by Tracy Wolff
A part of her wanted to scramble away from all that furious male aggression, but she refused to back down so easily. If he needed to lash out at her to prove he still had control of his life, then she was more than strong enough to take it.
“I don’t know.” She whispered the words because they were true. And because she didn’t know what else to say.
“That’s a cop-out.”
“It’s the truth.” She knelt and placed her hands over his.
“I don’t think so.” He pulled his hands from hers, only to wrap them around her elbows. Then he dragged her up until her face was only inches from his own. “I think you knew exactly what you wanted when you came back in here.” He tugged her a little closer. “It’s the same thing I’ve wanted since I sat next to you in that hospital room.”
Vivian’s heart pounded a little harder, a little faster, but she didn’t pull away. Rafael was right. She did want him—enough to chance being vulnerable, at least for a little while.
Yet he didn’t kiss her as she expected him to. Instead, he held her there for long seconds, suspended, her lips a few scant inches from his mouth. He was so close that she could smell the peppermint on his breath, could almost hear the wild pounding of his heart, a perfect match for the sudden craziness of her own.
“Rafael.” It was a whimper, a protest, an invitation, a plea.
And still he didn’t kiss her.
He closed those eyes and rested his forehead lightly against her own. They stayed that way for a while, drawing comfort from each other.
“I want to kiss you.” He whispered the words. “I need to taste you, to feel your lips beneath mine and know that you want me as much as I want you.”
She held her breath, waited for his kiss like she’d never waited for anything in her life.
And waited.
“Rafael?” Confused, she let her eyelids flutter open, and found him watching her.
“Say yes.” His voice was ragged, his breathing more so.
“Yes.” She sighed. “Yes, yes, yes.”
He smiled at that—a curve of his lips that was more dangerous, and more delicious, than anything she’d ever seen. Soon his hands were sliding up her arms, over her shoulders, his fingers gliding over her neck and up until he cupped her face in his huge, work-worn palms.
Her eyelids felt heavy, but she forced them to stay open so she didn’t miss one second of the most exciting, sensual experience of her life.
Then he was leaning forward, closing the small gap between them and placing his lips reverently on hers.
For one second, his kiss was soft, sweet, his lips as gentle as a butterfly’s wings. But then it was as if a giant floodgate had opened inside of him and his emotions and passions came pouring out.
He captured her mouth with his own, using his lips and tongue and teeth to brand her in a way she wouldn’t soon forget.
And it was good, better than good. It was magnificent. He tasted like moonlight and the richest, darkest chocolate. Wild and exotic, like every dream she’d ever had but had never known to look for.
He nipped at her lower lip and she moaned, opening to him without a qualm, knowing only that she wanted more of him, that she wanted everything he could give her and more.
She moved her mouth against his, then ran her tongue over his full lower lip and savored the luxurious taste of him.
He groaned at the first touch of her tongue, and she sucked the harsh sound into her mouth to ease the wholly unfamiliar ache whipping through her.
Was this what she’d been missing? she wondered vaguely, as Rafael took the kiss even deeper. This fire that licked through her veins and made her burn for more? For everything?
She tightened her arms around his neck, pressed her body more firmly against his and opened herself to whatever he wanted to give her. She needed him, needed this, in a way she’d never before imagined.
He took it slow, torturously slow. Kissed the corners of her mouth before tracing his tongue over her upper lip and lingering at the indention there.
“Rafael,” she gasped, wanting more of this incredible feeling that chased all the fears and worries and pain from her head.
“I’ve got you, Vivian.” He pulled her closer, cradled her in his arms as he did crazy, wild things to her mouth. She reveled in each nibble and lick that stoked the flames inside of her.
When he broke away she cried out, tried to hold him to her, but he refused to stay. Instead, he trailed his lips over her cheek and up to her forehead, lingering at her temple for a moment before kissing his way back down to the curve of her jaw.
How could he be so calm, she wondered vaguely, while she was melting from the inside out? How could he control himself so well, when all she could think of was crawling inside him and begging him to finish what he’d started?
“Rafael.” His name burst from her as her hands tangled in the silky length of his hair, and he groaned. The sound sent shivers down her spine, and Vivian sighed. It was too much, too soon, but at this particular moment she didn’t care. All she could think of, all she could imagine, was him.
“Wait.” He pulled away, panting heavily. “We can’t do this.”
“What’s wrong?” His sudden withdrawal left her feeling exposed.
“I want—”
Before he could finish, a loud crash sounded behind her and she jerked, startled. But Rafael was already moving, climbing off the couch as he thrust her behind him.
“Stay here!” he growled, and then he was running out the front door while she stared aghast at the hole in the center of the huge glass picture window that faced the street. And the brick that had just crashed through it.
CHAPTER SEVEN
RAFAEL RAN DOWN Ellis Street as fast as he could, trying to get close enough to read the license plate on the car weaving through the night. Even after it careened around the corner of Main, he kept running, hoping that something, anything, would happen to slow them down. He just needed a minute to catch up….
He turned the corner and then stopped abruptly, completely disgusted. The street was deserted, the car—and the kids who had thrown the brick—gone as if they had never existed.
Swearing viciously, he jogged back to the center. It was just registering that he’d left Vivian alone there, with a hole the size of a small person in the front window. Though logic told him she was fine, he ran faster, determined to make sure she was all right.
He focused on that—and on who would vandalize the center—as he ran the half mile back. Anything to keep his mind off the spectacular kiss he and Vivian had shared. He hadn’t planned on kissing her, had told himself to stay as far from her as he could get. But she’d smelled so good, and had sounded so sweet when she’d asked him if he was all right, that he hadn’t been able to resist.
Once his lips had touched hers, his objections hadn’t seemed to matter, and he’d nearly eaten her alive. Talk about smooth—not. Add the brick through the window to the less-than-suave way he’d jumped her bones, and he figured it would be a miracle if she hadn’t run screaming to her car.
Back to her midnight-blue BMW. He hadn’t noticed it when they’d run to the hospital, but he’d sure as hell noticed it when they’d come back. Thousand-dollar suits, hundred-thousand-dollar cars—she was so far out of his league it was amazing they were on the same playing field.
He’d had no business kissing her when she was Diego’s lawyer. Their lives were too different, and the damn brick just underscored that point. He was pretty sure nothing like this would have happened to her in that upscale apartment building she lived in.
When he got back to Helping Hands, Vivian was still there, standing over the brick and broken glass, the phone in her hand. “The police are on their way,” she said softly to him, before going back to her conversation with who he assumed was the 911 operator.
He started to tell her to never mind, that such things had happened before when he’d first opened the teen center, and the cops had never done anythin
g about it at the time. But then he saw the bright red writing on the large brick and the resignation that had been running through his veins exploded into anger.
Tell the bitch to back off. Or else we will.
“What the hell?” He stooped to pick up the filthy, offensive thing, but Vivian stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.
“Don’t do that. You’ll compromise any evidence there might be.”
Evidence? Someone had just threatened her and she was worried about evidence? He knew it was the lawyer talking, but still. All he could think of was burning the whole damn world until he found whoever had threatened his woman.
Whoa—the thought stopped him in his tracks, and Rafael started backing away from it almost before it was fully formed in his head. What was he, insane? One kiss, one mistake, did not make her his anything, which was a damn good thing. There was no way he was going to fall for a lawyer from the fancy side of the tracks. No way he’d ever put himself—or his family—through that again.
“When are the cops going to be here?” He thrust his hands into his pockets and gave the mess in the middle of the rec room a wide berth.
Who was doing this? he wondered. And why? Was it someone who was angry at Diego for killing Esme, or someone who knew he hadn’t, but wanted him to take the blame? Or was there a third possibility he hadn’t yet considered?
All he knew was that since the news broke that Vivian was defending Diego, things had gotten out of control. Unless he figured out who was doing this, he had a sick feeling the problems would just get worse.
Vivian hung up the phone with a quiet thank-you, then turned to him. “They gave an ETA of half an hour, but you know how these things go.”
“Yeah. We’ll be lucky if they make it in two hours.”
“Probably.”
She shivered as a particularly frigid gust of wind blew in through the broken window.
“Come on. Let’s go into the kitchen. It’ll be warmer in there.” He headed toward the back, not waiting to see if she would follow. A guy who got too dependent on a woman like her was asking for more than trouble. He was asking for disaster.
“Are you hungry?” he queried when he heard her enter the kitchen behind him. “There are always leftovers in the fridge.”
He walked over to the pantry, got out the coffee and a filter.
“Yeah, actually, I am. Lunch was a long time ago.” She opened the fridge. “Wow, you weren’t kidding. There’s all kinds of stuff in here.”
“We feed a lot of kids every day—not necessarily the ones who hang out here, but the ones who have no place else to go.” It still bothered him that he hadn’t yet been able to turn the center into a full-scale shelter, so that they could take in kids for the night who had no place to crash.
Someday, he promised himself, as he poured water into the coffeemaker. Someday he’d be able to save those kids who couldn’t save themselves.
“That’s amazing—I hadn’t realized you guys did that every day.”
He shook his head. “It’s not amazing. It’s sad that that’s all I can do, sad that there’s always enough money for guns and drugs and never enough to take care of our children.”
“Still,” she said, pulling out a tray of enchiladas, followed by a salad. “It’s really impressive. Especially in this neighborhood, where there’s so much suffering.”
“I think there’s probably some chicken in there from the other night,” he said. “In case you don’t want the enchiladas.”
“Are you kidding?” She grinned at him, and it was a real smile, despite the lines of strain around her eyes. “I love enchiladas. Especially cheese ones.”
“That surprises me.”
“Does it?” she asked, as she licked red sauce off her fingers. “Why?”
“I don’t know. They seem kind of messy for you.” He gestured to her fancy suit.
The look she shot him was oddly disappointed. “I think you have me confused with my mother. I live on takeout, preferably Chinese and Mexican.”
The microwave dinged, and she slipped a couple enchiladas onto each of their plates, then settled on one of the red, plastic-covered bar stools. “Aren’t you going to join me?”
He studied her, captivated by the impatient challenge in her eyes. Her hair, which had been pulled into some kind of sophisticated twist when she’d shown up six hours before, was now tumbling free of the hairpins. It was a really sexy look for her and it turned him on despite the circumstances.
Tell the bitch to back off.
The words on the brick ran through his mind yet again, and he shoved down his attraction. He needed to figure out what the hell was going on.
“What have you done in the last few days?” he demanded as he slid onto the bar stool to her left.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Look, don’t play games with—” He stopped as Vivian stared at her enchiladas in amazement.
“This is fabulous.” She shoveled another bite into her mouth, took her time savoring it. “I mean seriously fabulous,” she repeated, after swallowing.
“Marie’s a great cook.” Watching Vivian eat was the first real enjoyment he’d had in a while, Rafa realized.
“Marie made this?” she asked. “That tough, no-nonsense woman from the hospital? She didn’t look like the nurturing type.”
“She’s in charge of the dinner program, among other things.”
“You are one lucky man.”
“You should taste her lasagna. It’s enough to make a grown woman cry.”
“Well, you’ll have to call me the next time lasagna night rolls around. I’ll be here with bells on.”
As the reality of her words set in, the levity went out of the moment, and Rafael watched in consternation as Vivian’s smile faded. He wanted to say something to bring it back, but Diego’s situation was weighing heavily on him.
“So.” She cleared her throat as she crossed to the fridge and pulled out two bottles of water. “Are we going to talk about that brick and what it means?”
He circled back to his original topic. “Why don’t we talk about what you’ve been doing this week first?”
“I’ve been doing my job. I’ve looked at all the evidence the D.A.’s office has, and made squabbling noises about some of it. Filed a motion to get Diego’s trial moved to juvenile court.” She took a sip of water. “Got the paralegals started on drafting a motion to suppress anything and everything Diego said during questioning, as he was grilled without a parent, guardian or lawyer present. We won’t need it until after the judge decides where to have Diego’s trial, but I want it to be ready.”
“Why move to suppress the questioning? He never admitted to anything.”
“That’s not the point. I want it on record that from the very beginning the cops have been cutting corners and doing things illegally. A jury would never hear about it, but a juvenile court judge sure as hell will, and most likely, won’t be impressed.” She said the last with a look that could have boiled water.
Why had Rafael thought this woman didn’t know how to do her job? She’d been on the case four days and already she’d done more than the P.D. who had been on it for nine weeks. Not for the first time, he cursed Jacquelyn and what she’d done to him, not just the baseless accusations that had landed him in prison, but the prejudice he now wore like a second skin.
Normally it didn’t bother him, as he considered his dislike of rich people more than justified considering how fast most of his employers had turned on him once he’d been arrested. But misjudging Vivian made him uncomfortable. It had him wondering what other assumptions he’d made about her that might not be true.
Refusing to go down that road, at least for now, Rafael pulled his mind back to the issue at hand. “How much of this is common knowledge? I know the press knows some of it—they’ve been calling the center, and yesterday I saw an article that mentioned your involvement.”
“I don’t know how much the press knows. They’re ob
viously aware that my law firm is representing Diego—that paperwork got filed Tuesday morning, after I met with Diego, so by now it’s a matter of public record. But the rest…who knows what they’ve managed to dig up? Whatever it is, I’m sure we’ll see it on the six o’clock news tomorrow—if it hasn’t already run.”
“And that’s it? You haven’t done anything else?”
“Pretty much. Oh, this morning I met with the detectives who investigated Diego’s case.”
“Turner and Barnes?”
“Yeah. They weren’t particularly impressed with me.”
“I bet not.” His stomach clenched nervously. “What did you think of them?”
She shrugged. “I didn’t particularly like them—especially Turner.”
“Yeah, that was my reaction. They seemed more concerned with closing the case than finding Esme’s true killer. Plus, they don’t exactly have the best reputation in the Tenderloin, if you know what I mean.”
“That’s what I wanted to know, actually. I hired an investigator to look into them today.”
He froze. “Shit, Vivian, are you kidding me? No wonder they’re throwing bricks through my window.”
“You don’t actually think two police officers did that?”
“No, but that doesn’t mean they didn’t get someone to do it for them.”
“They don’t even know I did it—”
“Don’t bet on that. If some guy starts asking questions about them, don’t you think someone would have tipped them off? Another cop? A neighbor? For all its violence, the Tenderloin is a really tight-knit area—everyone knows everybody else’s business. Especially the bad stuff.”
“But Diego was beat up before I met with the cops!”
“I know, but his assault fits in here somehow. I’d bet a hundred bucks it’s all tied together. We just don’t know how.”
“You make this sound like a conspiracy, Rafael. Why? Diego’s not that important in the grand scheme of things.”
“Yeah, but maybe whoever killed Esme is. If her death was drug related, maybe the cops are being paid off to keep the real perp out of jail. God knows we’ve got our share of crooked cops and politicians around here.” Rafael shook his head. “I don’t know what’s going on, but something definitely isn’t right.”
