by C. C. Gibbs
The doctor wasn’t chatty. Not that she was deterred when she wanted to know if this was the ten thousandth time Aleix had run these tests for Rafe. In her experience horny men and the truth weren’t even in the same zip code. “Does Rafe have you do this often?”
“You’d have to ask him.” The doctor tore open a sterile pack that held a syringe.
Okaaay. Maybe signing a nondisclosure statement was required for employees of a major stud like Rafe Contini. But then she wasn’t an employee, so she could keep asking—in this case a more pointed question. “Would Rafe take it out on you if I shut this down?”
A startled, wide-eyed look behind his wire-framed glasses.
“It’s okay. I won’t.” She smiled. “But just in general terms, is Rafe fairly truthful?”
“In most things, yes,” Aleix said in lieu of a legitimate answer, bending over her arm to test the vein.
“You’re not going to tell me anything are you?”
He didn’t look up. “This might hurt a little.”
She pulled her arm from his grasp, tamped down her rising temper, and addressed Rafe’s gatekeeper with the tone she’d use to coax a toddler from its twentieth tea cup ride at Disney World. “Rafe told me he’d never done this before. I just want to know if that’s true. You can just nod or shake your head if you don’t want to perjure yourself.”
A slow smile formed on Aleix’s mouth. “You’re going to give him trouble aren’t you?”
“Not particularly. But all this”—she did a little twirl of her fingers—“the house, the staff, the women, the parties. Let’s just say, I’m not inclined to add to his arrogance.”
“You’re the voice of moderation?” His voice was sardonic.
“God no. But, unlike all the others, I need a reason to say yes.”
Aleix lifted the syringe. “Like this?”
She grinned. “Rafe and I agree on the merits of self-indulgence.”
“So long as you set the rules?”
“Maybe.” She shrugged. “I don’t know.”
Rafe had spoken with the same uncertainty—and he wasn’t an uncertain man. Nor was Miss Parrish, unless he missed his guess. “Rafe’s never had me do this before.” Aleix glanced at the clock. “He’s also in a hurry. So if I’ve answered you satisfactorily, you might like to look away while I draw some blood.”
Never before? Was that lovely or what? “I’m not afraid of needles,” she said, supercool, like she wasn’t smiling inside.
“Excellent.” Aleix eased the needle into her vein. She didn’t so much as flinch. Miss Parrish was not only breathtakingly beautiful, but undaunted and self-possessed. There was no mystery as to why Rafe was attracted to her.
“There, done,” Aleix said a moment later, withdrawing the needle and capping it. Unwrapping the tourniquet with one hand, he placed it along with the syringe in the bag he’d carried in. “Now, if you don’t mind,” he said with exquisite courtesy. “I’ll take two fluid samples, if you’ll lie down on the edge of the bed. Right here, please.” He patted the bed and smiled. “No need to disrobe.”
As she moved into position, he slipped an elastic cuff supporting a small flexible light around his left wrist and snapped on latex gloves. Then without meeting her gaze, he drew her legs up, placed her feet flat on the bed, and eased her hips forward. “This will feel a little cool.” Having taken a disposable speculum from its sterile packaging, he deftly slid the instrument inside Nicole.
She did more than flinch that time, she gasped.
“I’m sorry. Are you all right?”
“No.”
Alarmed, his gaze flew up.
She grinned. “I’m fine. I just never had a chance to say that before.”
It took a moment to calm his racing heart. Rafe’s instructions had been explicit; don’t upset her. “Be sure to tell me if anything else hurts.”
Ignoring the familiar platitude, she nodded and took a breath.
Forewarned, Aleix proceeded with caution and very gently took the two swabs he needed, placed them in a container, carefully eased the speculum out, pulled off the latex gloves, and held out his hand to help Nicole sit up.
“Thank you very much, Miss—er… Nicole.” Pulling the light from his wrist, he placed it in the bag with the rest of the equipment. “I apologize for any pain or inconvenience.”
“It was relatively painless.” Nicole smiled. “And I expect you’re going to be more inconvenienced. Rafe wants this yesterday doesn’t he?”
The doctor’s lashes drifted downward fractionally. “Rafe’s in a capricious mood. I’m just glad he didn’t neglect this altogether.”
“Oh, he tried. I said no. One of us had to be rational.”
Shaken by her disclosure, Aleix kept his voice steady with effort. “Then please accept my appreciation. I’m afraid Rafe never hears the word no.”
“That’s why we get along,” Nicole said with a grin. “I dislike the word as well.”
A brisk knock suddenly echoed in the room, the door opened, and Rafe walked in and stopped just inside the threshold. “You must be done by now.” He really meant, You are done now.
Nicole grinned. “You have no patience.”
“I don’t. Thank you, Aleix. We’ll hear from you soon?” It was an order and dismissal, no matter the soft diffidence in his voice.
“Yes, of course.” The doctor shut his bag and picked it up. “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Parrish.” With a smile for Nicole, he walked toward the door.
Rafe stepped aside, quietly said, “With all due speed, please,” as Aleix moved past him, then shut the door on the doctor, turned, and leaned back against the painted wood. “Count down, baby.” He glanced at his watch, then smiled. “If I start shaking, smack me.”
“Don’t tempt me.” She grinned. “You of all people need a smack down.”
“Ha! Miss Mouthy giving me shit.” He slowly inhaled, then exhaled even more slowly before he spoke. “Seriously though, we’re going to have to find something to do while we’re waiting for Aleix to call. Otherwise I might just say, ‘The hell with it’ and jump you.” He held up his thumb and forefinger, only a sliver of space dividing them. “I’m this fucking close.”
“We could play cards,” she said with a smile.
He gave her a look from under his lashes that signaled his disdain.
“Watch TV?”
“If only I was twelve,” he drawled. “We need people around. I’m undependable right now. Correction, my dick is undependable. Let’s go have supper. Do you mind eating in the kitchen? That’s not really a question. I can’t be alone with you.”
“Got it. Do I have to dress?”
Another of those are-you-kidding looks.
As she jumped off the bed, he took his phone from his pocket like a gunslinger checking his six-gun to see that it was working, slid it back in his pocket, and held out his hand. “I’ll give Aleix an hour. After that, there are no guarantees.”
Coming up to Rafe, Nicole slid her fingers through his, rose on tiptoe, and waited for him to dip his head so she could kiss him. A few moments later, when she dropped back on her heels, they were both breathing hard.
“No more kissing,” he muttered, gently pushing her away and opening the door. He flashed her a hard, heated look. “I mean it. Or we’re going to be defying the odds. And I don’t think you want that.”
Chapter 12
The kitchen was quiet when they walked in, only Henny and Basil still at the table, a dusty bottle of cognac between them.
“We’re killing an hour,” Rafe said, moving into the large room. “Feel like feeding us?”
Henny met his gaze. “Here?”
“Here would be good.” Rafe lifted his chin in the direction of the table. “Is that the ’75?”
“None other. Want a taste?”
“Of course they do.” Basil was already reaching behind him for two more glasses from a massive cabinet painted in Provencal colors. “Eighteen seventy-five was a very
good year.” He slid the glasses across the table. “Please, sit. Do you want company?”
“That’s why we’re here.” His friends were safety and comfort and if he wasn’t exactly thinking clearly, they’d grab him by the shoulders and pull him back from the edge.
“I figured. You lit a fire under Aleix, I hear.” When something was dodgy, Basil always felt it first, like splinters in the air. A survival technique learned early. “We’ll lock you in for an hour.”
Rafe grinned. “Is nothing private? I suggest you ignore them as much as possible,” he added, smiling at Nicole as he pulled out a yellow wooden chair for her. “We’ve known one another too long.”
“Not a problem. Fiona and I share everything too. That’s what comes from being friends since grade school.”
Henny came to his feet and ran his palm over his close-cropped head as though triggering his action mode. “Any special requests? American food, French, Italian, snacks?”
Rafe looked at Nicole; she shook her head. “Whatever you have that won’t take much time,” he said, sitting next to Nicole. “I’m serious about the hour time limit.”
“Ah, impetuous young love,” Henny mocked, walking to a wall of refrigerators. “It warms the heart and gives new meaning to the word appetite.”
Rafe rolled his eyes, and, pouring them cognac, said under his breath, “I can’t shut him up. I hope you don’t mind.” He flicked his gaze to the cognac level, then across the table to Basil. “This obviously isn’t your first bottle.”
Basil shrugged. “I haven’t been counting.”
“I’m guessing Henny drank more than his share. Is he in any shape to make supper?”
“He can always cook, drunk, high, or sober. You know that. Simon said you’re thinking about Split,” Basil said, Henny’s state of inebriation so common as to be incidental. “A large party or small?”
“I haven’t decided.”
“Mireille is in London for a week if you want Henny’s food in Split.”
“You okay with going to Split, Henny?” Rafe called out. Mireille liked her husband home as much as possible, so Henny arranged his schedule around his wife’s.
“I’m free for a week.” Henny’s voice came from the depths of the refrigerator. “Take me anywhere.”
Rafe glanced at Basil. “You?”
“Sure. I never have plans.” Basil gave new meaning to the word introvert; even his poetry and documentary films were supremely esoteric.
“We’ll figure out something then.” Rafe dipped his head and smiled at Nicole. “Henny’s wife’s in London, so we can have company. Unless you have reservations.”
“None.” She smiled. “You decide.”
Rafe leaned in close and kissed her, a quick, cognac-tasting kiss. “Where have you been all my life?” he whispered, his comment innocent of reason, his smile disarming.
“Waiting to be found by you,” she whispered back, aware of how charming and practiced he was and not caring.
Basil didn’t know where to look for a moment. Henny stopped dead in the middle of the kitchen, his arms laden with food, his mouth agape. The Rafe they knew was legendarily unromantic.
Immune to his friends’ shock, Rafe slid his chair back, picked Nicole up off her chair, and set her on his lap. “There, that’s better,” he said with a smile. “Want me to feed you?”
“Do fish swim?”
Rafe laughed. “Goddamn. I’m not even going to try to figure this out.”
“Me either. Not for thirty days.”
He lifted his brows. “So no two weeks?”
She shook her head rather than try to put her contradictory feelings into words.
He saw the uncertainty in her eyes, but no way was he going to prolong this discussion with thirty days of red-hot sex on the horizon. “Ready to see what Henny found for us to eat?” Looking up, he smiled at his friend, who quickly shut his mouth. “What? I can’t be affectionate?”
“It’s never too late, I guess.” Henny grinned. “Although I would have appreciated some warning. This is going to cost me.”
“You bet on this?”
“Of course.” He shrugged. “Mireille’s a romantic.”
“Serves you right then to have so little faith in miracles. Yours included. You’re lucky your wife puts up with you.” Rafe smiled. “Are you going to need a loan?”
“Uh-uh.”
Rafe chuckled. “You bet something other than money, didn’t you? Tell Mireille she may thank me—actually, Nicole—for my new tender sensibilities.”
Henny snorted.
“Watch and learn.” Rafe gave him a mocking smile, then turned to Nicole. “Tell him, tiger. We’re both burning bright.”
Nicole reached up and lightly traced the curve of one dark brow with her finger. “You’ve definitely become a matter of riveting curiosity for me.” Her gaze was warm, faintly teasing. “That much I know. When all else is chaos.”
“But a good chaos,” he said very gently.
He was staring at her, no teasing in the depths of his golden eyes, no smile, waiting. “Yes,” she said, feeling such pleasure at the sight of him that it took an act of will not to embarrass herself in front of his friends and tell him she was fly-me-to-the-moon happy and off-the-charts sexy. “There’s a new kind of real pressing in around me, like the world is wonderful and terrifying at the same time.” She gave him a lopsided grin. “Leaving me breathless and giddy.” A sudden catch of her breath. “Ridiculous, right?”
He gave her a full-on grin. “Nope. It’s grand, full of a million different possibilities, all good.” He had his hand on her back, just lightly, felt her soft warmth on his thighs, against his chest, smelled the perfume in her hair, saw the unprotected need in her eyes, and almost said, I can’t wait an hour. Neither of us has to wait.
Henny closed the distance to the table in two long strides and dropped the plates he was carrying on the table with a clatter. “Crostini with fresh cheese and honey for the first course,” he announced in a tone capable of reaching the last row in the gallery. “We had some for supper so it’s still warm.”
Rafe glanced up, blinking.
“You’re waiting for Aleix to call,” Henny said, taking care of Rafe as he would for him, as they both did for Basil, their protective bond forged in their troubled childhoods. “I have two nice steaks I’ll cook with thyme. Your favorite.”
“Ah.” Rafe took a breath, then nodded, his equilibrium restored, the strange layers of feeling safely unstacking. Reaching for the plate of hors d’oeuvres Henny pushed his way, he picked up a crostino layered with fresh cheese drizzled with honey and held it to Nicole’s mouth. “You have to try this. Henny learned to make this local cheese from an old lady in Nice.” Rafe looked up. “What was her name?”
“Madame Bardet. May she rest in peace.” Henny made the sign of the cross over his stained T-shirt. “I was fifteen, she was ninety-five and the best cook I ever met.”
“We hardly saw Henny that summer. She took him under her wing, told him he couldn’t swear in her kitchen, and set him on his path to culinary glory. She was the grandmother you never had—right?”
Henny glanced up from arranging half shells of chilled mussels on two plates. “The family I never had. Rafe likes lots of mayonnaise.” Dipping his head toward Nicole, he closed the door on any discussion of his family. “Do you have a preference?”
She swallowed. “Lots is good.”
Rafe grinned, then offered her another bite of crostino. “Really, I’d say separated at birth if it wasn’t illegal for us.”
“Mmmpf,” Nicole said through a mouthful of delicate honey and cheese.
He understood her mumbled reply was another one of agreement and for the first time in his life believed in good fortune over and above the casino table.
As Henny put a dollop of mayonnaise on each mussel, Rafe picked up a toast, popped it in his mouth, chewed, swallowed, and sighed. “Jesus, that’s good. I think I forgot to eat today.” And later,
after Nicole had eaten her fill, he finished the remaining appetizers.
The mussels were a rustic specialty consumed tête-à-tête to the continuing astonishment of Rafe’s friends. Although Henny’s and Basil’s raised eyebrows went undetected by Rafe and Nicole as they devoured the tasty morsels between kisses and soft murmurs.
With perfect timing acquired in the best restaurants in Europe, Henny whisked away the plate of empty mussel shells and served a salad of baked fresh figs with crumbled goat cheese and hazelnuts. But after setting down the plates, he pulled out Nicole’s chair and gave Rafe a pointed look. “Play Romeo and Juliet later. My food deserves your undivided attention.”
Rafe smiled at Nicole. “Henny’s a demanding artist. Do you mind?” It was a rhetorical question, and without waiting, he placed her on the adjacent chair.
The figs were at their peak in August, compellingly sweet and flavorful. Nicole didn’t mind in the least giving her full attention to Henny’s delicious masterpiece arranged on a bed of dressed arugula. Between bites of syrupy figs and blissful sighs, she showered him with compliments until Rafe muttered, “Careful, babe, he’s already conceited enough.”
Henny turned from the stove, where he was searing rib eyes and smiled. “Don’t knock it, Rafe. A woman who likes to eat? When’s the last time you saw that?”
“Okay, you’re great. We agree,” Rafe said in lieu of answering questions about the women he’d known. “How much longer on the steaks?”
Well aware of the reason for Rafe’s topic shift, Henny held up the skillet. “Observe. It’s going in the oven. Relax. Have another drink.” And he slid the pan of steaks along with a bundle of thyme, flamed, blown out, and added to the skillet for flavor into the oven.
Under Henny’s watchful scrutiny, the meat was roasted to a perfect juicy pink. Placing the steaks on toast brushed with olive oil, Henny set a small bowl of fleur de sel, a pepper grinder, and a pot of Dijon mustard between Rafe and Nicole and said with a flourish of his hand, “Enjoy.”
A tame word for the gustatory pleasure of thick, tender, superbly prepared meat. Nicole stopped eating well before Rafe, full from all the previous courses. When Rafe flicked his fork at her steak and lifted his brows, she said, “It’s all yours. I couldn’t eat another bite.”
