by C. C. Gibbs
“And Rafe despises rules,” the chef drawled.
Rafe shrugged. “So do you.” He waved his hand in the direction of the table. “Basil completes our nonconformist trio. He preceded us at a truly gruesome school in Lucerne.”
The slim man with the face of an ascetic saint—a very handsome saint—grimaced. “I still have the scars to prove it. Rafe and Henny arrived just in time. I was about to be dropped from a fourth-floor window.”
At Nicole’s quick intake of breath, Rafe gave her a charitable smile. “You must have avoided boarding school. Those institutions offer an incomparable apprenticeship in survival of the fittest—picture Lord of the Flies for Eurotrash.” Rafe glanced at Henny. “Do you think it taught us ruthlessness or were we born that way?”
“Speak for yourself. Turn the other cheek, that’s me.”
Rafe snorted. Henny was as tall as he was and heavier. Neither one of them had ever turned the other cheek or avoided a fight.
Just then a young man entered the kitchen, smiling. And before long, the rest of the staff returned with the necessary items. Basil collected the condoms without comment, placed them in a drawstring muslin bag he pulled from a drawer, and handed the bag to Rafe. “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Parrish,” he said, a genuine warmth in his eyes. “Enjoy your holiday.”
“We’ll call for dinner later.” Taking Nicole’s hand, Rafe lifted the bag to the room at large and smiled. “Thank you, everyone.”
As they left the kitchen, Rafe wrapped his arm around Nicole’s shoulder, drew her close, and, dipping his head, kissed her cheek. “Everyone liked you. Henny, in particular; he rarely talks to strangers. He prefers to cordon off his world. You dazzled him.”
“I don’t know about that, but he seemed very nice. Friendly.”
Rafe chuckled. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone say that about Henny. Other than his wife, who looks after him like a mother hen. His family background was traumatic, although none of us grew up in ideal conditions. Money aside, of course.”
“So I should be kind to him.”
He flicked her a startled glance, the word kind a rarity in his world. But he replied in a casual tone. “I’m sure Henny would appreciate it.”
“Not a problem. As the oldest of six kids, I’ve done my share of mothering.”
He was caught off guard again, the concept of mothering with regard to the hot, sexy woman at his side surprising. “I see.”
Recognizing the faint bewilderment in his tone, Nicole glanced up. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to introduce so outré a subject as motherhood. Relax.”
He laughed. “Gladly. My image of you is quite different.”
“That works out then. Because I can’t see you as a father under any circumstances.”
He frowned. “What the hell does that mean?”
This time she laughed. “Seriously—you don’t really want to go there, do you?”
He had the grace to look rueful. “No.”
“So to change the subject, what’s first on the agenda? Although I warn you, my G-spot requires a whole lot of loving.”
He grinned. “G-spot? What’s that?”
“I’m leaving.” She playfully pulled away.
He pulled her back. “No worries, pussycat. I’ll make sure your precious little G-spot is petted all night long.”
“Ohmygod,” she whispered, his softly uttered words spiraling downward between her legs in a wild seething tremor. “I felt that. Say it again.”
He came to a stop, turned her slightly, dipped his head so their eyes met, and said, very softly, “By morning your G-spot will begin to throb just at the sound of my voice. Because I’m going to give it some real special attention, make an unforgettable impression, see that that little bundle of nerves is so hair-trigger jazzed you’ll come the instant I touch you there. Clear?”
She’d shut her eyes halfway through his graphic description.
“You have to open your eyes, Nicole, or I might decide to neglect your G-spot. There’s a good girl. And you really shouldn’t scowl. I could be sensitive. Now that’s better. You look much nicer when you’re not scowling.”
“Fuck you,” she said with a smile.
“Soon,” he said with an answering smile. “Very soon.” Then he swept her up in his arms and started to run.
Chapter 9
At the same time Rafe and Nicole were swiftly covering the distance to the carriage house, Rafe’s mother and stepfather were having dinner on the terrace of a villa overlooking the Adriatic at Trieste.
“Carlos told me that Rafe went into town. He neglected to say that he’d turned off his phone.” Rafe’s stepfather raised one brow. “Unusual.”
Rafe’s mother smiled at the man she’d loved since she was fifteen. “Surely whatever you have to say can wait until morning? I could call Rafail then if you like.”
Anton smiled wryly. “Because he always answers your calls.”
“It was only us for all those years,” she said gently. “You know that.”
“I do.” He’d watched over them as best he could from a distance, but the measure of his influence had been limited when she was married to someone else. Mother and son had faced the trials of life with Maso Contini largely alone. “I’m glad it’s finally over.”
Camelia glanced at Anton’s young son sitting back in his chair intent on his video game, then smiled at her new husband and switched from French to their native language. “There were times when I regretted the decision you made for us.”
“I wanted a better life for you. You deserved it.”
She gave a little shrug. “I’m not so sure it was better.” She smiled. “You always came to me when I needed you though.”
“You were my heart. I would have come from the ends of the earth for you,” he said softly, reaching out to touch her hand. “But in my line of work, you would have been at risk. You know that. I couldn’t allow it.”
Anton and Camelia had both come from a poverty-stricken village in Romania controlled by the Mafia. Anton had joined the organization in order to survive and when Camelia had finished school, he’d persuaded her to go to London and enter the Miss World contest. It would be their ticket out, he told her.
She’d won. He’d never doubted it. She was the most beautiful woman in the world. He’d sent ten dozen white roses in congratulations, along with a note telling her that he’d married the daughter of the Mafia chief.
When Camelia married a wealthy man, Anton knew his sacrifice hadn’t been in vain. He didn’t know until later that the marriage was deeply troubled, nor had he discovered until recently that Rafe was his son.
He’d been told two years ago after Maso Contini was found dead in a Bangkok hotel room, a plastic bag over his head in a last act of autoeroticism. Six months later, Anton’s wife was discovered lifeless in one of the Istanbul Four Seasons’ garden suites. An overdose it was said. The young man lying dead beside her in bed wasn’t mentioned in the police report.
Separated from his wife’s family business by gratuitous circumstance, Anton retired soon after and proposed to the only woman he’d ever loved.
“Let’s talk about something else.” Camelia ran her fingers through her thick, dark hair in a quick, restless gesture. “Forget the past. We’re happy now.”
“Good things come to those who wait.” Anton’s smile was tender. “And you don’t look a day over seventeen, sweet Mila.”
She blew him a kiss. “Flatterer.” But she was still stunning at fifty-two, tall, slender, with exquisite bone structure and glorious golden eyes.
Anton shook his head and smiled. “It’s the truth, ma chou.” A few years older than his wife, he hadn’t aged as gracefully. Almost too thin, like a marathon runner who’d run one too many races, his hair was gray, his face deeply lined by the stress of a long criminal career. “I’m pleased Rafe has your looks, not mine.”
“He’s determined like you though.” Camelia smiled. “I recognized that same unshakable will w
hen he was still very young. Remember how you kept all the bullies away from me when we were growing up?”
He smiled. “You were too beautiful. Some people resent that.”
“And too poor, don’t forget.”
He frowned. “That always amazed me—the poverty in our village. A pecking order was pointless.”
She shrugged. “Nevertheless, it existed and you were my protector. Later, Rafail took over that role. Regardless of how he liked to bluster and threaten, Maso was always a little afraid of Rafail. It was a blessing that as he became more disturbed, he was rarely home.” A small sigh. “If he hadn’t threatened to disown Rafail if I left him, I would have walked away a thousand times. But even as a young child, Rafail was always in the labs when he was home. Maso knew how much he loved the company.” Her eyes closed for a second, then opened again. “Tell me I wasn’t foolish to stay.”
“Of course not. You wanted the best for Rafe.”
“And you were married to—”
“An organization equally ruthless, survival a constantly moving target.” He lifted his shoulder in a small dismissive shrug. “We both did what we had to.” Although Anton wished there was a way to kill someone over again; Maso deserved it. But he only said, “Rafe turned out well. You deserve all the credit.”
Camelia laughed softly. “I’m not so sure. He was a law unto himself from the cradle. But he had all my love. And I had him. We survived.”
“Perhaps there really is justice in the world,” Anton murmured, though he knew better, he knew you made your own justice. Reminded of that law of the jungle, he said, abruptly, “Do we have to worry about Rafe not answering his phone? Or his going ashore? I wouldn’t have thought he’d walk away from his annual party.”
Camelia smiled. “You worry too much. He’s very competent.”
“Humor me. I have many years of fatherly worry to make up for.” Anton’s lashes lowered faintly. “You really should have told me about Rafe, you know that.”
“And you know why I didn’t. You might have interfered and been hurt. Or Rafail or I could have been hurt. Maso was unpredictable.”
Anton sighed. “You’re right, of course.”
The young boy seated beside them at the table suddenly sat up, waved his smartphone, and screamed, “I won! I won! I won!” He beamed at his father. “I told you I wasn’t too young to beat this game, Papa! I told you!”
Anton smiled and answered his son in French, the young boy’s first language. “Congratulations, Titus. Now finish eating.”
“Can’t. I’m doing the next level.” His thumbs were already flying over the icons, his attention fixed on the screen. “I’m going to win that too.” He glanced up and grinned.
Memories of their afflicted pasts were abruptly set aside to attend to a six-year-old boy who didn’t have a care in the world other than losing an occasional video game. He’d been cosseted since birth by his father, his new stepmother was very kind, and his older stepbrother could play video games like a wizard. “Can I stay up late?” Titus asked without looking up. “Can I? Can I? Please! This next level is awesome!”
Chapter 10
When they reached the bedroom, Rafe set Nicole on the bed, tossed the bag of condoms beside her, slipped his cell phone from his pocket, punched an icon, and raised his finger to curtail her comment.
A second later, he spoke briskly. “Wait downstairs. I’ll call you.” Dropping his phone on the nightstand and picking up an elastic band, he smiled. “I didn’t want any interruptions. That okay with you?” Pulling his long hair back in a rough queue, he wound the elastic around it with a few deft flicks.
Sitting cross-legged on the bed, Nicole gave him a thumbs-up, then slid Rafe’s shirt over her shoulders and down her arms at the same time he discarded his shorts.
“Be still my beating heart,” she breathed, only half teasing, her gaze on the sizable splendor of his tattooed dick arching upward against his stomach, the pulsing veins outlined in high relief. “That is so fine.”
In the process of kicking his shorts aside, he glanced up, his gaze blazing a scorching trail of approval down her lush nudity. “You have the most perfect tits,” he said with a small smile, grabbing a condom from the bag. “To go with your smoking-hot body. And that.” He indicated her pussy with the foil pack. “Definitely awesome.”
She took a quick breath as his erection surged higher. “Jeez—rein that in or it’s not going to fit,” she whispered, even as her reckless libido was busy ramping up all her erogenous zones into do-me-quick mode.
Intent on rolling the condom over his tattoo, Rafe just shook his head. “Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing.” The task completed, he looked up and smiled. “Ready?”
His question was way too nonchalant, like he’d done this a thousand times before, like maybe she was a nameless means to an end. And while the rational portion of her brain was telling her not to self-destruct, her quick temper jumped the gun. “What if I said no?”
He went still. “You’re kidding.”
“Well, maybe we could just wait a minute.”
His amber eyes drilled into hers. “Because?”
She ignored the tick suddenly flickering over his high cheekbone. “Why did you say don’t worry and ready like that?”
“Like what?” There was a brittle edge to his voice.
“Like supercasual, like it could be me or anyone, like it didn’t matter where you put your dick. Like maybe I’m the ten thousandth woman you’ve fucked.”
By the time she finished, he was trying to figure out why he was still standing here, why he hadn’t walked out the door. What the fuck was the vast mystery that made him want her enough to keep arguing? “It’s not like that,” he heard himself say—or maybe it was just his dick being practical. “You’ve got it all wrong.”
“It didn’t sound like it to me,” she said with her own kind of edginess. “I’m thinking maybe this is just wham bam and I’m out—”
He had her pinned to the bed in a flash, his biceps bulging as he held his powerful body lightly above hers, his dick nudging her pussy, his hot, glittering gaze signaling he’d hit his limit. “Normally, I’d be happy to argue with you,” he growled. “But right now I’m not interested in conversation, so let me make myself—you and me, this whole bloody mind fuck—crystal clear.”
He took a deep breath because he felt like hitting something and that wouldn’t be real useful right now. “To begin with, I’ve never walked out of my party before. I’ve never brought a woman here before. I’ve never even thought about bringing a woman into… this… bed,” he ground out. “And in case it slipped your goddamn mind, I was willing to risk my fucking life to have sex with you without a condom. How the hell casual does that sound?”
“Sorry,” she said on a suffocated breath, shocked by his startling confession, beyond flattered by his concessions, fully conscious as well of his dick poised to enter her entirely unconflicted, hot, and bothered pussy. “I was completely wrong.”
“Goddamn right you were.” Shutting his eyes, he dragged in a breath through his nose. You know how close you are, right? his libido warned. Get a grip. Then he opened his eyes and softly exhaled. “Look, I’m operating way the hell outside my comfort zone with you. In a good way, so don’t get all tense again. You’re suspicious. I get it. Personally, I’m so far out on a limb I don’t know what the hell I’m doing most of the time.” Then he offered up a tentative smile because the warmth had returned to her eyes. “So how about I try not to piss you off, you maybe could step out of the ring for a little while, and once we deal with the worst of our bat-shit crazy lust, we can think about acting normal again.”
She smiled. “Is that your version of romantic sentiment?”
“If it gets me over the goal line it is,” he said, with a cheeky smile, nimbly rolling onto his right side in order to catch her swinging fist. “What am I going to do with you, tiger?” he whispered, holding her hand loosely in his, one brow arched upward, his r
igid dick pulsing against her thigh.
“Am I supposed to tell you?” A playful glance.
His smile was wicked. “Why don’t you show me?”
“Let go of my hand.”
His lashes drifted downward. “You hurt my dick, no guarantees.”
“Now why would I do that?”
He held her gaze for a moment more before releasing her hand.
Neither moved.
A thin-skinned, edgy tension strummed through the air, spiked through their nerve endings, lit up their brains for a cool, clear-eyed pulse-beat.
Then he watched her move her hand with the unshakable vigilance of a man interested in protecting his dick. He watched her place her fingertips lightly on her silky pubic hair and felt his tension melt away. He smiled as two of her fingers disappeared inside her slick cleft and when she looked up, glanced at his responsibly clad erection, and said, “If I ask nicely, do you think he might like to come and play?” his smile was a thing of beauty.
“He accepts your kind invitation,” he said with exaggerated courtesy.
“Finally,” she whispered and tugged on his broad shoulder.
Lifting her hand aside, he rolled back between her legs and dropped his head so his mouth brushed her lips. “I guess some people are worth the wait,” he said with the faintest twitch of his lips. Then he flexed his hips delicately, exerted a slight pressure, slowly slipped inside her heated warmth, and abruptly stopped at the jaw-dropping, adrenaline-pumping pleasure.
“Jesus.” His voice was rough, breathless.
Clinging to him, Nicole raised her hips, so he glided in deeper and, beginning to tremble faintly at the extraordinary, unbearably beautiful pressure, she lifted her wide, blue-eyed gaze. “It’s not the same is it?”
The glow in her eyes almost stopped his heart. “Not even close,” he said with a mild unease, feeling as though some tide was building, getting stronger. His eyes drifted shut for a moment before he gently sighed. “If I had half a brain, I’d get the fuck out.”
