by C. C. Gibbs
He groaned. “I wish I could kick you out. Seriously, I would if I could. This is all so fucked up.”
“But it’s awesome too, don’t forget. And so rare”—another little lift of her shoulder—“we’d be stupid to walk away.”
“Or smart.”
She looked at him with a trace of a smile. “Don’t you ever take a chance, go for broke, just wing it?”
“I was going to and you wouldn’t let me,” he pointed out, his eyes locked on hers.
“That’s because my brain is still working. And that’s not what I meant. I meant go for broke like”—she gave him a wicked wink—“with your feelings.”
“I don’t do feelings. I prefer zero emotion, no drama.”
“How do you ever have fun?”
He laughed. “I thought I was having fun until you walked in the door.”
“Seriously, with someone like Sylvie Fermetti?”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Orgasms register as fun in my world.”
“But ours will be better.”
“Maybe they won’t be. I’m just saying.”
“Okay, I’m done talking. You’re not cooperating.” She jumped off the bed. “Now, come on, where are your condoms?”
“I don’t have any here. I sleep alone.”
She spun around, her smile pure sunshine. “See. What did I say? It’s gonna be a whole lot better—guaranteed. So can we call a drugstore and get a delivery?”
Rafe exhaled a deep sigh, rolled up into a sitting position, and swung out of bed. “There might be some at the main house. I’ll go look.”
“Why didn’t you say so before?”
“Because I’m not sure there are any.”
“Someone could look, couldn’t they, and bring them over?”
He smiled. “Thanks for the advice. But I’d better do it.” He didn’t say the party last night had probably decimated the supply of condoms, and if there were any they’d be somewhere obscure enough not to have been found when Roddrick was tearing the house apart screaming, You gotta be kidding? We’re out? “I’ll send Simon into town but he won’t be back for a while. Are you desperate?”
“No more than you,” she said pleasantly.
“Yeah.” He grunted, reached for his shorts, and said a little prayer his search wouldn’t be in vain. Because desperate didn’t begin to define his ache for her.
“I’ll come with you. Let me get my backpack and put on some clothes.”
“Grab one of my robes.” He pointed to the dressing room. “Just for the record, I’m fucking desperate, so hustle.”
She walked back into the bedroom a few minutes later wearing one of his shirts. “Your robes all dragged on the floor. And you have ten of these blue oxford cloth shirts. I figured you wouldn’t miss one.” She’d rolled up the sleeves and the shirttails covered her legs to her knees.
He didn’t want to think about her nakedness under his shirt, so he moved toward the door. “Come on.” He reached out his hand. “I called Simon. He’s on his way into town. In the meantime, let’s see if we get lucky.”
“At least I’m thinking semi-clearly again,” she said, taking his hand.
“I’m trying. No guarantees though.” Although the small break had mitigated the worst of his loot-and-pillage mentality, his remaining horniness was mildly problematic.
But once they were outside and the world intruded, Rafe was better able to restrain his libido. The flagstone path to the main house was smooth and warm on their bare feet, the gardens scenting the air, and when Nicole gently squeezed his hand, they both felt the same warm enchantment.
“Nice,” she said softly, smiling up at him.
He nodded.
“I’m glad I went to your party.”
“Me too.”
She grinned. “Are we having a moment?”
“If it’s not going to piss you off, I’d rather not talk about shit like this.”
“Gotcha. I have another question. No romance, strictly business.”
He finally smiled. “That I can handle.”
“Are you really superclean? I mean, even with all the women? And don’t look at me like that. You know you and your dick are notorious.”
He sighed. “Everyone’s a goddamn voyeur. As for the women, I use condoms.” He frowned. “You happen to be the exception condom-wise, like you are in every other way, okay? And don’t ask me why because I already told you I haven’t a clue.”
She glanced at him sideways. “That’s really kinda sweet.”
“No, it’s a mind fuck,” he grumbled.
She had no intention of arguing with him, especially since she was feeling all warm and fuzzy about him when no other guy had ever made her feel that way. She knew better than to belabor the point, since it had to do with feelings—a universal male phobia. “You said you had a doctor on staff? Is he here?”
“Actually, I have two and, yes, they’re in town. With the size of my crew and various households, having private doctors is convenient. You can’t always find a local one you like.”
“Maybe they could show me your clean bill of health and one of them could check me out. Not that I’m worried because I always use condoms, but to ease your mind. I mean, if you’d like.”
He dragged her to a sudden stop, slid his hand around the curve of her hip, and pulled her close. “Fuck yes.” He laughed. “You’re just so contrary, I didn’t dare mention it.”
She grinned. “So I scare you?”
He dipped his head and held her gaze. “Uh-uh, I’m just being selfish. I want you in my bed. That means not pissing you off.” Then he raised his head, smiled, and pulled his phone out of his shorts’ pocket. “I’ll call one of the doctors. Simon can bring him up.” He paused. “You sure now? I don’t want to force you into anything.”
“I’m sure. I’m selfish too.”
He went silent for a moment, struck again with that strange happiness he’d prefer not to be feeling. Dropping a quick kiss on Nicole’s nose, he murmured, “Selfish. Good word. We’ll check it out.” Then he punched in a number on his cell.
She stood and watched him as he made his call. He wore only shorts, so his big, powerful body was on display—tall, tanned, and virile—his dark beauty so absolute, she felt as though she’d won every roll of the dice in the universe. There was no mistake, in terms of the world’s gene pool, Rafe Contini had walked off with the prize. Not to mention, he could be really sweet, like considerate and charming. She almost said, Pinch me, because where he preferred emotionless objectivity, she was a sucker for the mystical hand of fate.
But then she was from northern California. If it wasn’t yoga and crystals, it was surfing and powerpunk music, the psychic mysteries of the mind or the transcendent wonder of fine weed. The word emotionless wasn’t in her vocabulary.
“Done,” Rafe said. “Simon’s picking up one of the doctors.” Shoving his phone back in his pocket, he smiled and twined his fingers through hers. “It might be an hour or so before they get here. Let’s see what we can find at the house.”
Chapter 8
They walked past an infinity pool overlooking the Mediterranean, entered the house through a terrace door, and stepped into an enormous sunlit room with an Olympic-size indoor pool.
“You swim a lot?” Nicole asked, admiring the colorful Moorish mosaic lining the pool as they passed by.
“A fair amount, but the pools were here long before me. Actually, I prefer the sea. You said you swim every day. Where?”
“A small private beach down the coast. My uncle’s.”
“An American, I assume.” A statement rather than a question apparently, because he opened one of two glass doors on the opposite wall and waved her through into a light-filled, arcaded hallway. “Up those stairs. We’ll check the bedrooms first.”
All the interior walls and floors were faced with marble—a golden hue on the ground floor, pale green on the main floor, the wide marble stairway a neutral white and richly carpeted. As they ascen
ded the stairs and continued past the dramatic entrance hall illuminated by a fifty-foot-high, stained-glass cupola and filled with enough art nouveau marble nymph sculptures for a museum, she murmured, “Very impressive, Contini. I think I’m underdressed.”
He shot her a glance and grinned. “With any luck you’ll soon be overdressed. But you can see why I prefer the carriage house.”
“This is definitely nice if you like palaces. Or a sense of history.”
“Actually, Eiffel built this place in the 1870s shortly before his major achievement in Paris. There’s a certain amount of interest in the house, so we open it for tours one weekend a month.”
“Which means no parties for you and your friends then.”
“Or just small ones. My private quarters are closed to tours. Here we are,” he said as they reached the third floor, the hallway on this level a muted pink marble.
“Why is no one around?” She smiled at Rafe as he began to move down the corridor. “Ashamed of me?”
He turned to her, his gaze amused. “You want a compliment?”
“I was just asking why we’re alone, but I’ll take a compliment too,” she finished with a grin. “Something over the top.”
“How about we take turns being on top? Is that what you meant?” He feigned surprise when she gave him a jaundiced look. “Would you prefer: Thou art more lovely and temperate than a summer’s day? And may I add way, way more tantalizing than Shakespeare,” he murmured, a sudden heat invading his eyes. “So watch out.”
She smiled. “Maybe you should watch out too. I’m not the passive type.”
One eyebrow lifted. “You don’t fucking say. But be a good girl and tone it down for now. We need a condom or no one is going to do anything to anyone. Don’t say it,” he muttered, as she opened her mouth to speak. “I’m not in the mood for alternatives. Not after waiting this long.” Rafe glanced at his watch. “And to answer your question, everyone’s in the kitchen. It’s dinnertime.”
“How many everyones?”
“Fifteen, twenty, maybe more. The chef is temperamental. He’s always hiring and firing people on his team. Here, let’s look in this room first,” he said as they reached the end of the corridor. “It’s smaller so it’s not used as much.” Opening the door, he waved her into an opulent room decorated in the belle epoque style, with floor-to-ceiling windows, a bed large enough for a crowd, gilded furniture, and plush carpets soft as silk. “Find somewhere to sit. I’ll do the search.”
She didn’t say, Wow, although she was thinking it. “I can help if you like,” she said instead, scanning the sumptuous room. “Although you’d hardly expect to find condoms in a room like this.”
“I use the house mainly for parties,” he said. “So.”
“I see.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
But her eyes were cool and he briefly debated his answer. “Look,” he said quietly, “I just met you. I’m not apologizing for my lifestyle, if that’s what you want.”
“Did you have a party last night?” Some lunatic was speaking for her.
“Yeah, the usual warm up for my annual bash offshore. If I’d known you then, you would have been here with me. Okay?”
“Did you get any sleep?” Clearly, her psyche was demented.
“Not much. Do you have a lot more questions?” His gaze had chilled. “Just asking, because yesterday is fucking irrelevant.”
“I have no right. I understand.” Finally, the voice of reason.
“Good.”
She suddenly grinned. “Maybe I’ll make you pay.”
“You already have. Believe me, this is not the kind of foreplay I had in mind.”
“But I’m worth it.”
She was smiling at him, like some beautiful, barely dressed enchantress with the keys to the kingdom. He sighed. “So it seems.”
“I’m not apologizing for shaking up your world,” she said brightly, paraphrasing his earlier comment. “And extended foreplay isn’t my idea of a good time either. So can I help?”
He liked her quixotic moods, although there wasn’t much he didn’t like about her. “Why don’t you check out the drawers in here,” he said quickly, wishing to avoid thoughts about liking any woman so indiscriminately. “I’ll see what I can find in the bathroom and dressing room.” Not that he was overly optimistic after Roddy’s frantic search last night.
Hundreds of drawers and ten bedroom suites later, Rafe walked out of the last dressing room, stopped in the doorway, and looked at Nicole sprawled in a chair near the fireplace. “I’m about out of ideas.”
“Think.” Nicole made a face. “Because I’m seriously frustrated.”
“You’re not the only one. I’ve never worked so hard for a piece of ass in my life.” He smiled. “When I said I wanted to take it slow, I didn’t mean this slow.” Bracing his outstretched hands against the doorjambs, he stared at her. “I don’t suppose you feel like being rash. Or semi-rash. Really, I don’t foresee a problem.”
She met his gaze. “I’m twenty-two years old.”
Suddenly the hair on the back of his neck rose as an issue so rare as to be almost obsolete jostled his consciousness. Did her concern about condoms have something to do with birth control? She was offbeat enough to have her own weird reservations about taking pharmaceuticals. “You’re on the pill, right?”
“What if I said no?”
His adrenaline spiked. “Then I’d say it might be a good idea if you were.”
She smiled. “You didn’t ask.”
“I assumed.”
“Really, with your track record? That’s a dangerous assumption.”
His voice had a brittle edge to it. “Spare me the editorial. A simple yes or no will do.”
“Yes.”
His eyes snapped shut for a second, then he dropped his hands. “Glad that’s cleared up,” he said smoothly, picturing spanking her creamy ass for his near heart attack. “Then we’ll just wait until Simon gets back. Would you like dinner?”
She gave him a raking glance as he stood in the doorway, all hard-muscled, male splendor with an endless supply of sex appeal and enviable urbanity. “Not unless you’re on the menu.” She could do smoothly unruffled too.
He sighed. Then he suddenly grinned as a switch flicked on in his brain. “How easily are you embarrassed?”
“The word has no meaning.”
“Come on then. You can meet my staff.”
Ten minutes later, because the house was gigantic and it took them that long to traverse the numerous hallways and stairways, they walked into the ground-floor kitchen.
“Don’t get up,” Rafe said as several men and women began to rise from their dinners. “I have a request. But first, may I introduce Miss Nicole Parrish. Nicole, meet everyone.”
A round of bonjours were exchanged as if she weren’t barefoot and nude under one of Rafe’s shirts. Then a young, slim, dark-haired man with Slavic eyes came to his feet. “What do you need? I’m sure we can find it.”
“I’m not so sure, Basil. I’ve already gone through every drawer upstairs. Which brings me to a personal question. Does anyone here have condoms?”
As numerous smiles appeared and titters erupted, Basil snapped his fingers and instant quiet ensued. “You heard Mr. Contini. Those who can help, please do so immediately.”
Most of the staff came to their feet.
Basil tapped his very expensive watch, which went with his bespoke ivory shirt and dark slacks. “Five minutes everyone. Vite, vite.”
As the room quieted after the mass exodus, a large, heavy-set man in a stained yellow T-shirt and canvas shorts, his ginger hair close cropped, his eyes at half mast, leaned forward, folded his hands on the tabletop, and smiled at Rafe. “Simon said your dinner plans were uncertain.”
“I’m afraid so. I’ll call later.”
“Am I going to be up all night?”
Rafe glanced at Nicole. “Is Henny going to be up all night?”
&nbs
p; Regardless that she’d told Rafe that she was beyond embarrassment, and had been until now, Nicole felt her cheeks flush at the russet haired man’s blunt query. She shook her head.
“There. Relax, Henny. You’ll get your beauty sleep.”
“Do you like dessert, Miss Parrish?” The chef was smiling faintly. He’d never seen one of Rafe’s women blush. And they were staying at the carriage house. Interesting.
“Yes, very much.”
Even more interesting. All the svelte models, actresses, and privileged young women hardly ever ate anything. Especially desserts. “Chocolate? Please say yes, because I have a penchant for chocolate desserts.”
Nicole smiled. “So do I.”
Henny clapped his meaty hands. “Capital. Keep this one, Rafe. I’d like to cook for her.”
“I intend to.” Rafe shot a quick grin at Nicole. “Miss Parrish, however, is unsure of her holiday plans.”
The chef leaned back in his chair, exposing a glimpse of a green-and-black dragon tattooed on his neck. “Should I send over some menus, Miss Parrish? See if I might tempt you to stay longer? Rafe’s taste in women has been deplorable until now.”
“Watch it, Henny,” Rafe said, only half in jest, knowing his chef’s unfettered views on civility. “You’re in hock to me for some major gambling debts.”
“Fortunately, my quarterly funds will arrive soon. Not to mention my wife makes a fortune keeping people out of jail.”
“Then be polite for me,” Rafe said gently. “I’m trying not to scare off Miss Parrish.”
Henny grinned. “So I shouldn’t tell the truth. I could tell her about the puppy you had when you were ten. Or about the time you helped—oh shit, maybe it wasn’t an old lady across the street. Come to think about it, she wasn’t that old. How about I just lie.”
Rafe grinned back. “Good plan.”
Nicole was intrigued with the rapport between employer and chef. Although they were close in age. Had they known each other long before?
“Henny and I went to school together,” Rafe said, deciphering her speculative gaze. “Or rather, we were kicked out of the same boarding schools. Henny likes to mouth off, as you may have noticed.”
