Secrets and Sins: Raphael: A Secrets and Sins novel (Entangled Ignite) (18 page)

Chapter Twenty

The insistent ring of a cell phone dragged Raphael out of a heavy sleep like a nagging insect he couldn’t slap away. He pried an eye open and glared at the top of the phone visible in his jeans pocket.

“Damn it, Chay,” he muttered, the ringtone unmistakable. Careful not to awaken the sleeping woman in his arms, he uncurled from around her soft form and snatched up the jeans where he’d dropped them the night before. He pulled the phone free. “You have the shittiest timing ever,” he snapped, tugging his pants on and striding from the bedroom.

A pause. Then snort. “Sorry I had to pull you away from” —a snicker— “whatever. But we have a nine o’clock appointment this morning. I figured you may have forgotten about it with everything that’s been going on this week.”

“Shit.” Rafe thrust his fingers through his hair, dragging the tangled strands out of his eyes. He scrubbed a hand down his face, and stubble scraped his palm. “The Taylor consultation?”

“I wouldn’t bother you with it except they made a specific request that we both come to their home for the meeting.”

“Yeah.” He glanced over his shoulder in the direction of the bedroom door. A fierce objection surged within him, demanding he stay, that he not leave Greer alone. Especially after the attempted kidnapping. And last night. But this appointment had been set weeks ago, and he couldn’t bail on Chay. Not when meeting such a high-profile client. While Chay could answer most client questions, when it came to the technological area, Rafe was the expert. “I’ll be ready.”

“I’m sorry,” Chay said. “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”

“I know. Pick me up at the house?”

“No problem. And Rafe?”

“What?”

“Don’t forget the suit.” The click reverberated in Rafe’s ear before he could reply.

“Bastard,” he snarled to the dead line before plunking the phone down on his desk. With a resigned sigh, he jogged up the steps. Thirty minutes later, he entered the basement again, tightening the knot of his “consultations and christenings” tie. He hated the damn thing with a passion. Muttering about pretentious clients and stupid monkey suits, he crossed the office and paused at the darkened doorway of the room where Greer continued to sleep.

The sheet covered her, revealing the smooth slope of her shoulder. Her long hair spread across the pillow like a dark velvet flag, some of the heavy strands obscuring her face from his view. A sinuous heat unfurled in his gut, stretched up his chest like a slow-burning fire. Need, true, but something else, too. It was the “else” he didn’t dare analyze.

Her stunning revelation from the evening before drifted back to him, the admission no less shocking for the hours that had passed.

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 was more dutiful than mind-blowing.

She hadn’t loved Gavin. Not consuming you-complete-me love. And yet she’d been ready to marry him. Why? Granted, her father was a controlling asshat, but he wasn’t a feudal lord forcing her to marry someone he’d chosen. What had been her motive to chain herself to someone she’d had “dutiful” sex with? Shit. Many words described sex with Greer—hot, blistering hot, and fucking hot just a few of them—but “dutiful” didn’t make the list. Hell, it wasn’t an option. But it did obliterate any lingering doubt he’d harbored about that ludicrous abstinence agreement Greer claimed she and Gavin had before his death. If their relationship hadn’t been a love match, and the sex yawn-worthy…

He closed his eyes. Relived last night. Her body had been just as lovely, as sexy as he remembered. But there had been changes. Minute, but still there. Slightly fuller breasts. Definitely more sensitive. Her nails had nearly drilled holes in his head when he’d sucked her nipples in his mouth.
Damn
. Desire pulsed in his veins, heading straight for his cock. And while her belly remained flat, there was a firmness there where the baby slept. She would begin to show in just a few weeks, maybe as early as two. He couldn’t wait to see her rounded stomach, to touch the swell…

Stop it.
With a shake of his head, he pumped mental brakes on the thought. One night of sex—albeit the best sex ever—and he waded into dangerous territory of hope and fantasy. He lifted his lashes, stared at the woman sleeping so peacefully in his bed. A hard wrench twisted his gut, knocked against his heart.

God, he wanted to believe. To accept. And now with her confession about the truth of her and Gavin’s relationship, slapping back the hope had suddenly become tougher. Because part of him didn’t want to fight, just surrender. And be happy for fucking once. With pathetic ease, he recalled the joy in seeing the son he believed his and Yolanda’s for the first time. Those beautiful eyes had gazed up at him, and his heart had been lost. Love as he’d never experienced, not even for the boy’s mother, had swamped him. And the agony had been equally devastating when he’d discovered he had no claim on the baby.

Rafe sucked in a breath, rubbed a hand across his newly shaven jaw. Yeah, he believed Greer. But what happened when the baby was born? What happened when he looked into the infant’s eyes, fell deeply in love, and then lost him? He couldn’t bear it. Not again.

Not again.

He sank to the bed, stroked a hand over her warm, silken skin. And sighed. Jesus, she was beautiful—

“Touch me again, and I’ll cut it off myself,” she grumbled, slapping his hand. “Need sleep.”

His shocked crack of laughter quickly transformed into a cough when she flipped over on her stomach and burrowed her head beneath the pillow. Who knew? Mannerable, polite Greer Addison was a certified grouch in the morning. He grinned, his confusion from moments earlier dissipating. Risking the health of his dick, he nudged her shoulder blade.

“Princess, I have to leave for an appointment. I should be gone about three hours. Greer, are you listening?” He poked her again, and his smile widened at her aggravated, muffled sigh. “Don’t leave the house. And Gabe’s coming by to stay with you while I’m gone. He has the key and the code. He’s the only person inside, all right?” He tapped the pillow. “All right?” he repeated.

“For God’s sake, yes,” she groused. “Don’t leave. Nobody inside. Gabe. Sleep.”

He waited, but moments later when a soft snore came from beneath the pillow, he chuckled and exited the bedroom.

Best. Morning. After. Ever.

…

“That went well,” Chay said, descending the front steps of the Belmont Hill McMansion and the site of their meeting with Colleen Taylor, owner and CEO of the T&T Corporation.

“Oh, definitely,” Rafe drawled. “Especially since Colleen couldn’t seem to take her eyes off your pretty-boy face.” He snagged Chay’s cheek in a rough pinch, wagging the skin back and forth. “You’re so pretty, yes you are,” he cooed.

“Fuck you,” Chay growled, knocking Rafe’s hand away and stalking toward his parked SUV. But not before Rafe caught the faint blush staining his face. He hooted in laughter.

“Sorry, big boy, not my type. But Colleen, on the other hand…” Rafe fluttered his lashes. “I’m sure she would take you up on the offer.”

“How a grown-ass man can be such a damn pain in the nuts is beyond me,” Chay snapped, hitting the key fob. The vehicle unlocked with a high-pitched beep, and he glared at Rafe as he rounded the front of the truck. “And you can take that smile and—”

A
ping
rang in the morning air followed by a low, hollow thud. Rafe stared in stunned disbelief at the small hole in the roof of the truck, inches from where he stood.

A small, bullet-sized hole.

Anger and fear burned off the shock, and he ducked just as the window above him shattered. A furious bellow echoed in his ears as Chay launched himself behind the truck, tackling Rafe to the ground.

“Are you hit?” he demanded, the same anger and horror roiling inside Rafe reflected in his friend’s eyes. “Rafe, damn it! Are you hit?”

“No, I’m good.”

With a nod, Chay rolled off him, crouching next to the driver’s side door. Rafe joined him, their harsh breaths thunderous in the still morning air. Another shot punched the air and glass from the side window showered down on them in a sharp, cutting rain.

What the fuck?
Fear left a nasty coating on his tongue. He shifted, and glass sprinkled off his head and shoulders, crunched under his feet.

“Where?” Rafe asked. Woods surrounded the home on all sides, accessible by a long driveway also bordered with towering trees. Dozens of places for a shooter to hide. And damn difficult for them to pinpoint. Shit.
Shitshitshit
.

“I think the shot came from the left.” Chay craned his neck, peeking through the frame where splinters of the busted window dangled like loose teeth. “I can’t see anything though. Fuck.” He glanced at Rafe. “You armed?”

Rafe shook his head. He was licensed to carry—Chay and most of their employees were. But he rarely carried a piece since most of his work took place at the computer. “You?”

“It’s in the car, under my seat.”

Rafe swore under his breath. “Shit. I—”

The door to the mansion flew open, and Colleen Taylor appeared on the landing. “What’s going on out here?” she demanded. Then her blue eyes widened as she took in Rafe and Chay hunkered down beside the truck, glass sparkling over and around them like fucking fairy dust. “Oh my God.”

“Call 911!” Chay barked. “Now!”

With a jerky nod, she disappeared back inside her house. In response, two more rounds popped off, one thumping the vehicle and another shattering the urn of a potted plant near the base of the steps.

“He’s getting desperate,” Rafe guessed. “Those shots were wild.” He squeezed his eyes shut, willing his pounding heart to calm while his mind raced. “Okay, I’m going to run for the column near those bushes. Get his attention.” He dipped his head toward one of the two palatial, Grecian-like pillars flanking the wide staircase. “You get the gun. It might hold him off until the cops get here.”

“That’s a shitty plan.” Chay scowled, shaking his head.

“Yeah, but it’s all we got. Ready? Now!” Rafe didn’t give him a chance to argue further but charged across the open area, swearing he could feel the scope of that gun on his back, tracking him. Damn, damn, damn, damn. He dove over the waist-high shrubbery, the asphalt where his foot had been a second earlier kicking up where a bullet struck it. His shoulder slammed into the ground, pain driving the air from his lungs. Gritting his teeth, he rolled into the impact, scrambled to his feet, and darted behind the column.

Behind him more gunfire blasted.

Then quiet. Ominous, heavy quiet.

“Chay,” Rafe roared. Had he been hit?
Oh, Jesus. Not for me
.

“I’m good, I’m good,” his friend called out.

Relief flooded Rafe. In the distance, the wail of sirens split the silence. His chest rising and falling on deep, rough breaths, he straightened, shoving to his feet. He cautiously rounded the stone pillar, sweeping the driveway and focusing in on Chay, who remained kneeling beside the SUV. As the first of the squad cars peeled up the driveway, Chay lowered his gun, pointing the barrel at the ground.

Slowly, he stood to his feet. Glared at Rafe.

“Who the hell did you piss off now?”

Chapter Twenty-One

“I can’t believe it,” Greer whispered. Again.

Behind her, Gabriel Devlin chuckled. Somehow she managed to drag her gaze away from the easels, canvases, drawing pads, paints, pens, and pencils stockpiled in the sunroom, and turn around to face the sexy, Tom-Brady-look-alike version of Santa Claus who’d delivered the art supplies.

When Raphael’s best friend had arrived, she’d immediately recognized him. Not just from the images on the internet when she’d researched Rafe back in December. She’d read Gabriel’s best-selling legal suspense thrillers long before she’d heard of Raphael and was enough of an admirer to have a fan-girl moment when he walked into the house. But even the appearance of one of her favorite authors couldn’t supersede the shock and joy at the boxes and bags he’d carted in with him. Completing the task had required two trips out to his vehicle. By the time Gabriel finished rearranging the sunroom, setting up the easels, stacking the canvases, and laying out the other supplies, her eyes had ached from how wide they were. And her jaw had been seconds away from locking in the open position.

“This”—she couldn’t resist surveying the room again—“is too much. I— Why?” she asked, spreading her hands wide.

He crossed his arms and shrugged a wide shoulder. “Rafe called me yesterday morning and asked me to pick up and deliver some things he’d ordered from a supply store.”

When he didn’t elaborate, she shook her head. He worked the laconic writer thing to perfection. Yet while he might be economic in words, his smiles were warm and freely given. She—like the rest of the world—had read about the loss of his family several years ago. But she suspected that the woman who’d called him shortly after he’d arrived could be credited with the light and peace that seemed to emanate from him. Good. He deserved happiness.

“Thank you, Gabriel,” she said belatedly.

“Gabe,” he corrected. “And no problem. I actually thought Rafe would beat me here. I would’ve been here earlier, but a signing this morning went over.” He arched an eyebrow, a corner of his mouth kicking up. “So…I take it you’re an artist,” he observed drily.

She laughed, still a bit breathless. Raphael had done all this? Bought all this. For her. Gabriel—Gabe—had said when. Yesterday. With the morning doctor’s appointment, the lunch date, his clandestine meeting with Chay and Justin Durrin, and then the attempted kidnapping… Well, the day had been busy, so she understood why Raphael had asked his friend to help him out. But that still left
why
? Why had he done all this?

“I’m applying to art school,” she said.

“So? Doesn’t make you any less of an artist. Before being published, I was still a writer.” He nodded in the direction of the easels. “What do you plan to study?”

“Illustration.”

“Illustration, huh?” He gave a little hum in the back of his throat. “Do you have anything I can look at? If you don’t mind, that is.”

The instinctive denial rose inside her. And not because of the stereotypical “sensitive artist” claim of not letting anyone see her work when she wasn’t finished. The reluctance ran much deeper. Too many years of being scoffed at, of being told her drawing was a waste of time, that she wasn’t talented. The ridicule and rejection had taught her to hide, to protect her work…and herself. But when she’d vowed to take her life back—well, more accurately, to get a life, one she desired and owned—that promise had included not allowing her father’s derision and her mother’s disregard to cripple her anymore. To no longer be afraid of displaying her art, whether it was to an admissions board or a person who just asked to view it.

So
, she inhaled.
Time to put up or shut up
.

“I’m working on pieces for my portfolio now. I have some of those in the bedroom.”

Ten minutes later, Gabe silently studied the painting she’d started after arriving at Raphael’s home. He’d already examined a couple of the live-situation pieces and three-dimensional object canvases she’d finished. Not her passion but required for the admission portfolio. He’d spent the most time thumbing through her sketches, drawings she’d completed for her joy and amusement. When he flipped to the ink and pen picture of Raphael, she fought not to cringe. The illustration was one of her favorites. She’d drawn him in his lair, sprawled in his office chair at his beloved computer. In reality, Raphael fairly vibrated with a raw, vital energy that made him impossible to ignore. Longish hair, tattoos, piercings, and the I-will-kick-your-ass-and-like-it vibe aside, he pulsed with magnetism and charisma. And she’d captured the brilliant gleam in his near-black eyes, the hard sensuality in his wide, full mouth, the controlled tension in his lean, tall body. She’d paid careful, loving detail from the hoop in his eyebrow to the bare feet peeking out from under the frayed hem of his jeans. Anyone studying the drawing would detect her fascination with her subject.

She doubted Gabe, whose profession included weaving details together, missed it either.

“You’re very good.” He turned from the easel, his expression inscrutable. “Very good.”

Pleasure cascaded through her like a refreshing, needed rain over parched land. The blunt honesty, sans flowery praise, warmed her in a way the most effusive acclaim could not.

“Thank you, I—” She fumbled over her tongue. “Thank you.”

“I really like your sketches.” He picked up the pad, and skimmed through the pages until he arrived at the image of Raphael again. She didn’t try to duck his narrowed, contemplative scrutiny. What would be the point? Her absorption, her affection, her…her convoluted
feelings
for his friend were there for Ray Charles to see. “I can see why your main study will be illustration. This”—he tapped the paper—“is amazing. And so
Rafe
. You’ve captured everything—the way he slouches, how he squints when he’s thinking, the rubbing of his eyebrow…everything.” He set the pad down, slid his hands in the front pockets of his faded jeans. “My agent is negotiating the option rights for a Michael Rice graphic novel series. Would you mind if I sent her a sample of your work? I don’t know what your eventual career goal involves, but if you’re interested, I think you would be perfect. The realism and detail in your work…”

Her heart raced along with her mind. Work on a graphic novel for a book series she adored?
I’m not ready. I’m not that good. I can’t
—
Stop!
She halted the inner voice that sounded like her father’s mid-rant. Excitement and tremulous hope stirred in her breast like a baby bird, ready but nervous to fly.

“Yes,” she whispered. Cleared her throat. “Yes, definitely.”

A smile flickered at the corners of his mouth. “Great. I’ll let you know—”

The doorbell pealed, and the almost-there smile fell, replaced by a frown.

“Were you expecting someone?”

She shook her head. “No. Just you.”

“Hmm.” He exited the room, and she followed close on his heels. “Mal, Chay, and I have keys, so it’s probably not either one of them.”

He paused at the front door, tapped a button next to the jamb, and a tiny mounted monitor blinked to life. An image of Noah popped onto the screen.

A high-tech peephole. Wow.

Gabe glanced over his shoulder. “You know him?”

“Yes, of course. It’s my friend Noah Granger.”

His dark eyebrow winged up. “And you weren’t expecting him?”

“No. But it’s okay. He’s a very good friend of mine.”

He didn’t budge, and she squelched the impulse to nudge him out of the way and open the door. It seemed the protective streak didn’t stop with Raphael and Chay.

After a long moment, Gabe slowly nodded. “Okay. But I’m staying until he leaves or Rafe gets here.” When Greer parted her lips to object he beat her to the punch. “I’m staying.”

She sighed at the soft but steely resolve in his deep voice. Protective
and
stubborn. No wonder he and Raphael were best friends. They shared so much in common.

“Fine,” she conceded. Not that she had much choice in the matter.

She skirted around his large frame and opened the door.

“Hey, Greer. I’m sorry for dropping by unannounced…” Noah’s concerned greeting trailed off as he noticed Gabe standing behind her in the doorway. “Oh. I didn’t know you had company,” he said, his tall frame stiffening along with his tone.

“Don’t be silly. Come in.” She shifted back, waving him inside. “Noah, I’d like you to meet Gabriel Devlin. Gabriel, this is my best friend, Noah Granger.”

“Nice to meet you, Noah,” Gabe rumbled, extending his hand. After a moment’s hesitation, Noah accepted it, pumping Gabe’s arm once before releasing him. “I was just about to go brew some coffee. Would you like a cup?” he asked Noah, who murmured a “no, thank you.”

“Greer? Tea?”

Surprise took her aback for an instant, but she quickly rallied. “No thanks, Gabe. I’m fine.” So he knew about the pregnancy.
Of course he does
, she silently scolded herself. The four friends most likely didn’t keep secrets from one another. Not after sharing one faithfully for twenty years. But still…he hadn’t given any indication since he’d arrived.

Gabe dipped his head then pivoted and headed down the hallway toward the kitchen.

“Come on.” She smiled, grabbing Noah’s hand. “We can talk in the den.” She guided him through the house to the spacious room at the rear of the first floor.

“Uh, wow.” He pulled up short in the entrance, surveying the cavernous room with its massive, built-in flat-screen television, expansive entertainment console, scattered couches, fully stocked bar, and refrigerator. The area was a less
Spy vs. Spy
version of Raphael’s basement man cave. “This is…wow.”

“Watch it there, Noah,” she drawled. “You’re drooling.”

He coughed, tossed her a slightly glazed look, then chuckled. “I think I’m in lust.”

She stepped down into the room, snorted. “Men. You’re so easy.” As he continued to ogle the room as if it had boobs with a wet T-shirt stuck to them, she lowered to the couch.

“Sorry. It’s impressive. I may not care for Raphael, but I can’t fault his taste,” he said, sinking next to her. Then he sobered, and the concern he’d arrived with returned full blast. “I really am sorry just to drop in, but I couldn’t stay away. I’m so worried about you.”

“Oh, Noah,” she murmured. She leaned her head on his shoulder, entwined their fingers. “We’ve been friends for how long?”

“Sixteen. But who’s counting?”

“Sixteen years, and you think I don’t know you? You’re beating yourself up because of yesterday.” She squeezed his hand. “Let it go. How could you know some masked guy lurked in the women’s restroom?”

He untangled his hand from hers, rocked forward, and propped his elbows on his thighs. With a groan, he tunneled his fingers through his blond hair.

“On my watch, Greer. I failed you. I should’ve been there, but where was I? On my phone outside the restaurant while you were seconds from being forced out the back.” He ground the heels of his palms against his eyes. “Do you have any idea how that makes me feel? Like shit, damn it. Like grade-A shit.”

His tortured whisper tore at her heart. She’d noted his devastation after he’d raced back into the restaurant to discover she’d almost been kidnapped. She’d ached for him yesterday, and she did today.

“Look at me.” She tugged on his arm. “Even if you’d been sitting at the table, you couldn’t have known.”

“Raphael did,” he spat, bitterness engraved in his scowl and the two words. “He came looking for you—
saved you
—while I wasted time on the phone, and Ethan sat on his ass.”

“Noah, please.”

“
No
.” He lunged to his feet, paced away from her, strode back. “No,” he repeated, lower but no less vehement. “I know I screwed up yesterday, Greer. But give me a chance to show you I can take care of you. We all realized yesterday that you’re not safe here. Whoever’s behind this has already located you here and followed you to the restaurant yesterday.” He dropped to his knees in front of her, clasping her hands between his. “We need to totally disappear. Leave town where we can’t be found. Let Raphael continue to investigate, but let me take you away to my parents’ cabin in the Berkshires. No one will think to look for you there. You’ll be safe. I’ll keep you safe,” he pleaded.

“Noah,” she breathed.

“You’re
mine
, Greer. You’ve been mine since I tripped over my own feet and knocked you down on the playground. Even when you were dead-set on marrying that asshole Gavin, you were mine. I waited while you opened your eyes to what a cheating dick he was because you were mine. Mine, Greer. To protect. To…love.”

Desperate, almost feverish hope and a desire that crushed her heart gleamed in his gaze. There it was. He’d laid his feelings out there, no longer hiding behind the bonds of their friendship.
God, I don’t want to hurt you
. He was her friend—her best friend. He’d stuck beside her when no one else ha—

Hold on.
He waited…

“What do you mean you waited while I opened my eyes about Gavin’s cheating?” she rasped, slowly sliding her hands free of his grasp. “You knew?”

He ducked his head, too late to hide the guilt that flashed across his face.

“Greer,” he whispered.

“Answer me,” she demanded, rising to her feet. “You knew about Gavin and Aubrey?”

Silence swallowed the room, and her throat tightened as if the key to unlocking her airways would be his denial. His denial of betraying her with his silence. He’d been the one person she could always count on.

“Noah?” she begged.
Please don’t take one of the only people I can trust. Don’t steal that away from me.

“Yes,” he confessed. “I knew.” Rising, he held his hands out, palms up in entreaty.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Hurt, confusion, anger—it coalesced into a whirling, fiery ball sitting inside her, gathering steam and power with each second.

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” he said, reaching for her. But she retreated, not wanting his comfort. Not now. When the edge of the couch hit the backs of her knees, she edged to the right, placing much-needed space between them.