Unconditional (21 page)

It was hard
not
to be angry when he called an end to the meeting with a laborious wave of his hand at the door and a condescending, “Perhaps you will be less distracted and more focused on the
reason
for your studies in Australia once on the farm.”

The
farm
was a cattle property roughly the size of the town of Plenty, situated some four-hundred miles northwest of Sydney on the fringe of the Outback. A large koala population existed on it, left alone by the owners of the property for the sake of ongoing research into the marsupials’ survival and existence. My original pre-RaB schedule (that’s pre-Raph and Brendon, in case you didn’t figure it out) called for me to spend the last five weeks of my studies there, tagging koalas in the wild and collecting data on their movements to support my thesis. Those last five weeks weren’t meant to occur for another three weeks.

But due to the media circus—or due to a phone call from Horn, I wasn’t sure which—I was being shipped off at the end of this week. In four days. According to Dean Watkins, it would have been tomorrow if not for the fact the family I was staying with had yet to return from a holiday in Fiji.

In four days, I was leaving Sydney for good.

Four days.

For some reason, I couldn’t feel happy.

In fact, for some reason, I felt…cheated. After Mom’s incredible pep talk, after the encouragement Heather had given me on the drive to the university to “rip off Raph’s clothes and ride him silly”, I was more than just a little excited about facing the rest of my adventure here in Oz.

Okay, I didn’t have plans to confess to Raph I thought I was falling in love with him, and golly-gee wouldn’t it be wonderful if we spent the rest of our lives together in splendid bliss. That
definitely
wasn’t part of my plan. But I had decided, between climbing out of Brendon’s car in the student parking lot and knocking on Dean Watkins’s door, that I
was
going to enjoy myself for the rest of my time here.

It wasn’t like Raph and I could have any kind of relationship once I returned to Plenty. For starters, he lived in Australia and I lived in America. As far as long-distance relationships went, that was freaking far. By the time the dean’s secretary showed me and Heather into his office, I’d made up my mind to spend the next three weeks enjoying myself with Raph. If that meant we made out from time to time—and by
made out
, I mean…well, you probably know what I mean, and if you don’t you
really
shouldn’t be following my story, should you?—all the better.

Three weeks of living. Three weeks of not worrying about my future.

Three weeks of just enjoying my adventure.

Three weeks now robbed from me.

Goddamn it.

“Man, is he a sour old sod,” Heather muttered as we crossed the threshold of his office’s anteroom into the administration building’s main hallway. She looped her arm through mine and nudged my hip. “Think we should invite him to the next Mackellar House Underwear Bash?”

“Probably
not
a good idea,” a deep male voice uttered at our right.

Both Heather and I let out matching startled
eeps
and spun to face our unexpected companion.

Raph stood just beside the door, one shoulder pressed to the wood-paneled wall, arms folded over his chest, ankles crossed, dimple creasing his right cheek in that sexy way it did when he was almost but not quite smiling.

My heart damn near slammed out of my chest.

“Raph?” Heather’s laughter echoed along the silent hallway. “You scared the bejesus out of us.”

With grin and exquisitely sensuous grace, he levered himself off the wall and stepped closer. “That wasn’t my intent.” His dark gaze found mine, an unreadable question in their depths. “Are you okay, American girl?”

My pulse rapid, my throat tight, I nodded.

Four days. I only had four days left. Goddamn it, four days…

“Errr…” Heather slipped her arm free of mine. “I have to return The Biceps’s car keys to him. You two just…go have…yeah, you know what you two want to have.”

Her playful innuendo should have set my cheeks on fire. It didn’t. Instead, it made my pulse race and my sex constrict. Or maybe that entirely carnal and physical response was due to the way Raph studied me. The way he drew closer to me, not looking anywhere else. Just looking at me.

Just me.

If Heather said anything else before taking her leave of us, I didn’t hear it. All I could do was gaze up at Raph, my pulse wild, my tummy—

“You’re not having lunch with Osmond?” Raph asked, the low question playing hell with my sanity.

Christ, he was gorgeous. Have I mentioned that yet? How gorgeous he was? Heart-clenchingly gorgeous.

I shook my head. I was sure at some point I’d recover the higher brain function to form words, but at that moment in time, all my higher brain function was occupied being in awe of how gorgeous and wonderful and sexy and there, right there, Raph was.

Four days, Rowling.
The thought whispered through my roaring head.
Only four days.

Now so close his knees brushed mine, Raph touched the line of my jaw with the back of his knuckles. “Lunch with me instead?”

I swallowed. My pussy contracted. My heart beat faster. Words still failed me.

His nostrils flared. Nervous doubt flared in his eyes. “Please?”

I don’t know if it was his uncertainty that helped me find my tongue, the fact it was obvious he wanted to be with me but feared I was going to deny him or the way the distinct scent of him threaded into my very breath. All I know is, as he waited for my answer, I wanted to spend the rest of every minute I had in Sydney with him.

“Lunch would be wonderful,” I said, my voice husky.

The smile that spread across his face at my words sent a shard of wet, tight, delicious heat straight to my sex. Oh boy.

“Excellent. I know just the place.”

He took my hand in his, fingers gentle and firm as they threaded through mine, his palm warm and slightly rough. The friction reminded me he’d grown up on a cattle ranch and that reminded me I was heading to the farm in four days and
that
reminded me I wasn’t going to see him anymore after I left Sydney.

My chest clenched at the thought and, nerve endings thrumming with an elemental need I didn’t want to name, I tightened my grip on his hand.

Four days. I could live a lifetime in four days. I could.

We walked together through the university grounds, our conversation relaxed. Neither of us brought up our previous tension, the one caused by me throwing Brendon’s name in his face. It didn’t need to be addressed. The simple fact I was here with Raph now was the only thing that mattered.

By the time we got to his ute, we were both laughing.
And
ignoring the people we passed who attempted to photograph us on their smartphones.

Screw it. If they wanted to experience fame by some tenuous thread of association—a
Hey, I saw Raphael Jones and the American chick he’s banging
kind of thing— then let them. As Heather had pointed out, tomorrow something new would be trending on Twitter. Who knows, maybe Miley Cyrus and Liam Hemsworth would be engaged again?

At the passenger door of his dusty, mud-caked ute, Raph released my fingers and waved his hand about in an elaborate flourish. “Your chariot, my lady.”

He tugged on the handle and pulled the door open, revealing the same chaos of its interior that I’d encountered yesterday morning.

New Red Bull cans scattered the passenger-side floor, along with a crumpled McDonald’s bag I assumed must have contained yesterday’s lunch or dinner. I cocked an eyebrow at him, my lips twitching.

He let out a rueful chuckle and shrugged. “What can I say?”

I laughed and made a move to deposit myself on the passenger seat.

But stopped when I saw the books no doubt dumped on it at some point in the last twenty-four hours.

Heart thumping fast, I stared at the titles.

The Parkinson’s Disease Treatment Book.

Parkinson’s Disease: Top Tips to Optimize Function.

Understanding Parkinson’s Disease: A guide for Family and Loved Ones of Sufferers.

Parkinson’s Disease for Dummies.

Living with Someone with Parkinson’s.

“Fuck.”

At Raph’s low mutter, I turned from the books and studied him, silent. Inside, I was a churning, conflicted, angry, sad, ecstatic, confused mess. It was one thing to commit yourself to a four-day
adventure
with a guy you really, really, really liked. A guy who turned you on more than it was probably socially acceptable to admit. It was another to discover said guy was researching the disease that would ultimately end your life. It told me he was interested in every part of who I was, not just the healthy parts, the squishy, warm parts that fit together so well with his warm, not-so-squishy parts. It told me he was thinking about my life, my future.

It changed the playing field somehow.

“I only…” he began, frustration etching his face before he dropped his stare to the incriminating books on the passenger seat. A rough breath left him. He raked a hand though his hair. “I know you don’t want to talk about it, but just let me read about it, okay?”

He looked back at me. The frustration was still on his face, joined by a beseeching hope. “I just…it’s what I do when I don’t understand something. I read about it.”

Lowering my stare to the books again, I drew a deep breath. I truly had no idea how I felt about that. Hell, I’d only just decided how I felt about
him
, and here he was, doing
this
.

My gaze slid over the book sitting on the top of the askew pile, its brightly colored cover gaudy and depressing. I let out a snort, its title tickling a funny bone I didn’t think I had anymore.

Turning back to Raph, I arched my eyebrow. “
Living with Someone with Parkinson’s
? Really? You got plans we haven’t discussed yet? I mean, I know we’ve made out and all, but I’m not sure I’m ready to move in with—”

He shut me up with a rough, laughing kiss. He swept his tongue into my mouth, grabbed my butt and, with a chuckle, he yanked me to his body and ground his hips to mine.

Instantly and immediately, I was horny. Horny and happy. Deliriously happy. Who knew?

At the sound of approaching voices, Raph broke our kiss. I
did
groan in protest, I’m afraid.

“We’ll continue this later,” he murmured with a grin before nudging his head toward the waiting interior of his ute. “But for now, you need to get your arse in there, American girl. Before Horn finds me.”

“Oh, you being naughty?” I asked as I removed the books—
Parkinson’s Disease for Dummies?
Seriously?—from the seat and lowered myself into the car.

“Not yet.” Raph hung his forearms on the top of the vehicle and leaned into the interior, his eyes dancing with wicked mirth. “But I plan to later.”

He winked and, as heat flooded my cheeks, he closed the door.

Twenty chat-filled minutes later, we arrived at our destination. Pulling his ute into the valet parking section, Raph released his seat belt and gave me a wide smile. “Ready?”

I looked out the window, the obviously luxurious hotel on the other side taking me by surprise. “Are you sure this is the right place?”

He laughed. “Yep.”

Without further explanation, he climbed from the car, handed his keys to the hovering valet and walked around to my side. He extended a hand to me as I began to climb out.

I gave it a narrowed-eyed stare. I didn’t know if he was just being chivalrous, but the significance of the books on my condition now piled on the ute’s floor still played with my state of mind.

Raph rolled his eyes. “Bloody hell, woman.” With a laugh, he snared my wrist and yanked me completely out of his car, catching my lips with a quick kiss as I bumped into his tall, hard body.

Before I could comprehend the wonderful sensation of his playfulness, his lips left mine. “Let’s go,” he said, once more taking my hand in his.

We walked into the hotel, and for a brief second, the sheer opulence of the place stole my breath. “I really don’t think this is the right place,” I whispered.

Raph nudged me with his shoulder. “Shush. Just enjoy yourself, will you? I pulled a lot of strings to set this up.”

My eyebrows shot up and I gaped up at him. “Really?”

He laughed. “Nope. I just made a phone call. Sometimes it helps to be a celebrity.”

Lucky for Raph, a well-dressed man approached us just as I was about to poke him in the ribs with my elbow.

“Mr. Jones,” the man I’m guessing was the concierge said, holding out his hand to Raph. “The dining room you requested is ready. If you will follow me?”

He turned and proceeded to walk toward a bank of elevators on the other side of the lobby.

I cast Raph a curious sideways look.

Raph, of course, just winked and followed the man in the suit.

Body thrumming, mouth dry—yes, I was excited—I followed Raph.

The three of us rode the elevator to the sixth floor. When a soft chime filled the small space, announcing our arrival, our suited companion swiped a keycard through a lock and the door slid opened.

My mouth did the same.

“Your waiter will be with you shortly.”

“Thanks,” I heard Raph say a second before he placed his warm, firm hand on the small of my back and strode from the elevator.

Astonished, I stared at the beautiful private dining room we’d entered and the stunning view of Sydney Harbor and the Opera House beyond its floor-to-ceiling windows. “Wow,” I breathed. “I
really
think we’re in the wrong place.”

Raph threaded his fingers through mine and led me to the small round table situated beside the window. “I didn’t want to share you with anyone,” he said as he pulled out an ornate chair and urged me to sit.

Overwhelmed with amazement and euphoric delight, I gazed up at him. “What if I’d said no to lunch?”