by Nika Rhone
The cuffs had been a gag prize from a bachelorette party she’d attended, but that didn’t explain why she kept them. Or why they played such a prominent role in some of her naughtier dreams about her downstairs neighbor. Not that she’d give Rafe the satisfaction of either admission. Or the chance to examine what other personal-care toys she had stored at her bedside. Or herself time to get twitchy about him touching any of it.
She batted her eyes. “Only about you, Officer Delgado.” Her reward was a loud thunk when Rafe dropped the cuffs back into the drawer.
“You are so fucking killing me.” Pulling out a strip of condoms from the box he unearthed, he tossed them on top of the nightstand before turning his attention back to Lillian, one hand loosening the button and zipper on his jeans. He let out a low moan of relief when the material parted.
So did Lillian. This is really happening. Watching Rafe strip off the snug baseball jersey and toss it to the floor, her hormones stood up and cheered. She’d been so busy the past few months focusing on her plan, she hadn’t done much more than go dancing at Blaze a few times when her friends harassed her into leaving her studio. Her bed had been cold and lonely for far too long, and Rafe was far too enticing. The combination could lead to disaster if she wasn’t careful.
“You have way too many clothes on for what I have planned for you.” The rough velvet of Rafe’s voice sent a shiver through her body.
“Then maybe you need to take them off me.” It was probably foolish to taunt him like that, but she couldn’t regret it. Not when he scooped up first one foot, then the other, and quickly divesting each of the high-heeled boots that pinched her toes but made her ass look amazing in jeans. Which were the next thing to go, removed with the efficiency of a magician whisking away a tablecloth and leaving the place setting behind. Or in this case, the tiny black thong. The corset top had only stayed on because it had been pressed between them on the trip from the living room. Now it hung loose, her breasts spilling over the top. It was the last major barrier to being naked, and for the briefest second, Lillian hesitated to have it gone. But then it was, and the heat and hunger shining from Rafe’s jaguar-green eyes chased away the chill of self-doubt.
“Dios mio, just look at you.” The whispered words were heavy with lust.
“I’d rather be looking at you.” She gave a pointed look to his jeans, which were riding low on his lean hips but blocked what was sure to be a spectacular view.
She didn’t imagine the hesitation in Rafe’s hands when they dropped to the waistband of his pants. Or the way he shifted his body to the side when he kicked off his sneakers and jerked his jeans down his long legs. Or the way he flinched ever-so-slightly as she sucked in a breath at the sight of the scar that marred his left thigh almost from hip to knee.
She’d known he’d been hurt on the job. Bad enough that he was still not back to work almost a year later. But seeing the tangible evidence was still a shock. One that had the potential of ruining everything wonderful that had been building between them if she didn’t fix her mistake.
Fast.
Slipping off the bed and onto her knees in front of him, Lillian placed a hand on each of his thighs for balance, ignoring the way Rafe’s left leg twitched at her touch as though he wanted to pull away. Instead she placed a reverent kiss on the damaged flesh before focusing all her attention on the enticing bulge that stretched the material of his dark blue boxer-briefs to its limits. With gentle care, she put her teeth to the bulge and bit down, just a little, her eyes on him to judge his reaction. Some guys were a little too nervous about teeth near their jewels to enjoy the tiny dark pleasure. If she had to guess by the wild look on Rafe’s face, though, he wasn’t one of them.
Smiling, she released her grip and slid her hands up his legs to the band of his briefs. With agonizing slowness, she pulled the material down over his erection until it finally sprang free, the dark, swollen head bobbing back to slap against Rafe’s taut belly. Unable to resist, Lillian leaned in and ran her tongue up the firm length, curling it under the crest before finishing with a kiss on top.
“Mmmm.” She rolled her eyes back up at him and very deliberately licked her lips. “Yummy.”
Proving he’d forgotten all about his scarred leg, Rafe growled out something in Spanish and scooped her up from the floor. He collapsed onto the bed with her, his mouth on hers in a punishing kiss. Lillian reveled in the sensual onslaught, her hands running greedily along the bare skin of his back, down to his tight ass, pulling him even closer as his erection ground against her mound.
The flimsy cloth of her thong was a barrier she wanted gone. Now. But she also didn’t want him to stop the slow grind against her clit that sent wave after wave of sensation through her. She couldn’t have both, so she grabbed his ass even tighter and held on as the waves turned to a tsunami and flooded her with so many incredible sensations she was surprised she hadn’t just shattered into a million pieces from the sheer pleasure.
Only when her body had been wrung dry was she able to focus back on Rafe’s face, still suspended above her as he waited for her to come back to her senses. Somehow, she managed a grin. “Well, you certainly know how to keep a promise.” Because she knew for sure she’d shouted when she hit her peak.
“Oh, I’m just getting started.”
Lillian thought he was kidding.
He wasn’t.
Two more orgasms later, and she was pretty sure she could be squeegeed up off the bed like one big puddle of satiated woman. True to his word, Rafe had made her scream again, longer and louder each and every time. Lillian could only hope that the neighbors she shared a bedroom wall with weren’t home, or there would be some very uncomfortable hallway encounters in her future.
Not that Walter and Andrew didn’t make some noise of their own sometimes, but still.
Awk-ward.
“Uncle,” she said with a small gasp for breath. “You win. I can’t take any more.”
Wrong thing to say.
Rafe sat back on his ankles and fisted his erection, the tip glistening and so engorged it had to be painful. “You can’t?” He stroked himself again. “Not even this?”
Lillian groaned, caught between the need to feel him inside her and the certain knowledge she was already so sensitive her next orgasm would kill her dead.
But oh, what a glorious way to go.
She watched with greedy eyes while he sheathed himself in a condom before coming over her body, his eyes so dark and intent she couldn’t look away. Especially not when he pressed into her, his blunt tip burrowing deeper with each stroke through her swollen tissue, drawing sounds from her throat that she couldn’t stop if she tried.
Once he was fully seated, Rafe captured her hands and held them over her head, their fingers interlaced, and started to move with purpose. It was too much. Too intimate. Too…everything. But still she couldn’t tear her gaze from his as their bodies strained against one another, hot and slick, until she just couldn’t hold it off any longer. With a hoarse cry, the orgasm overtook her and swept her away.
She was barely aware of Rafe’s guttural shout at his own release. Or the loss of his heat when he left her and came back, pulling the blanket over the both of them before cradling her to his chest. Warm, content, and done in, she drifted beneath the darkness of sleep with the sound of Rafe’s strong heart beating in her ear.
Chapter Nine
“So…handcuffs, huh?”
After a short doze that recharged them both, Lillian lay wrapped in Rafe’s arms, running her fingers along the dark caramel skin of his broad chest and enjoying the afterglow of some seriously epic sex. Rafe’s teasing question nudged her out of her happy zone and back into reality.
Would it have been too much to ask for him to pretend he’d never looked in that drawer?
Burrowing her face into his shoulder, she let out a half-groan, half-laugh. “Not gonna give me a pass on that one, huh?”
“Are you kidding? Would you, if you were me?”
This time it was a full laugh that popped out. “Hell, no.” That didn’t make it any less embarrassing, though. “They’re from a bachelorette party. Brand new, never used,” she added, peeking up at him.
Rafe gave her a considering look. “But you’ve thought about it.”
Why lie? “Once or twice.” As much as the idea might intrigue her inner kink, though, there hadn’t been a single man in her bed she’d felt like taking the cuffs for a test drive with since they took up residence in that drawer.
Until now.
Lillian swatted the naughty imp out of her head.
Still giving her that look, like he was trying to peel back her skull and see inside, Rafe stroked a fingertip along her cheek. “You’re the most fascinating tangle of contradictions.”
“Nah, I’m pretty much in-your-face straightforward.” Sometimes too much so, if you listen to some people.
“Oh?” Rafe’s thumb rubbed a small circle over her shoulder. “Then tell me, why are you using this bedroom, which is smaller and only has one small window blocked by a fire escape, when I know you’ve got to have some kick-ass views out of the other room?”
She didn’t even bother to ask how he knew. There were enough of her clothes and other belongings scattered around the room for anyone to figure out it was hers, much less a man trained to observe. Hell, he probably figured it out when they’d been in here the night before, having their…discussion. She hadn’t even questioned it when he carried her in here. She’d just thought it was because it was the nearest bed.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Rather than answer, Lillian pressed her head to his shoulder again, giving herself time to think without him looking at her like that. Like he was willing to wait as long as it took for her to spill her secrets. Did she dare? Could she risk trusting him that much?
The small, circular strokes continued on her shoulder, the touch an odd mixture of comforting and sensual. “You can tell me anything, mi pequeña duendecilla,” he whispered against her hair. The tenderness in his voice made her shiver. “What are you hiding behind door number one?”
Impetuous decisions were one of Lillian’s greatest failings. They got her into trouble all the time. She could never seem to stop herself when the urge hit.
Like now.
Before she could find a good reason to talk herself out of it, she pressed a kiss to Rafe’s neck and bounced out of bed. She snatched up his discarded baseball jersey and tugged it over her head, the bottom hem reaching all the way to her still-rubbery thighs. That well-loved sensation, along with the slight burn of beard-rash across her breasts, kept her feeling like a freshly tumbled woman rather than a little kid in the oversized shirt.
When Rafe didn’t move to follow, she tossed his jeans onto the bed. He put a hand on them, his expression closed and measured. “Kicking me out of your bed already?”
Lillian rolled her eyes. “As if I were that stupid.”
His lips twitched. “Then what?”
Now or never. “I thought you wanted to know what was in the other room?” Not waiting for an answer, she spun and left, walking the short distance to the door at the end of the hall that safeguarded her biggest secret. Her breath hitched, like it did at the start of one of her mini panic-attacks. But the warm hand that touched her back eased the knot in her chest before it could fully form.
Taking strength from that connection, Lillian swung the door open and stepped inside, Rafe right beside her. She bit her lip, watching him as he ran curious eyes over everything from the easel to the canvases stacked against the wall. From his expression, it was impossible to tell what he was thinking, and it was killing her.
Needing to fill the silence, she said, “You were right about there only being one window in the other bedroom. The light in here was much better, so I ended up switching things around and making this my studio.” More silence. “But you were wrong about this room being bigger, since they ate into the square footage when they built the panic room my father insisted on before I moved in. They’re both around the same size now.” Still nothing. “Well?”
Rafe did a second slow perusal of the canvases, his gaze seeming to linger first on the almost finished piece she’d put aside, and then on the male nude that was still sitting on the easel, waiting for her to come back and breathe life into the incomplete image. She wondered if he saw the truth in either.
Lillian bounced on her bare toes, feeling like she was going to explode out of her skin. “Well? What do you think?”
“What do I think?” Rafe turned to look at her. “I think you’re one hell of an artist.”
The words were said with such simple acceptance Lillian had to blink back the silly moisture from her eyes.
“Why would you hide something like this? These are incredible.” He walked over to study the almost finished picture that was a companion to the one in the gallery window before giving her a chiding look. “A no-name artist paying his dues, huh?”
“I am a no-name artist. And I do have to pay my dues.” She grimaced. “Felix has a strict anti-nepotism policy. No free rides just because he knows you.”
“Or because you work for him.”
“Exactly. He likes what he’s seen, but he’s not sold on giving me my own showing yet. Lady Dreaming is my way of proving I deserve a shot.”
“He’s crazy if he doesn’t give it to you.”
Lillian agreed. But, much as she didn’t want to, she also understood the situation from Felix’s point of view. “He has to consider the gallery’s reputation.” And there was Donny. When the previous gallery manager defected to a big-name SoHo gallery back in New York, Felix’s displeasure had spilled over onto Lillian since she’d been Donny’s protégé. Felix wasn’t above cutting off his nose to spite his face if his ego was involved.
Like he would never admit that hiring Roman had been a mistake of monumental proportions.
Rafe walked back to her and asked one of his earlier questions again. “Why are you keeping this a secret? I’d think you’d want to show this off to the world.”
“I will. When the time is right.” And the idea didn’t make her want to throw up.
He gave her a long look before shaking his head. “I don’t believe it. Lillian Beaumont, the most ballsy woman I know, is afraid to tell her family she wants to be a painter.”
Lillian chose to accept the ballsy comment as a compliment. It was the second part of what he said she took issue with. “I’m not afraid. Everyone in my family knows I draw and paint. Hell, I’ve been doing it since I could pick up a crayon. And used them to decorate my bedroom walls,” she added with a grin. “My mother wasn’t thrilled with my efforts, although I happen to think my four-year-old self showed some real aptitude for use of color.”
Rafe laughed. “Well, it’s a good thing you switched to canvases, then. It’s kind of tough to sell a wall.”
The smirk died. “Yeah, well, as far as my parents are concerned, it’s still just my ‘little hobby.’ They don’t see it as an actual career path. Especially not when they already have one mapped out for me.”
“Working at your father’s company,” Rafe murmured.
“Not if I can help it.” That claustrophobic little knot was back, making her swallow hard. “They’re waiting for me to get over all of my immature rebelling”—she air quoted the hurtful words she’d heard once too often—“and start taking an interest in my future.” As she always did, Lillian immediately felt bad about sounding critical of her parents, and was quick to defend them, even from herself. “Don’t get me wrong. I know my parents love me, and they want what’s best for me. But…”
“But they don’t really know you, or they’d see that if you’ve stuck with something for more than twenty years, it’s not a hobby. It’s a part of you.”
It was as though someone had shined a spotlight on the point none of her friends, and no one in her family, with the possible exception of her twin, ever seemed to get. It didn’t matter if sh
e ever sold a single painting, ever had her name mentioned in Art Review, was ever hung in galleries in New York or L.A. She was an artist because it was a part of her, right down to her very marrow. The fact Rafe figured that out in a matter of minutes was mind-boggling. And just a little bit dangerous to her heart.
“How come you can see that, and no one else can?”
Rafe shrugged as he looked around the room. “I don’t know how anyone wouldn’t get it the second they saw what you can do. These are…amazing.”
Ignoring the giddy little twirl her stomach did at his praise, Lillian slid her arms around his neck and gave him a quick kiss. “Thank you. That means a lot.”
“It’s only the truth. You’re very talented.”
“Not for the praise.” Although the stroke to her ego was kind of nice too. “For getting it. For getting me.” That didn’t happen very often. People saw the outer shell. The heiress, the party girl, the rebel. Some saw several layers underneath. One or two managed to mostly understand her and her quirky ways.
But no one had ever seen straight to the heart of her before.
The kiss started as a thank you, turned into a question, and finished as a promise that they weren’t going to make it back to the bedroom this time. As Rafe slipped his shirt off over her head, he nibbled along her neck to her sensitive earlobe. “Just tell me something.”
Squirming under the onslaught, Lillian moaned. “What?”
“My ass doesn’t really look like that, does it?”
It took a few seconds for her lust-addled brain to realize he was talking about the painting on the easel. She laughed. “That was pure imagination. But now that I have the real thing to study”—her hands slipped down his bare back and into his unfastened jeans to grab the ass in question—“I’ll make sure I do it justice.”
****
The Beaumont brothers were going to kill him.
Not only had he spent the better part of the afternoon defiling their sister, but they seemed to know he’d spent the afternoon defiling their sister. In that spooky, psychic way siblings had, they’d zeroed in on him the moment he and Lillian walked into the room. It took all of five seconds for a unified look of fury to appear in their eyes.
