by C. C. Gibbs
“Close? Look at me.”
She was slick, panting, rocking gently with the pressure building inside her; it took enormous effort to look up.
“You my girl?” A bare, simple question, the undercurrent of earnestness no more than a brief wing-beat of sound.
Teetering on the edge, too overwrought to speak, she gave him a shaky nod.
“Good,” he whispered, his golden gaze transfixed for a moment. Then he winked. “Show me how much.” Flexing his fingers, he broadened his grip on her ass, withdrew slightly, then leaned forward, forced her legs even wider, and, with a soft, barbaric growl, drove in hard and fast, burying himself balls deep.
She quietly shuddered, feeling as though she might detonate any second with her body stretched taut, with an unbearable, exhilarating desire drumming through her senses.
Dragging in a rough breath, he pushed in a carefully calculated distance more, measuring her ardor, his audacity, and the outer limits of sensation. “Feel that?” he asked, husky and low. “Right. Fucking. Here?” It wasn’t really a question; the answer was clear. She was trembling helplessly, her body slippery wet, hot enough to fuel the universe, beautiful enough to have him thinking of forever. Or, more realistically, beautiful enough to keep his dick epically inspired. So breathe in, breathe out, make his little princess happy, and get the hell out on Anton’s yacht. Here goes: he eased in just a little deeper, barely moving.
She let out a tiny shriek.
He stopped. “Too much?”
She shook her head, the stark, urgent pleasure whirling raw-edged and shimmering through her senses.
He hesitated; she was incredibly tight.
She whispered, feverishly, “Don’t you dare stop!”
One of them had to be sensible; there was no question who. So despite her frantic protests, he withdrew slightly—“Hey, hey, look I’m back”—made sure to keep a tight leash on his libido, and took her over the finish line with a cautious, limited penetration and a well-behaved dick that was super attentive to Nicole’s quivering, insanely hot, and distractingly tight pussy.
When she climaxed, her scream was muffled by the gush of the shower.
He was only seconds behind her, although, after that carefully executed, do-no-harm, play-nice finish to their fuck, he came with such savage intensity he forgot to breathe.
Caught up in a fierce, heart-pounding orgasm, Nicole clung to Rafe against the fury of her climax tearing through her at lightning speed, rolling over her with a ferocity that left her dizzy. “No more,” she whispered weakly as her body suddenly went slack.
“Good idea,” Rafe muttered, gasping for air.
“Need…rest,” Nicole murmured, the words half lost in his shoulder.
She was a burn-to-rubble spendthrift with her passions, wild and greedy. No messing around, expecting him to keep up. He smiled. No problem.
Still breathing hard, he shifted her into his arms with a casual strength, carried her over to the marble shower bench, set her on his lap, held her close, and wondered how he’d ever thought he could keep her at a safe distance. Hell, he was going to have a hard-on and a smile on his face until the day he flew out of here.
She was a surprise.
He’d misjudged.
Nicole slowly lifted her head.
“Welcome back, pussycat.” He looked at her with an unconcealed assessment. “You okay?”
Sliding her arms around his neck, she gazed up at him and smiled sweetly. “I’m crazy for you. Otherwise I’m okay. You’re perfect you know.” She gave him a wry, sideways look. “Seriously, break-the-mold perfect.”
He grinned. “Am I hearing the endorphins talking?”
“Maybe, but it’s me being sincere too.” Her blue gaze slowly swept his face. “Even if sincerity is against the rules.”
“We don’t have any rules. It’s just us,” he said softly. “And you’re pretty damn perfect yourself.”
She took a deep breath. “I like that it’s just us.”
“We’re in our own little bubble, Tiger.”
“Where the world can’t touch us.”
“Yup.” He drew in a slow breath.
“Don’t say it.” Her eyes were wide with appeal. “Please. Not yet.” She tried to keep her lip from quivering. “I know—we had to leave five minutes ago.”
“We’ll come back.” His voice was ultra soft.
She knew what he meant; she even understood why he’d spoken so quietly. “We mustn’t make too much noise or we might break the spell.”
“Something like that.” He smiled faintly. “So much for sanity.”
“Much overrated,” she whispered. “Since I met you.”
He sighed. “I know.” But mystical feeling aside, he was a logical man and they were expected on Anton’s yacht. “One kiss, then we do have to go.” He dipped his head. “I’ll meet you halfway.”
She stretched upward and their lips met in a kiss so replete with meaning it should have been wreathed in sonnets and troubadour songs. But a moment later, he raised his head, swung her up into his arms, came to his feet, and stood motionless within the cocoon of steamed glass. “Our timing could have been better,” he said quietly.
Nicole trailed a finger down his strong neck. “I’ll take what I can get.”
“You can have it all, pussycat. Everything I’ve got.”
Until I can’t. But she smiled. “Good. You can’t back out.”
“Never. My word on it.”
They were both playing the game, unwilling to shatter the dream until cold reality intruded. Their dinner tonight perhaps prelude to the widening complexities.
“We’re going to be late. So,” he said with another sigh, setting her on her feet, “how fast can you shower?”
Nicole grinned. “Watch and learn, dude.”
A few minutes later, Rafe opened the shower door, waved her through, found them towels, then showed Nicole into his dressing room next door. “Clothes over there.” He indicated a long span of teak cabinets on the tower wall, his voice one of simple clarification. “His and hers.”
Her eyes flared wide. “My clothes are here? Wait, could someone…hear us?”
He was beginning to recognize her unease with servants. “Relax. Our luggage was carried up while we were still at the landing pad talking to Ganz and Carlos.”
“Whew.”
He smiled. “You’ll get used to having staff.”
“No I won’t.”
“They’re always around, pussycat. You have a problem with anyone, let me know. I’ll fire them,” he added playfully. It wasn’t as though she was poverty-stricken. Despite his warning, Carlos had done a minimum vetting of Nicole.
“I hope you’re not patronizing me.”
“I wouldn’t dare.” He looked amused. “But we’re late, so let’s leave this discussion until some other time. Would you like help dressing?”
She laughed. “You never like to argue.”
“Waste of time.”
“I like speaking my mind.”
A lift of his brows. “I’ve noticed.” He held out his hands. “Help or not?”
She knew when to quit. “I don’t need help. I’m a speed dresser.”
Not that he didn’t know that by now, but if there had been time to argue he would have had her explain exactly what she meant by speed dresser—a concept he was overly familiar with. Instead, he controlled his temper, gave her a bland smile, and moved toward his closets. Anton had been snappish when he normally wasn’t. Pressing him on Nicole’s presence in his life, on the current state of his operation, on the necessity of soothing his mother’s anxieties. No point in aggravating him; his mother wouldn’t approve. As for protecting his mother, it had always been a priority for him. Anton could get off his ass on that score.
Rafe dressed more quickly than Nicole, but then he’d set records exiting beds, bedrooms, and sundry fucking venues. He knew the drill.
Running a brush through his wet hair, he tied it back with a s
hort black cord, then slipped on a custom white shirt from Borelli in Naples, boxers, and a navy linen bespoke suit, and carried a pair of black sandals with him as he left the dressing room. “I need a drink,” he said over his shoulder. “Take your time.”
A casual courtesy, a selfish impulse as well. He needed alcohol before facing the inquisition.
Nicole found her clothes along with those Rafe had given her hanging in the closets designated as hers or folded away in drawers. Debating her choices, she decided on one of the two dresses she’d brought with her and stepped into the bare-back navy silk Céline dress. Pulling it up over her hips, she zipped it to the waist in back, slid her arms into the long sleeves, slipped the dress over her shoulders, and buttoned the two buttons at her nape. Since time was limited, she twisted her damp hair into a loose, fishtail braid, chose pearls for her ears, and stepped into her silver heels. She took one last look in the wall of mirrored doors before she walked through the bookcase door Rafe had left open.
“Lovely as usual,” Rafe said, surveying her as she entered the tower room. Standing at the liquor table, he was halfway through his second stiff whiskey. “We’re color coordinated.” He raised his glass in Nicole’s direction. “Is that one of Alessandra’s dresses?”
“No, it’s mine.”
His gaze narrowed slightly. “They’re all yours.”
A small silence.
“Tell me you understand,” he said a moment later.
“I like this dress. It’s comfortable.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Don’t be difficult.” The glint in her eyes matched his.
“I don’t buy women presents as a rule. When I do I sure as hell don’t want them refused.”
“I didn’t say I refused them.”
Rafe raised one eyebrow and tilted his head. “So I can buy you some more?”
She gave him a dirty look. “Do we have time for this? I thought you were in a hurry.”
“They can fucking wait all night,” he growled. “Answer me. Is it a problem if I buy you more clothes?”
“You didn’t actually buy them,” she said levelly.
“Then I’ll go shopping myself next time. We’ll fly to Split tomorrow. That okay with you?”
“Why are you doing this?”
“Why are you?” he demanded, staring at her.
“Because I’m getting the impression this is about power, not gifts.”
“It isn’t.” He drained his drink, grabbed a bottle, and splashed another few inches into the glass. “So what kind of gifts do you like?”
“Jesus Christ,” she muttered. “Look, I love what you gave me. Can we stop now?”
His nostrils flared and he set down his untouched drink. “I’ve never, ever, ever bought a gift for a woman before,” he said very softly. “So we can parse the meaning of buy, but that doesn’t nullify my impulse. I want to give you things. You make me happy. If that’s a major problem for you, too fucking bad.”
She smiled at his artlessness, but was warmed by his sincerity. “No, it’s all good.”
“Okay, then, we’ll go shopping tomorrow.”
“Fine.”
He rubbed one hand up the side of his jaw, staring at her. “In the morning. First thing.”
“Whatever you say.”
He laughed. “Jesus, Tiger, now I’m worried. You feeling okay?”
Chapter 6
Come here,” Rafe said, holding out his hand and smiling. “You’re the only sweetness and joy in my life. Everything else is senseless tribal shit, including dinner tonight.” Folding Nicole’s hand in his as she reached him, he leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Thanks for coming along.”
“I’d miss you otherwise.”
His heart did a little stammer. She’d said it so simply. His pleasure in what she said was less simple. “Good. Beautiful.” His voice was easy, contained—a natural defense after twenty-six years of locking away his feelings. “First, though, I need a few minutes with Carlos. Get my stories straight for Anton.” Pulling his cell from his jacket pocket, he punched in a number with his thumb, waited for the answer, then said, “We’re coming down. We’ll meet you in the hall.”
“You’re not involving her are you?” There was an edge to Carlos’s voice.
“No.” Rafe slid his phone back in his pocket, then gently squeezed Nicole’s hand. “Ignore Anton if he’s a prick. He has no say in my personal life. Be nice to my mother, although she’s easy to like. Try to listen politely to Titus’s nonstop chatter. He’s six. What can I say? That’s about it.”
“So is this a for real”—she held up her hand with the ring Rafe had given her and grinned—“like…meeting the parents?”
“Oh shit,” he said, remembering the fake engagement ring he’d given her in Paris.
“Hey, just teasing. Really.” She lifted her chin a tiny fraction, looking at him calmly. “Want me to take it off? You can have it back.”
“I know.” Mentally checking off several true but unfixable answers, he chose a middle ground reply. “I just don’t want a lot of questions right now.” He paused, struck by the sheer number of lies he was obliged to deliver tonight: about corruption, criminal activity, assassination squads—the reasons he was on the island. That he was quietly happy even in the midst of such ugliness made him change his mind. “Look, leave the ring on. Tell them whatever you want. We’re engaged if you like.”
Under normal circumstances, when Rafe wasn’t amassing an army on his island, Nicole would have answered differently. She would have told him that she might be falling in love with him or, honestly, was already in love with him. But nothing about their timing was normal, so she said instead, “Look, if your parents ask, why don’t I just say it was a gift and leave it at that.”
He should have been more pleased that she was being sensible. He was disappointed instead—or irritated; he didn’t know which. “It’s probably for the best.” He smiled. “Saves trouble.” Rafe looked at the door, then back to Nicole. “Ready?”
Rafe led the way down the narrow stairs, holding Nicole’s hand in case she stumbled on the worn stone in her strappy heels. When they reached the entrance hall, he waved at Carlos, who was striding toward them. “Sit for a minute.” Rafe drew Nicole to a chair near the courtyard door. “I won’t be long.”
She watched Rafe walk away with a long, easy, balanced lope like a rider’s or surfer’s; she’d have to ask him if he owned horses. He was clearly comfortable in his own skin, tall and rangy, sleek with muscle, his navy linen suit cut to perfection by the best Italian or Saville Row tailor. He was beautiful from any angle, bone deep and indelible. She felt like a groupie lusting after some sports star or rocker. She couldn’t help it; he was that splendid. And of course the sex was so extraordinary she knew she’d never even come close to finding a replacement. Priceless, once-in-a-lifetime memories. And, with Rafe’s security ramping up big-time, as temporary as snowflakes in summer.
Nicole grimaced. How many times in the past had she been the one walking away? Being polite, smiling, offering the usual excuse: It’s not you, it’s me. Never finding the one, never having that OhmyGod moment about some guy all her friends had. Not really believing her mom when she’d say, Don’t worry, you’ll find him someday. Now that it looked as though that someday might have arrived, it had come with a firm expiration date. Although she’d known from the beginning that Rafe wasn’t a hearts and flowers kind of guy, still…it just went to show you…life could be a bitch.
She had to give Fiona, her BFF, a call and whine about the vast injustices of the world and the sad reality of “too little too late.” Fiona was always nonjudgmental, a good listener, and right now she needed an objective sounding board for all her new, strange, happy, sad, baffling, convoluted feelings about Rafe. If there had been time, she would have called Fiona now—as in instant phone therapy. Tomorrow, right after Rafe returned to his crisis management agenda, she’d call her.
In the meanti
me, Nicole surveyed the grandeur of the large hall, taking in the colorful ceiling, the high stone walls and clerestory windows, the fireplace big enough to roast an ox, the forty-foot table holding center stage, the huge carpet woven to fit the shape of the room.
When Rafe had said burning through money, he wasn’t kidding.
With their dinner engagement pressing, Rafe was issuing instructions to Carlos in a brisk staccato. “Text me when Gina gets to Brisbane. Same with Zou’s Swiss bank accounts and wire transfers when they’re found. The names of the bank directors. Zou’s location should we get that lucky. And if Dominic Knight contacts Leo, I want to know.”
“So far progress but nothing definitive on all of the above. You’ll be down in the morning, right? Don’t look at me like that.” Carlos stared right back. “This is the craziest thing you’ve ever done and I’ve seen a helluva a lot of your crazy. Fuck her after this is over. If you still want to. If she still wants to.”
“If she wants to?” Rafe scowled. “What the hell does that mean?”
“Gora sent over his vetting report on Miss Parrish. Unlike mine, his goes way back. Let’s just say, she’s had an impressive number of boyfriends.”
“Jesus, are you the purity patrol?”
“Hardly.”
“Then shut the fuck up.”
“We’re working round the clock,” Carlos said, ignoring Rafe’s scowl. “So whenever you come down in the morning, we’ll be there.”
“Am I supposed to feel guilty?”
“Goddamn right.”
Rafe shut his eyes, exhaled, then slowly opened them. “I might be down later tonight.” He nodded, his voice dropping in volume. “And thank you.”
Carlos sighed. “Look, you’re taking on Ganz’s father’s murderers out of friendship for him. It’s not necessarily your fight, but you made it your fight. So—”
“Let’s win it.”
“Yeah. And Gora’s mad as hell. Old battles I think with him, but prepare yourself for a fun evening.”
Rafe nodded. “I already got that message when he called. All he did was bitch about Nicole. As if I give a shit about his history with Dominic Knight. But apparently my mother is worried. I have no idea why unless he was stupid enough to bring her into the loop.”
