by Tracy Wolff
Her voice trailed off for a second as her breath caught. Aroused then, not afraid. He liked that. “I’m still waiting for the report on them. Maybe there will be something in it we can use to discredit them. Remember, juvenile court is a whole different ball game.”
“There’s no guarantee Diego’s trial will be moved—wait until the press get wind of the hearing. They’ll vilify him.” Rafa grew bolder, ran the back of his hand down the silky smooth skin of her cheek to her jaw, then rested his palm against her throat.
“It’s on the juvenile docket, so the press won’t find out until it’s too late. Those names are kept confidential. You know that.”
“I wish I had your faith.” Her neck was so slender that his fingers and thumb were only inches away from meeting at the back.
Her heartbeat went crazy—he could feel her pulse pounding rapidly beneath his hand. But she didn’t tell him to stop, didn’t pull away, didn’t do anything but take a few shallow breaths and let him touch her.
His fingers curled and he stroked the fragile column of her throat again and again, transfixed by the differences between them. She was so finely built, so delicate, her skin as pale and pampered as a doll’s. His hands were huge in contrast, callused from years of gardening and fixing things around the center.
And yet there was something seductive—something erotic—about the picture they made together. Her so light, him so dark. Her so fragile, him so strong. But as she looked at him without flinching, those fierce warrior eyes all but daring him to do something, he couldn’t help wondering which one of them was really the strongest.
“People have already connected the dots, Vivian.” He kept his voice low, not wanting anyone to hear their conversation, not wanting anyone to interrupt. “They’ve just made the wrong picture.”
“So we’ll change the picture. Once we get to juvenile court, I’m going after the evidence. No way will they ever get Diego’s dismissed weapons charge admitted, so the pattern for means is gone. Motive and opportunity are already really shaky. I can do this.”
“You can’t, sweetheart. The picture’s written in indelible ink and the only chance we’ve really got is if we give them a whole new picture, one they’ll like even more than what they’ve currently got.”
He crowded her a little more until her legs tangled with his and she was leaning back against the wall, completely open to him. “What do—what do you mean by that?”
“I mean, we need to find out who really killed Esme. A cop friend of mine has already spent some time poking around the neighborhood with me, but it’s been hard going, since I’ve been dividing my time between Diego and the center. Now that he’s better, it should get easier.”
“What do you think you’re going to find?”
“Somebody saw something, Vivian. The neighborhood is filled with witnesses—I just need to find the right one.”
He pressed a glancing kiss to the corner of her mouth, reveling in the shiver that she couldn’t hide. He did it a second time, then a third, unwilling to stop unless she stopped him. She tasted so damn good and for the moment that was enough. He would make it be enough, because there was no way the two of them could work in the long run. The ex-con and the lawyer sounded just as absurd as the rich girl and the boy from the wrong side of the tracks. But when he held her, none of that seemed to matter. At this point he was more than willing to take whatever he could and let the future take care of itself. It always did.
He moved so that his cupped hands slid to the back of her head and he brought her forward, just a little, until her lips met his.
“Rafael,” she sighed.
“Let me kiss you. Just a kiss. I promise,” he answered, sipping from her mouth. God, she was sweet—sweeter than any candy he’d ever had. More delicious than anything he’d ever tasted.
“Just one kiss,” he said again, and when she made no move to pull away, he covered her lips with his own.
Because he wanted to devour, he forced himself to keep it light. Because he wanted to take, he concentrated on giving. And because he wanted her more than all the other women he’d had in his life combined, he clamped down on the need that was all but consuming him. He didn’t want to scare her away; with his past, he had to be careful.
Shifting angles slightly, he ran his tongue over her lower lip. Kept the pressure light as he toyed with her mouth, explored all the angles, learned about her in a way he hadn’t been able to the other night. Then, he’d been too wrapped up in the thrill of it, the passion that burned between them like lightning. But today, now, he wanted to get to know her, to understand the subtle flavors of her personality as much—or more—than he wanted to know the taste of her mouth.
But she moaned deep in her throat, tangling her legs with his as she pressed herself against him. He was lost in the unique flavors of her, in the overwhelming feel of her, in the open, honest touch of her tongue against his own.
His hands burrowed more deeply in her hair and he did what he’d sworn he wouldn’t—swooped in and took everything she had to give. And demanded more.
She gave it to him, her hands tugging him closer until her breasts were pillowed against his chest, her pelvis cradled by his own. His mouth raced down the silky curve of her jaw.
“Diego,” she reminded him as she tilted her head back to give him better access to her throat. “He’s alone.”
With a groan, Rafael pulled away and went about the painful process of shutting his body down.
Nice job, he told himself. Nothing like promising a simple kiss and then all but mauling a woman in a hospital stairwell before he’d ever taken her on a date. Cursing himself and the attraction that wouldn’t let him leave her alone despite knowing exactly how bad she was for him, Rafael started when Vivian stood on tiptoe to deliver one quick peck to his mouth.
As he looked at her, desire slammed through him all over again. She looked as if she’d been well and truly kissed—her mouth swollen, her makeup smudged, her red hair messed up from his fingers.
Shoving his hands in his pockets, he backed away a little. “You need to fix your hair or the whole floor will know what we’ve been doing.”
“Oh, of course.” She ran a hand over the rioting ringlets and did her best to get them under control. “Is that better?”
“I want to see you again.” Her gaze jumped to his. “I mean away from this, away from Diego’s case. I want to see you,” he repeated.
Even as he said the words, he expected her to turn him down. Yeah, they were attracted to each other, but how many women like her really wanted to date a convicted rapist, innocent or not?
But she simply nodded, and said, “Okay.”
Feeling like an idiot, knowing he’d regret it as soon as he was away from her and the incredible power she exerted over him, he said, “It’s my brother’s fortieth birthday on Thursday. We’re having a party for him at my parents’ restaurant—nothing fancy, just some family and friends. Do you want to go?”
Jesus, he hadn’t felt like this big of a moron since he’d asked his first girl out in junior high, but then, that was the last time a woman’s answer had meant this much to him. He was risking everything by asking her out—especially to a party with his family. What were they going to say when they saw him with another girl like Jacquelyn? What was he going to tell them—that she was different? That, for better or worse, she made him feel again?
“I’d love to come. What time?”
“I’ll pick you up at six-thirty. Will that give you enough time to get home and changed?”
“I’ll make sure of it. Thanks for asking.” She smiled, but he searched her face for signs of discomfort. He didn’t find any, which could mean that she really was okay with going on a date with him—or that she was a better actress than he’d thought.
The fact that the latter seemed much more likely put a crimp on the satisfaction her agreement had made him feel.
“VIVIAN, WHAT ARE YOU doing here?”
Vivian’s hea
rt sank late the next afternoon as she saw her father standing in the middle of his favorite golf shop. She’d been planning on using the early court dismissal to finish her Christmas shopping, and had stopped here to pick up a new set of clubs for her dad. Obviously that wasn’t going to happen now.
“Oh, I had a few minutes and thought I’d stop by and check out what was new. The last time I played golf, my father beat the pants off me.”
“He did at that.” Her dad leaned down and gave her a brief kiss on the cheek, his silver hair gleaming in the store’s spotlights. “Is there anything special you’re looking for?”
“Something to make me a better golfer.”
His laugh was the same smooth, cultured one she remembered from her childhood. “Only practice will do that. Maybe if you slowed down a little on the pro bono work…” He eyed her meaningfully.
“Caught this morning’s broadcast, did you?”
“I think the whole city caught that broadcast. ‘Baby Killer Out of Coma, His Attorney at His Side.’ Seriously, Vivian. Is this the case you want to sink your career on?”
“I don’t think it’s going to sink my career, Dad. I’m determined to get Diego exonerated.”
“Oh, joy.” Her father steered her out of the shop. “Let’s get a cup of coffee, shall we?”
Vivian bit back a groan. “Cup of coffee” was code for “let me lecture you” and had been since she was a teenager. Coming on the heels of her mother’s comments the day before, she could only imagine what fun the next half hour had in store.
As she walked down the block with her father, she knew she could have made an excuse, could have put him off. But she wanted to know what he had to say, and if the things her mother had told her were true and this seemed the most expedient way to find that out.
After they were settled at a local coffeehouse, her father gave her a very serious look. “You know your mother and I love you and only want what’s best for you. Right, Vivian?”
“Of course.” Now wasn’t the time to argue that. “Why?”
“I think you should pull out of this murder case. It’s not your specialty, not what you’re good at. And your name is being ruined. No matter what the outcome is, your reputation is never going to be the same.”
“He’s innocent, Dad.”
“Says you.”
“Says the evidence.”
“Really? And your vast knowledge in criminal law has shown you this?” He sighed. “Come on, Vivian. If you want to rebel, stick to the battered women’s shelters. You don’t need to take it this far.”
Insult kept her silent for a few seconds as she tried to sort out what she wanted to say first. “Diego’s more than a case, Dad. He’s a scared kid facing life in prison.”
“Which is where he belongs if he killed his pregnant girlfriend. Do you really want to be responsible for letting another animal on the street? I thought you fought against men like this.”
“I do—if they’re guilty. Diego’s not. Besides, it’s not like I can get out of this case. It was assigned to me.”
“Exactly. You can’t tell me Richard actually expected you to win this. If he’d wanted that, he would have put one of the criminal attorneys on it.”
“They’re already carrying heavy loads. I had an opening.” It sounded like an excuse even as she said it.
“Come on, Vivian. You don’t believe that.” He took his time formulating the rest of his argument, sipping his coffee and watching people at the tables around them. When he finally turned back to her, his face was serious, his blue eyes hard. “You’re dragging the family name through the mud with this. We had reporters in the rose garden this morning, trying to get a statement from your mother. It needs to stop.”
“I don’t know what you expect me to say, Dad. I’m sorry you’re being bothered.”
“Bothered? You walk around looking like a bum, acting completely out of character, and you say that I’m bothered? People are whispering about us at the club, talking about what happened to Merry all those years ago. It’s just a matter of time before some reporter digs it up. And then where will we be? Your sister’s suicide and the abuse that caused it—will be on the cover of every local paper, as will the fact that her sister is choosing to defend the same kind of man. I won’t have it, Vivian. Not the scandal and not you involved with someone publicly accused of that kind of violence.”
“So it’s the public aspect that has you so bothered, not the violence, right? Because you never seemed bothered by Merry’s bruises before.”
“That was uncalled for.”
“That was uncalled for? You’re sitting here telling me how to do my job and how to live my life, and you don’t even care about me. All you care about is public perception of me, and in turn, you and mother.”
She stood up, grabbed her purse. “I’m sorry, Dad, but I can’t live my life worried about what other people think.”
“Don’t kid yourself. The law is nine-tenths perception.”
“No, Dad. The law is nine-tenths truth—and that’s an entirely different thing.”
CHAPTER TEN
AS SHE WALKED AWAY from her father, Vivian couldn’t help thinking about Rafael and his insistence that he was innocent despite the five years he’d spent in prison. The other night she’d told him she didn’t believe him, but she wasn’t sure that was true.
Would she really be this attracted to him if she thought he was a rapist? Would she really have let him kiss her and touch her if she thought there was a chance he could turn violent?
No matter what had happened fifteen years before, she couldn’t ignore his tenderness with her, the gentle way he held her, the way he never pushed, always made sure that she wanted to be touched before he ever made a move.
The way he’d saved her from being raped by Nacho and his friends.
Those weren’t the marks of a rapist or an abuser—she’d dealt with enough in her career to know that much.
But did that mean he’d never been dangerous, or just that he’d turned his life around? She didn’t know the answer to those questions, but she wasn’t ready to walk away from him yet. The fact of the matter was, she wasn’t going on a date with the man he’d been fifteen years ago. She was dating the man he was now, and the man she knew fought for people who needed help. That’s why she’d accepted the date with him—because she admired the man he had proven himself to be.
Was that good enough for her? Was she going to be able to build something with him, never knowing for certain if he’d committed such a terrible crime? That was something else she couldn’t answer yet, but she knew, for the first time in a very long while, that she wanted to try.
As she climbed into the car, she couldn’t help contrasting Rafael’s strength with her father’s weakness. Doing right by Diego was more important to Rafael than worrying about what had happened to himself all those years before. Her father was worried about the press dragging up Merry’s story, and Vivian realized Rafael must have some of the same worries about his own past. The difference was, he hadn’t abandoned Diego, hadn’t tried to cut himself off from the kid to protect himself.
For no good reason, she was seized by a desire to see Rafael as she pulled into traffic. Before she could talk herself out of it, she flipped a quick U-turn and headed to the center. Surely he wouldn’t mind if she just stopped by for a few minutes….
Of course, by the time she’d pulled into the parking lot behind the center she was trying to think of a reasonable excuse as to why she was there. But her mind was blank, and as she climbed out of the car, she had the sick feeling she was going to make a total idiot of herself.
She didn’t even look decent, her father had been right about that much. She was dressed in old jeans and her favorite Harvard Law sweatshirt. The latter had a hole under the right armpit that she’d been ignoring for months, because the shirt was just too comfortable to give up. What was Rafael going to think?
Then again, she mused as she headed for the center, mayb
e she could use her lack of grooming to her advantage. What woman stalked the man she was interested in while looking like this?
“I thought that was your car I saw pass the basketball courts. Is everything okay?” Rafael met her at the back door, still sweaty from the basketball game he’d been playing, and somehow looking hotter than ever. His T-shirt was plastered to his chest and stomach, showing off enough muscles to make up an eight-or ten-pack—forget the old six-pack her girlfriends liked to drool over.
And his arms—she’d never seen him in short sleeves before and his biceps held her attention for much too long. She tried to yank her gaze away, to come up with something to say like a normal person, but all she could think about was how good it had felt to be hugged by him.
Still, she needed to say something. “Yeah, everything’s fine.” Now that was an absolutely scintillating conversational starter. Surely she could do better. Trying to look as if it was perfectly natural for her to drop by the center, she asked, “How’s Diego?”
Rafael stepped aside to let her in, and as she passed him, she got her first whiff of him. It wasn’t fair. How the hell could he smell so good when he’d been sweating? Most guys smelled like stale corn chips and old gym socks after they’d been working out.
Oh no; why should he make it easy on her? He smelled like the ocean—a little salty, a little sweet and completely wild.
“He’s doing okay. The doctors say he’s young and strong, so he should heal pretty quickly.”
Rafael didn’t sound pleased, though. Glancing behind her, Vivian did her best to ignore the sexual attraction so she could converse like a normal human being. “You don’t sound convinced.”
“I’m not.” He led her past his office and the rec room and down a hallway she hadn’t noticed before. “He’s really depressed.”
“Well, that’s to be expected, isn’t it? I mean, he’s lost basically his entire family. He’s accused of a crime he didn’t commit. In my opinion, he’s got a lot to be depressed about.”
