessary pain. She hadn’t received his call. He didn’t trust her or believe he fathered their child. And he might want her, but he wasn’t declaring vows of love. Not even close. When this was over—when this Tag person was caught—he would watch her pack her bags and walk away. Best she remember that and save the happily-ever-after dreams for the romance novels.

“I’m not surprised.” He stood and crossed the room, halting in front of the large built-in refrigerator at the other end of the room. Moments later, he offered her a cold bottle of water.

“Thank you.” She twisted the cap off and sipped. And waited. When the liquid didn’t upset her stomach, she downed another, healthier gulp.

“So today was the first time you’ve talked to her in a while?” he asked, dropping down on the edge of the club chair. His large frame consumed half of the long cushion.

“Yes. Months.” She curled her feet closer to her body because, frankly, she didn’t trust herself not to straighten her legs and place them in his lap as if they were a real couple. “She didn’t have my cell number until Ethan gave it to her Sunday night when I was in the hospital. And she apparently didn’t waste any time calling Karen Wells and telling her about the baby.” Which, of course, had led to the ugly confrontation at the restaurant earlier in the day. Her stomach clenched, and heat flashed up her neck and into her face at the memory of it. “She assumed Gavin was the father and thought Karen would be thrilled. God, she couldn’t have been further from the truth.”

“Yeah, Ethan told me about what happened. I’m sorry you had to sit through that.” He scowled. “He should’ve shut her down.”

“He tried,” she said quickly, defending her brother. “But I told him to let it go. Going back and forth with her wouldn’t have solved anything besides creating more of a scene.”

“She counted on your manners, Greer. Both yours and Ethan’s. Fortunately”—he grinned, and unlike his earlier smile, this one was mean, predatory,—“I don’t have the same constraints. Did you know Aubrey Chandler was pregnant?”

“No.”

He silently studied her, and she forced herself to face his scrutiny when she yearned to duck and avoid the scalpel-sharp stare. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“That you were hurt.” She closed her eyes, tried to block out the all-knowing voice…the tenderness in it. “That even now Gavin has wounded you.”

She drew in a shaky breath, lifted her lashes. The flippant denial trembled on the tip of her tongue. But “God, he did,” came out.

“Baby,” he rumbled.

“It’s stupid, right?” She shook her head. “I didn’t even love him the way a woman should when she’s about to pledge the rest of her life and body to a man. The sex—before our engagement—was more dutiful than mind-blowing. And I broke off the engagement, yet… I’m so damn hurt.”

“It’s not stupid, Greer,” he said in the gentlest voice he’d ever used with her. As if he were afraid she would shatter like finespun glass. “You were betrayed by someone you trusted.”

“I was sitting there as Karen unloaded all over me about Aubrey being the love of Gavin’s life, of how he’d found happiness in his last days. And all I wanted to do was yell at her to shut up. Just shut the. Hell. Up. She didn’t know him. Even if he did love Aubrey…”

She stared down at her clenched fists.

“I’d caught him with her. Walked in on them together in his bed. He humiliated me. We hadn’t even walked down the aisle yet, and he was already cheating, lying. I suddenly had a clear picture of what my life would look like with him. Dinners for one at a lonely dining table. Social events and parties where we pretended to be the happy couple, while on either side of the room women he’d slept with cast smug looks in my direction. Long business trips. Explanations to our future children about why Daddy wasn’t home at night or missed baseball games or ballet recitals. As I stood in Gavin’s living room waiting for him to drag on his robe and meet me there, I stared into the mirror on the wall and saw my mother looking back at me. In that moment, I stood at a crossroads, and I had to make a choice. Forgive and pretend to forget about Gavin’s indiscretion and go forward with the wedding, condemning myself to become the woman I vowed I would be nothing like. Or break off the engagement, face the condemnation of my family and friends, but be able to look at myself, to love myself. So I chose me.”

She scrubbed her palms over her face, spilled her secret fear to Raphael, and watched as John McClane set a trail of gasoline leading to a fleeing plane on fire on the television screen.

“Still, Gavin and I had been friends for years. He knew me, accepted me. Yes, the cheating and deception hurt, but we could’ve walked away from each other. And maybe sometime in the future, we might have even been able to be friends again. But he went behind my back to my father and told him he and I could work it out. That I had overreacted, and he still loved me. I had agreed to marry Gavin believing at least he wanted me for myself, not my father’s portfolio or connections. In the end, he proved just how wrong and naive I was.”

Gentle fingers touched her chin, turned her face until she stared into navy eyes so dark they almost appeared black. He’d moved so quietly she hadn’t noticed, but now his hip braced her outer thigh and his thumb brushed over her cheekbone.

“Go ahead,” he urged. “Finish it.”

“For some inane reason, I thought Dad might actually have my back. For one moment of blinding stupidity, I hoped he would rip Gavin a new one for betraying his little girl, for bruising her heart. Instead he blamed me. I can still see the disgust in his eyes when I walked into the house. I was nothing more than a business transaction to him—to both of them.”

Her father’s reaction had shredded her hope and relegated it back to the land of unicorns and fairies where it belonged. And days later when he’d ordered her out of his life and home permanently, he’d destroyed whatever remnants of familial connection might have still existed.

“Greer, they were the disappointments, not you. When your father brought you into this world, he assumed the God-given responsibility to care for you, to protect you, to be your first knight in shining armor. Being a father…” He paused, inhaled an audible breath, and his hold on her face tightened the slightest bit. “Being a father,” he continued, his tone hoarse, “is more than bringing in money to the house or putting a roof over his family’s head. It’s being there to kiss scraped knees, to chase away monsters in the closet with a broom, to proudly post the honor roll awards on the refrigerator with magnets. To make his family feel safe. He is supposed to
father
, not dole out money like a bank account. Any ATM can do that.”

He leaned forward, pressed his lips to her forehead, the bridge of her nose, and finally, her mouth. The kiss didn’t resemble the tangle of lips and tongues from the night before. This delicate press contained none of the greed and heat from the night before. This kiss was soft, comforting, affirming.

“He failed, baby. Both him and your mother. He should’ve been the example of the man who would one day treasure and love you, treat you like the princess you are. And she should’ve exhibited what it looks like to demand respect, to love yourself, and to have higher esteem then your bra size and bank account. Instead, he left you wide open for a man just like him, and she didn’t protect you. And still somehow you managed to become a beautiful, self-sufficient, strong, intelligent woman who doesn’t just take people’s shit. That doesn’t make you unworthy or damaged. It makes you a survivor. And for the record?” He swept his thumb over her bottom lip, and a corner of his mouth curled. “Survivors are hot as hell.”

The laughter caught her by surprise—especially since it burst free from her. And from the gleam in Raphael’s gaze, she suspected that had been his intent.

“Thank you, Raphael.” He’d removed his hand from her so she reached for him. Hesitated. Her fingers hovered over his tattooed arm, and his eyes narrowed on the slightly trembling digits before switching to her face. Slowly, she touched him. The muscles under his inked skin flexed, then relaxed, and her heart thumped hard. He was so incredibly beautiful. Walking art. Breathing passion. Living strength. She traced the bulge of his biceps, unyielding even in repose.

“Why do you call me ‘Raphael’?” he asked. “Why not Rafe?”

“I figured only people closest to you were allowed to.” She followed the bold outline of an ornate Celtic symbol of a tree, keeping her attention focused on her fingers as if there would be a test later. “We’re not exactly friends.”

“No,” he agreed. “I don’t usually fuck my friends.”

Her gaze jerked up to meet his. The faint, lazy half smile remained in place, but his hooded stare burned with the same fire setting her skin ablaze where they touched—his hip against her thigh, his arm underneath her fingers. A hot hunger that couldn’t be satisfied by food simmered in her belly, pulsed in her sex. Everything tingled—her nipples, her palms, the dip at the base of her spine. Hell, even the soles of her bare feet.

“But I’m willing to make an exception in your case.”

Chapter Nineteen

Greer blinked, momentarily speechless.

Did Rafe mean, no, they weren’t friends but he would permit her to call him by his shortened name? Or was he hinting, yes, they were friends, a friend he had sex with? She parted her lips to ask…but then he grasped her hand, interlaced their fingers. All questions, explanations—hell, thoughts—were scattered as he straddled the long cushion, and drew her legs over his thighs. Pressing their locked hands to the back of the chair above their heads, he nabbed her other hand and repeated the movement. The position left her open, vulnerable, her spine slightly arched with her breasts pushing against the thin cotton robe. The lapels draped over either side of her spread thighs, and the cool air of the basement teased her skin, another caress added to the sensory overload.

He leaned forward, and the thick, long waves of his hair tickled her cheeks; his breath teased her lips as if taunting her with the kiss she needed…craved. Her chest rose and fell on her own soft pants. Just a little while ago she’d been prepared to return to her room in order to avoid just this. But now—now she longed for his tongue on her skin, his hands in her hair, his cock penetrating her, filling her. Completing her.

His head dipped. His mouth covered hers, taking but giving at the same time. He pushed his tongue between her lips, licking, sucking, inviting her to do the same. She’d noticed that about him first in his car and again last night. He
enjoyed
sex. Took delight in it. From the lazy thrust of his tongue to his deep rumble of pleasure, he seemed to savor every taste, every stroke, every sound. He didn’t hurry or skip right to the intercourse. Didn’t become impatient or frustrated.

He was a lover.

Her first.

He loosed her hands and tunneled his fingers through her hair, cradling her head and tilting it for a deeper penetration. He consumed her, lapping and tasting as if she were a heady treat, and he had an insatiable sweet tooth. She clutched his back, tugging him closer for more. Only he did this to her—made her toss all inhibition and restraint aside. With him, she became this earthly, sexual creature, one focused solely on pleasure. But only with him.

With a groan, he dragged his mouth over her jaw and down her neck. His fingers tightened in her hair, tugging her head back. She whimpered, the tiny bite to her scalp another erotic sensation in a landslide of them. He raked his teeth down the tendon in her throat, retracing the path with his tongue. Another soft cry escaped her, and she dug her fingernails into his skin through his T-shirt. Suddenly, she wanted the clothing off. Wanted to have his tight, golden skin under her hands. Wanted to be flesh to flesh.

Impatient, she grasped the hem of his shirt and jerked it up. He accommodated her by leaning back and, brushing her hands aside, reached behind him and grabbed the material. In seconds, the top was over his head and tossed to the floor.

“Oh, God,” she breathed, awed, momentarily distracted by the seemingly endless stretch of painted skin. She didn’t know whether to stare or touch. So she compromised and did both. Reverently, she slid her palms up his ridged abdomen, over his chest and shoulders, and down his sculpted arms. Stroking him possessed the illicit pleasure of touching a Rembrandt or Picasso. Naughty, doing something she shouldn’t, but irresistible. “You’re beautiful,” she murmured.

Leaning forward, she opened her mouth over his left pectoral muscle, tracing the claw of the highly stylized dragon that started at his hip, unfurled over his stomach and chest, and ended over his shoulder. She sank her teeth into the dense muscle, and his growl of approval vibrated against her. His fingers fisted in her hair, pressing her harder to him, encouraging her with his tight grip to do it again. Harder.

She complied.

As she soothed her tongue over the shallow dents, he tugged on her hair once more, arching her neck back, tilting her head up for the kiss he crushed to her mouth. He plundered, possessed, owned. And she accepted, submitted, surrendered.

She parted her lips wider, demanding more of him. Desperate to be even closer, she scooted forward, wrapped her arms around his neck and joined them chest to chest, hip to hip.

“Rafe,” she whispered, dropping her head back on her shoulders. The thick rigid length of his cock ground against her folds and clit, and she moaned deep and long. Pleasure pulsed through her in waves, eddying in her belly, spilling from her core to dampen her cleft. The thin material of her pajama shorts offered no resistance or barrier to the hard erection rocking against her in short, subtle thrusts.

“Damn it,” he muttered a second before shooting off the chair. His big hands cupped her behind, holding her steady and aloft as he strode across the room. Seconds later, they entered a dark bedroom she hadn’t noticed on her previous visit to his man cave. He set her on her feet and shoved her robe off her shoulders. It hadn’t fallen to the floor yet before he hooked a finger through the straps of her tank, linking them together over her chest. He jerked, and she stumbled forward into the rock-hard wall of him. Her hands latched onto his waist.

“Drop the shorts,” he murmured, cupping her nape. He squeezed her neck for emphasis. With suddenly clumsy hands, she rolled down the waistband of her shorts, pushed them over her hips, and stepped free of the small puddle of cotton. “Underwear, too, princess,” he added, voice rougher. “I want to see what I only got to feel and sink into last time.”

She shuddered, a glimmer of embarrassment flickering inside her, but again, she did as he asked. Or ordered. Not so sure which one, and about now, she didn’t care. She craved what he did. Yearned for it more than her next breath, her next heartbeat. If she were offered the choice between a lungful of air or this man buried balls-deep within her body, she’d take him, his cock, and soul-shattering oblivion.

His full lips firmed, and desire glinted in his narrowed eyes. Then her shirt was over her head and on the floor. Like a predator on the hunt, he stalked forward, inching her backward. When the backs of her knees bumped the mattress’s edge, she lowered to the bed, and he followed, crouching over her like the sleek, dangerous animal he reminded her of. She was caught, taken down. And she’d never been happier for it.

He nudged her thighs apart with a knee and settled between her legs, latching onto a nipple at the same time. She gasped, clutching his head as he sucked her into the moist cavern of his mouth, his tongue swirling and lapping at the hard tip. His long dark strands tangled around her fingers, draped over her wrists. Pleasure arced from her breasts straight to her core, causing the empty and moist channel to spasm harder as if pleading for what her breasts were receiving. When he scraped the edge of his teeth across her beaded flesh, the quiver below increased, became more demanding.

She whimpered, her hips undulating in a wild cadence, grinding her clit against his abdomen, seeking even just a little relief from the erotic torture he administered. He planted a soft kiss to the damp tip before switching his attention to her neglected breast and drawing it between his lips. Her nails dug into his scalp, and God, she wanted to apologize but couldn’t draw enough air into her lungs to get the words out. She could only manage broken cries and soft moans. Not that he seemed to mind. The sharp tugging on his hair and the bite of fingernails appeared to spur him on, make him suck harder, flick faster.

Heat coalesced and constricted in her sex, centering in the small bundle of nerves at the top of her folds. She circled her hips, rubbing against him, propelling herself closer and closer to the edge…

Raphael abandoned her breasts, his wide chest and torso momentarily stilling her restless and desperate gyrations. He continued his journey south, not stopping until his shoulders spread her thighs wide and he stared at the hot, wet core of her. She should’ve been embarrassed. His thumbs holding her wide open, his intent inspection of her flesh, the glistening evidence of her desire for him—the raw eroticism and vulnerability should’ve had her cringing. In the back of her mind, the demure good girl she’d been all her life scolded her for baring all in such a shameless manner. But then the woman who writhed with pleasure, drowned in it, told the goody-goody to shut the hell up and reached for the man who made her burn.

“Damn, you’re pretty,” he breathed against her flesh. He blew against her exposed clit, pressed his thumb to it, and she jerked as lightning struck and sizzled through her. “I knew you would be. God, I can’t wait to…” He didn’t finish the sentence but lowered his head and licked.

She screamed. He growled.

And she splintered.

When she reassembled, he still devoured her.

“Again,” he demanded, then proceeded to shove her back up the peak she’d barely climbed down from. His tongue forged a path between her folds, finding and circling her clit, plying the tiny nub with soft laps and pointed thrusts. She trembled beneath him, pleaded, commanded. But he didn’t listen, didn’t stop. Not until she tumbled headlong into ecstasy again.

Enough. Not enough. No more. Please give me more.

Pleasure had reduced her to an aroused, indecisive mess. Her mind warred, but her body had already taken sides. As he rose over her body, her arms were reaching for him, her hips arching, her sex—still pulsing with the aftereffects of orgasm—ready to swallow his cock deep.

He settled against her, and the flared head of his erection prodded her entrance. Yet he didn’t push inside.

“Raphael?” she asked, bowing beneath him, stroking his rigid length. A tiny muscle danced along his jaw but he didn’t move. “What’s wrong?”

He leaned over her, cupping her cheek. And the gentle touch in the middle of their fierce joining jolted her. “I thought you were going to call me Rafe,” he murmured.

She traced his lips with a fingertip. “I was, but…I like your given name. It’s beautiful.”
Like you
.

“You’re the only person who calls me that.” He dipped his head, stole a short but hot kiss. “I like it.”

The “Me, too” stuck in her throat, trapped by an emotion she didn’t want to attempt and analyze, much less acknowledge. He shifted, pressing his erection harder and tighter against her. The slow grind of hips stole all thought away from nicknames and focused every bit of her attention on the rigid length prodding her folds.

“Baby, I haven’t been with anyone since you, and I imagine with all the tests you’ve had to take you know by now I’m clean. But if you want me to put on a condom, I will. And I’ll understand.” His eyes flickered down to where his cock was notched at her opening. “But I don’t want to. I don’t want anything between us. I want to feel all of you surrounding me and sucking me deep.” His gaze returned to hers, impossibly hot. “Your choice, baby.”

Her choice. Her heart thudded against her chest wall. And not entirely because he poised naked and hard above her. She didn’t reply, instead reached down and encircled his thick column. Drew him forward, shifted her hips, and pushed. She sucked in a breath as the tip of him penetrated her. Above her, he groaned.

Permission granted, he snatched control. Slowly, firmly, he slid into her. She clutched his back, holding on. Muscles and tissue stretched and quivered around his shaft. After months of non-activity and two orgasms, she struggled to accommodate him. But with determined thrusts and patient pauses, her core inexorably relaxed, and soon he was buried inside her. She shuddered, vacillating between the discomfort of being almost too full and the pleasure of being filled. Her arms and legs tightening around his shoulders and waist. Her face hidden in the crook of his neck. His hands stroked up and down the sides of her chest and torso, his low murmurings seeking to soothe the tremors racing through and over her body.

“You okay?” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Let me know when you’re ready.” She squeezed him, her muscles rippling over his cock, which jerked in response. “Fuck,” he rasped. “I take that as a yes?”

“Yes.”

His fingers speared through her hair, tugging her head back. His mouth captured hers just as he withdrew and thrust hard. He swallowed her cry, but the sound acted like a match to his control, incinerating it. Grabbing her wrists, he slammed them to the pillow on either side of her head. Fingers intertwined, he plunged into her over and over, riding her with a wildness that tore her breath away. He released one hand, palmed her thigh and hiked it higher, lifting her so he went impossibly deeper into her sex. Another breathless scream escaped her as electric currents pulsed and raced up her chest, down her spine and legs, and returned to the core of her he fucked so relentlessly.

“Raphael.” She didn’t have a chance to finish the thought. Ecstasy crashed over her, shattering her into dozens of pieces. Dimly, she detected his hoarse growl, welcomed the hard jet inside her and the weight of him covering her. She managed to whisper his name once more before sliding into oblivion.