by Unknown
She picked up the glass, but instead of drinking the lemonade, she looked at Rafael. She’d brushed him off, tried to get out of having lunch with him, constantly quoted her husband, stood him up, and now cried on his shoulder, and he still looked at her as if he wanted to gobble her in one greedy bite.
She had to admit, she wouldn’t mind a little nibbling on him herself. She didn’t have Clarice’s experience with men, but Carmen’s sudden illness had reminded Nathalyia of her husband’s philosophy of living life to the fullest with a minimum of regret.
She didn’t want not getting to know Rafael to be one of her regrets. “Do you want to wait and follow me home, or should I call you when I’m ready to leave?”
“I’ll wait.”
Homes in Navarone Estates started at three million dollars and went up sharply from there. Many who lived there were politicians, sports figures, entertainers, and entrepreneurs. The exclusive community had twenty-two homes on the fifty-acre gated estate.
The homes, built on only one side of the street, faced a wooded park with a running and bicycle trail. The property of ten lucky owners backed up to a man-made lake. Rafael drove through the manned gate behind Nathalyia, but he didn’t miss the guard stepping out to write down his license plate.
Rafael wholly applauded the man’s action. A woman, even a careful woman like Nathalyia, couldn’t be too careful.
Nathalyia, driving her late husband’s Rolls-Royce, continued down the street past two-and three-story homes until she came to a curve. She’d shyly told Rafael she drove it once a week to keep the battery from dying.
Directly ahead was a magnificent three-story mansion with landscaped lighting and palm trees blowing in the night breeze. She went up the long driveway on one side of the house. Rafael heard a gate disengage, then heard it closing after she drove through.
He stopped on the street. The front door was at least fifty feet from the curb. Getting out, he went to the massive fifteen-foot-high door. He glanced up at the eye of the camera. He’d bet anything it was a live feed. She’d told him she had to go around to the back and disengage the alarm system.
More lights flickered on. Through the grillwork of the leaded glass door, he could see a domed ceiling, a massive chandelier, artwork, and a graceful wrought-iron double staircase. He saw her hurrying toward him and thought the house suited her.
“Sorry it took me so long.”
“It’s fine. It gave me a chance to admire your home.” Stepping inside, he saw the living room with yellow and white walls, silk-covered furniture, and the immense lighted pool beyond. “The elegance suits you.”
She flushed and closed the door, glancing around. “It’s too big, but it’s what—” She stopped abruptly.
“Your late husband wanted,” Rafael filled in for her.
“Restaurateurs have odd hours. He wanted me safe.”
“I won’t keep you. You must be tired.”
He easily read the regret on her face. Her emotions were so transparent. Her husband had been right to protect her. The world would chew her up and spit her out.
He wouldn’t let that happen. “Good night.” He leaned over to brush his lips across her cheek. He’d planned to tease her afterward about kissing on the second date. The compelling scent, the softness of her skin, had him wanting more. His mouth moved to cover hers. Desire hit him before he could draw in his next breath. He pulled her into his arms, his tongue teasing and his teeth nipping.
She tensed momentarily, then her lips parted. His tongue slipped inside. She tasted hot and sweet. Her slim arms slid around his neck. His tongue swept across hers, again and again, compelling her to follow. With a little whimper she melted against him in surrender.
The kiss heated and tested his willpower to keep it light. He desperately wanted to cup her hips and bring them closer still, wanted his hand to feel the fullness of her breasts, and wanted to savor every luscious bare curve.
Suddenly, she pushed out of his arms and stumbled back. Breathing hard, her eyes wide, she stared at him.
He glimpsed the surprise in her eyes, the wariness, and the lingering desire before she glanced away. If he didn’t know better, he’d have thought she’d never experienced passion before. Studying the erratic pulse in her throat, he decided it was an intriguing possibility he definitely planned to explore.
“You said the carnival is Friday?” he asked to get the conversation started again and to put her at ease.
“Yes. Friday night,” she said after a moment. “I plan to be there around six to ensure things are in order and the badge for each child is ready. Things start at six thirty.”
“I could pick you up at the restaurant at five thirty and take you back or home,” he offered.
She stared at him. “All right. It will be back to the restaurant. I’ve missed few closings.”
She was as dedicated as Clarice had said. “See you Friday. Good night, Nathalyia.”
“Good night, Rafael.”
After one last lingering look, he left. Once outside, he motioned for her to lock the door. Smiling, she did, then waved through the window, and frowned when he frowned. The glass was pretty, but it allowed too much of the house to be seen.
The door opened. “What is it?”
“The glass door.”
The smile returned. “It bothered Jake, too. He insisted it be changed. It’s bulletproof and shatterproof.”
“It still allows too clear a view inside the house.”
“I’m seldom in here. My bedroom and office are on the second floor so I can look at the lake and ocean,” she explained, then hastened to add, “The gates at the back of the house on the lake are locked and patrolled.”
“Jake again.”
“Part of the security provided by Navarone Estates. I’m as safe as if you were here.”
The idea sent heat splintering through her. Her breasts felt tight and achy. She licked her suddenly dry lips. Rafael’s gaze followed. His breathing accelerated.
Her heart thundered. She wanted to reach out to him, to taste him again, savor him on her tongue. She clenched her hands instead.
“Good night, Nathalyia.” He spun on his heel and went down the sidewalk.
Nathalyia closed the door, then shut off the lights in the entryway so he couldn’t see her. At the moment she couldn’t move. Her knees were too shaky. Not only did his kisses excite her, but just thinking about being in his arms did the same thing.
It looked as if she did kiss on the second date—if the man was Rafael.
Standing outside Clarice’s second-floor apartment Wednesday morning, Jake wiped the fine beads of perspiration from his forehead. “Get a grip, man,” he ordered himself.
He’d faced the enemy in the Gulf War and hadn’t faltered. He had more medals than he knew what to do with. His hand touched the left side of his cheek, a reminder that he hadn’t escaped unscathed. But the man who had put it there never saw another sunrise.
His hand lifted to knock. Instead, he ran his hand over his face again. He didn’t know squat about women. His faithless wife proved as much.
He never had a clue she was cheating, both before he left for combat and after he returned. He just thought she didn’t want him touching her because of the scar. He blew out a breath. He wasn’t going there.
It had taken him a long time and numerous late-night talks with Martin for Jake to finally let go of the anger and the “poor me” attitude. He’d lost good friends in the war and a wife, but he was still living. Martin helped Jake see that his life wasn’t over and he was dishonoring those who hadn’t made it by wallowing in self-pity.
His cell phone rang. Without looking, he knew who it was. He accepted the call. “I’m here.”
Instead of an answer, the door opened. Clarice stood there with an exasperated look on her pretty face. He couldn’t remember falling in love with her; he had just looked up one day when she was going on about another jerk who hadn’t panned out and accepted that he loved her.
<
br /> “You’re five minutes late. Breakfast is getting cold.” Reaching out, she pulled him inside her new apartment.
“Breakfast?”
She rolled her eyes. “Do you think I’d invite you over this early and not feed you?” she asked, and held up her hand before he could answer. “Of course, you do. You think I’m scatterbrained, irresponsible.”
He frowned at her. “Why would you say such a thing? You’re smart, but your heart is too soft. Hanging a few pictures for a friend doesn’t call for breakfast.”
“It’s more than a few.” She grinned. “You might demand more than breakfast.”
She turned away, which was a good thing. He knew exactly what he’d demand: Clarice in bed for a week, maybe two. It would take a lot of loving to satisfy him. He’d wanted her for a long time.
“Come on, Jake, and have a seat,” she called from the kitchen. “And since I’m not subtle, what do you think now that all the furniture is arranged?”
He looked around the cheery apartment decorated in blue and green, her favorite colors. He’d helped her move since her brothers were “busy.” He thought they should look out for her more.
He’d been the one to help her find an apartment when hers had become overrun with gang violence. Although there had been two shootings, her brothers weren’t concerned for her safety. However, they had no problem stopping by to ask for money or to borrow her car.
Men should take care of women, not the other way around. His mouth tightened. If they weren’t her brothers—
“You don’t like it?” she asked, coming back into the room to stare at him.
“Sorry. I was just thinking.” He glanced around again. “I like it. You did a good job.”
She appeared relieved, which surprised him. In most things, Clarice was self-assured and pigheaded. “Thanks. I wasn’t certain. I asked Nathalyia about the color scheme. She always looks fabulous.”
“So do you,” he said, then could have bitten off his tongue.
Clarice stared at him, then laughed. Taking his arm, she led him to the kitchen. “Laying it on a bit thick, aren’t we, Jake? I forgive you for yesterday.”
He took the seat she waved toward. On one hand he was glad she didn’t think he was serious, but on the other it showed that she’d never view him as anything other than a friend. Why should she?
He was fifteen years older, towered over her, and was scarred for life. He should just be happy that she had never seemed to notice the scar.
“Breakfast smells good,” he finally said.
“I can cook my behind off.” She put biscuits in a basket.
With her back to him, he studied that behind. That would be some feat.
On the table she set a platter of pork sausages, scrambled eggs, and fried red potatoes with one hand and a woven basket of biscuits with the other. She took the chair beside him that he pulled out. Bowing her head, she blessed their food. Picking up his plate, Clarice filled it.
“I usually have cold cereal,” he told her as he reached for the spoon for his cheese grits, which were already on the table.
“I know we’re supposed to watch cholesterol, but I can’t abide turkey breakfast meats. When I eat an egg, I want an egg.” She prepared her own plate.
“I feel the same way.” He bit into a golden biscuit. “You can cook!”
“Told you.” She grinned. “If you ever want to drop by for breakfast, you can, you know.”
Somehow, Jake kept his expression friendly. “Exactly how many pictures do you have?”
She laughed and slapped him on the shoulder. “Ouch!”
He was out of his seat instantly, her hand in his, searching for injuries. “Did you hurt yourself?”
“No.” With her other hand, she poked his chest. “Solid, just like I thought. You have one incredible body, Jake Sergeant.”
He dropped her hand.
She rolled her eyes. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to embarrass you. As you know, I don’t always think before I speak.”
“That’s all right.” He took his seat and picked up his fork.
She reached across the table and briefly covered his hand with hers. “You’re sure? I’ve got pictures that need hanging.”
Somehow, he smiled. She had no way of knowing how her words affected him. “Then I guess we better finish breakfast so we can get to it.”
Grinning, she picked up her fork. “That’s the bossy Jake we all know and love.”
Jake kept eating. She was slicing his heart to pieces and she’d never know.
FIVE
Hold out, Rafael, he told himself Thursday morning. You’ll see her tomorrow.
On the back porch of his house, he looked out at the churning ocean and sipped his first and only cup of coffee for the day. The house sat on a prime piece of real estate, but, more important, the rambling two-story structure had belonged to his parents. They’d left it to him. He didn’t take the responsibility lightly.
He and his brothers had grown up in the four-bedroom house. His father had moonlighted to help make the payments. He’d wanted a better life and home for his family, and had done everything he could to ensure that it happened. His wife and partner, the woman he’d loved more than life, had been a stay-at-home mother and had made every penny count.
How many times had Rafael come out on the porch to see his parents walking on the beach holding hands? They’d all helped to build the sleek nautical railing so their mother could look out and always see what her adventurous sons were up to. Occasionally, he’d found his parents on the porch together.
His father would be reading the newspaper and his mother one of her many romance novels. They had the kind of love his brothers were also blessed to have. Rafael had long ago decided that he’d walk alone. No woman or child should fear the ring of the phone or doorbell.
Rafael glanced at his watch. Again. Eight thirty-three A.M. Nathalyia should be up. He imagined her awakening from sleep, her skin soft and warm, and her arms reaching for him. He hardened instantly.
Returning inside, he dumped the coffee into the sink. He didn’t ever recall going through such mental acrobatics over a woman or of wanting her this much. He’d certainly never been this impatient to see one. He enjoyed women, made sure they enjoyed him, then he moved on.
He forgot them, as he was sure they forgot him. And during the time they were together, he kept them compartmentalized. They didn’t intrude on his thoughts.
He wasn’t able to do that with Nathalyia, and it bothered him. He was the type of man who liked answers, a man who wanted everything laid out. He didn’t like puzzles or deviations.
He rinsed out the mug and put it in the dishwasher, and glanced at his watch again. He wasn’t due on duty until ten. This restlessness was odd for him. He wasn’t obsessive, but he always knew what came next, even if next was nothing.
If he went by Sam and Helen’s house, she would cook him one of her special breakfasts. She’d also realize something was bothering him and, because she loved him, she would try to find out what it was so she could help.
So going over there was definitely out. He didn’t feel like exercising or running on the beach. What he felt like was seeing Nathalyia, holding her, kissing her. Muttering, he picked up the phone and paused. He didn’t know her home number.
He hung his head. For a man who dealt in facts, he hadn’t done very well.
His cell rang. He threw it a nasty look since the ring tone wasn’t his commander’s or one of his family members’. He always plugged in his phone up to charge before he went to bed and unplugged, then turned it on when he came to the kitchen for his coffee.
He walked over and picked it up. Seeing a number he didn’t recognize, he reluctantly accepted the call. “Whatever you’re selling, I’m not buying.”
Light laughter filtered though the line.
He straightened. “Nathalyia.”
“Good morning, Rafael.” Laughter still resonated in her voice.
“Morning.” He
laughed, then opened a drawer and reached for a pen. “What are your cell and home numbers? I was about to call you and realized I didn’t have either number.”
She gave him the information he requested. “I just wanted to make sure you’re still picking me up tomorrow.”
“I’ll be there.” He leaned against the counter and crossed one leg over the other. “How are things?”
“Great, thank you,” she said. “I haven’t seen or heard anything on the radio or television I have in my office, so I’m assuming you haven’t had to use your negotiating skills again.”
He didn’t want her worried. “I’ve been doing boring but necessary desk work.”
“I know what you mean,” she said. “When I go in today, I have to reconcile inventory and order supplies for several special events scheduled later this month.”
“Since both of us are going to have a day we’re not looking forward to, why don’t we do something to get it started right?” he suggested.
There was a slight pause before she asked, “What do you have in mind?”
Unfortunately, not what she was probably thinking and what he wanted. “There’s a great coffee shop a couple of miles from the restaurant. We can grab a Danish and juice.”
“I’d like that.”
“Great.” He reached for his car keys and gave her the address. “I can meet you there in twenty minutes.”
“It might take me a bit longer,” she said, worry in her voice.
Rafael thought of his clothes horse niece, Brooke, and could easily imagine Nathalyia trying to decide what to wear. “No problem. I’ll go on and grab us a table. I’ll see you when I see you. Bye.”
She laughed. “Bye.”
Disconnecting the call, Rafael headed for the garage, a wide grin on his face. The day was definitely going to begin right.
Nathalyia hadn’t planned to dress up to go in to work today, but that was before she knew she had a date with Rafael. And it was definitely a date.
She went quickly to her closet. She didn’t want to overdress, but she wanted to look nice. The red shawl-collar knee-length lightweight sweater with a matching T-shirt caught her attention. She quickly unbuttoned the gray blouse she had planned to wear and slipped the tee and the sweater on.
