Fight for Love

by Delaney Diamond

  “He has a lot of money, Rebekah. You could be a very wealthy woman in this divorce.”

  Rebekah bristled. “I don’t want his money, Carlton. I don’t want anything from him. And that would be very hypocritical of me, considering I hate everything about the lifestyle that helped him get that money.”

  Carlton shrugged. “I wouldn’t be so quick to walk away from it if I were you. California is a community property state, and he probably expects to have to pay in this divorce.”

  His mercenary pronouncements made Rebekah uncomfortable. “Thank you for that information,” she said in a stiff voice. “I have an appointment with an attorney tomorrow, and I’m sure he’ll give me good advice about what I should do.”

  “How do you feel about him?”

  The forthright question threw her off balance, but she couldn’t fault Carlton for asking it. In truth, she had to acknowledge she was still attracted to Rafael. He was probably wondering where they stood now that her husband had resurfaced in her life.

  “I want him to have a good relationship with Ricky.” Like a politician, she deftly avoided answering the question. Her next words were more difficult. “I…think you and I should put the brakes on dating for awhile. I’d feel better once I’m officially divorced.”

  She and Carlton had been dating for a few months, and while she thought he could be husband material, she was hesitant to make their relationship an exclusive one. Carlton had assured her he was not interested in anyone else and wanted a commitment, but he’d eventually stopped pushing.

  He threw a look of displeasure in her direction. “This is a crazy situation, but you’re right. It would be best if we halted our relationship for awhile. I wouldn’t want anyone at church to know I would knowingly date a married woman. How long will this be necessary?”

  “It shouldn’t take long. A couple of months or so should do it.”

  Carlton muttered something about Jesus and then his face broke into a tight smile. “I’ll pray the attorneys move quickly.”

  “Dinner is ready.”

  They both swung their heads toward Rafael. He stood there, big and brawny, his glacial stare trained on Carlton. He’d obviously heard Carlton’s comment. Without another word, the three made their way down the hallway into the dining room.

  An oval table that seated six sat in the middle of the room. Rebekah’s mother had outdone herself again. Serving dishes were filled with braised oxtails, spicy curry chicken, peas and rice, rice cooked in coconut milk, fried plantains, and coleslaw. The pleasing aromas stimulated Rebekah’s appetite and temporarily distracted her from the undercurrent of tension in the room. She hadn’t eaten since she and Ricardo had lunch during their trip to the zoo.

  Rebekah watched as Ricardo stood idly until he saw where his father would sit and plunked down in the chair next to him. If she wanted indisputable proof that she shouldn’t have kept them apart, tonight she received it. Her heart constricted as she watched her son even mimic his father’s movements.

  Both of Rebekah’s parents sat at each end of the table. Carlton sat to her right, and across from him sat Rafael with Ricardo next to him.

  The meal progressed with a fair amount of conversation, mostly dominated by Carlton and her father as they discussed activities at church. Ricardo shared what he had seen at the zoo earlier. Every now and again, Rebekah would look up to find Rafael watching her. Other times, he would have his eyes on Carlton. He stared at the other man with such undisguised hostility, she half-expected him to start a brawl in the middle of dinner.

  She was relieved when each person at the table had a slice of her mother’s mango cake with buttercream icing in front of them, indicating the evening would soon come to a close.

  “When are you leaving to go back to California?” Carlton asked.

  Rafael pushed his empty dessert plate aside and leaned forward on crossed forearms. “Just as soon as Ricardo and Rebekah can get packed up and ready to go.”

  A morsel of cake lodged in Rebekah’s throat as Carlton slid his questioning gaze toward her. After a little cough, she picked up her glass and swallowed some punch.

  “What does he mean by that?” Carlton asked.

  “You’re going to California?” Her mother’s voice sounded almost panicked.

  Rebekah cleared her throat and proceeded to answer the questions right after she shot a dirty look diagonally across the table at Rafael. His stone-faced visage gave nothing away.

  “I planned to tell you,” she said, glancing around the table. “Ricky and I are going to California for the rest of the summer so he and Rafe can spend time together.”

  “We’re going to build sandcastles at the beach!” her son interjected with a grin. He pushed aside his dessert plate and then leaned his forearms on the table like his father.

  “Is that really wise?” Dr. Jamison asked.

  “Why wouldn’t it be?” With a dart of her eyes, Rebekah indicated Ricardo seated across the table from her.

  “I hope you know what you’re doing,” Carlton said tightly. He slammed his napkin onto the table. “I don’t understand why you have to spend the next couple of months over there.”

  A knot of unease manifested itself in Rebekah’s midsection. She watched as Rafael narrowed his gaze on Carlton.

  “You have a problem with my wife and my son joining me in California?”

  Carlton swallowed, realizing too late he’d made a mistake. The dangerous glint in Rafael’s eyes signaled his displeasure. “Obviously, it’s none of my business—”

  “Obviously.”

  Carlton’s back straightened, and Rebekah speculated he was about to say something that would so infuriate Rafael he just might reach across the table and tear him limb from limb. Carlton had no idea what he was doing if he thought challenging Rafael was a good idea.

  She didn’t think Rafael would initiate a fight in the middle of her parents’ dining room in front of their son, but she couldn’t be certain. He had a temper, and he outweighed Carlton by at least seventy-five pounds, most of which were muscle. On other turf, he may very well have backed Carlton against a wall to make sure he understood in no uncertain terms that he’d overstepped his bounds.

  “This isn’t the time or place for this conversation,” she said. She pushed her chair back without rising. “It’s getting late. We should leave.”

  After her pronouncement, a chorus of voices erupted across the table. Carlton muttered his agreement, looking away from Rafael as if he finally realized he ran the risk of getting squashed underfoot like an ant as soon as Rafael had the opportunity. Her mother mumbled something about packing up leftovers to take home. Her father mentioned he was looking forward to next week’s dinner.

  All the while, Rebekah kept her eyes on Rafael, and his remained on her. A tremor of awareness shimmied down her spine. She knew what she saw in those cool gray depths. Through the use of the word “my,” he had staked his claim. He hadn’t just claimed Ricky. He had claimed her too.

  For some peculiar reason, a small part of her liked it.

  Chapter Seven

  The drive back to Stone Mountain was a quiet one. Ricardo fell asleep, so when they pulled up in the driveway of the house, Rafael went around to the back to lift him into his arms.

  From the back seat, Rebekah grabbed the canvas tote with leftovers her mother had packed.

  “I’ll take him upstairs,” Rafael said once they’d entered the house.

  In his son’s bedroom, he removed Ricardo’s shoes and socks before placing him under the covers. He stared down at him for a moment, his heart filled with heaviness at the thought of what he’d missed over the years.

  Driving home with his wife and son in the car and bringing Ricardo up to bed had seemed like the most natural thing in the world. The magnitude of what he’d lost because of his lapse in judgment came crashing down on him with acute force. He ran his fingers over his son’s thick curls, then bent down to brush a kiss against his forehead.

&nbs
p; He had indicated his willingness to share custody, but summers and alternating holidays were no longer a palatable schedule.

  Rafael entered the kitchen just as Rebekah straightened from tucking the last of the containers into the refrigerator.

  “Is he still asleep?” she asked.

  “Yes. He hardly moved when I put him in bed.”

  “He’s probably out for the rest of the night. It’s been a long day, and he sleeps soundly.”

  “Takes after his father,” Rafael said with a smile. Rebekah used to tease him that if someone broke into their motel room, they would both be killed because he wouldn’t hear her screams for help.

  She didn’t return his smile. She licked her lips nervously, and his eyes followed the movement with interest.

  “Rafe,” she began, “we need to set some ground rules if this is going to work. We’ve both been living separate lives, and we have to respect each other’s space and make sure there are boundaries.”

  “What kind of boundaries?” he asked in a suspicious voice.

  “Relationship boundaries, for one. Your behavior with Carlton tonight was…a bit much.”

  “He was a bit much.”

  “You have to understand, it was a shock for him to find out what he did. And it’s not as if you and I are really married.”

  “The law says we are.”

  “You know what I mean. We’re not married in the sense that we’ve been living together as husband and wife. Would you consider treating Carlton with a little more respect and stop directing so much animosity toward him? He’s a really nice person.”

  “What are you suggesting? That he and I become friends?” Rafael asked cynically.

  “I know it’s not going to happen right now, but I think you should at least be open to the idea.”

  He didn’t like that she was looking at him as if he was the bad guy. Granted, years had passed, but seeing Carlton had awakened something primitive inside him. He didn’t like the thought of another man in the life of his wife and son.

  “Are you going to have this same conversation with the good deacon? That hug he gave you before we left your parents’ house was meant to provoke me.”

  He’d watched in simmering rage as Carlton held her in an embrace, his arms around her waist, pulling her close when he, Rafael, couldn’t even touch her.

  “It was an innocent hug. It’s not as if he kissed me in front of you.”

  “Lucky for him, or he’d be in the hospital right now. He was trying to push my buttons because of what I said at the dinner table.”

  “He doesn’t think like that.”

  “He’s a man. Trust me, he thinks like that.” Her defense of Carlton had him on edge and made him want to pummel him even more. A trace of anger slipped into his voice when he said, “You’re as much my wife today as you were the day I married you. Until that changes, the good deacon needs to keep his distance.”

  Carlton would be wise to stay the hell away from his wife—and his son, for that matter. Those were his rules.

  His jealousy was irrational, but that didn’t lessen the strength of it. He certainly hadn’t lived the life of a monk, yet he couldn’t cast off the thoughts that overtook him. She was still his wife. His. He hated the thought of another man touching her, getting close to her, having her.

  “I see you haven’t lost your possessive streak.”

  “I’m only possessive about what’s mine.”

  “So am I. Lot of good it did me.”

  “That’s it,” Rafael ground out. He invaded her personal space by placing one hand on the counter behind her. She stared up at him, wide-eyed. “While we’re talking about boundaries, let’s start with no more bringing up the past. I told you I never slept with those women.”

  “There were pictures.”

  He cursed in Spanish, and then he took a deep breath to calm his temper and think coherently enough to continue the conversation in English. “Yes, there were pictures, and I’m not saying it wasn’t me. I made a mistake, but I swear to you, nothing happened.”

  “Oh, right, you were out on the patio talking while everyone else was drinking, doing drugs, and having sex.”

  “Is it really that hard for you to believe I could be there and not participate? I guess since I’m not one of the Saint Jamisons, who, by the way, thought it fit to keep my son from me—”

  “Don’t talk about my family!”

  “Why not?” he said tersely. “We both know I’ve never met the criteria to be welcomed into your family.”

  “Even if I believe you—which I don’t—don’t try to pretend you didn’t want to have your fun like the rest of your buddies. If not, then why were you there in the first place? You expect me to believe you were just standing around, all innocent, just looking? They had to block out parts of the photos because some of those women didn’t have any clothes on!”

  “Rebekah—”

  “Those pictures were horrible. Everyone knew. It was humiliating.”

  He heard the tremor in her voice, could see the pain in her dark brown eyes. “If I could change what happened, I would,” he said, the muscles in his throat clenched tight with regret. “I’ve never forgiven myself for hurting you.”

  * * * *

  She could see the regret in his face at what they had lost. She felt it, too, and her heart broke all over again. Perhaps his actions years ago weren’t as callous and uncaring as she’d originally thought. She had been so hurt when the tabloid story came out, knowing her husband was in those photos. She had worried about him and the fighting, missed him so much when he traveled, yet it seemed he hadn’t missed her at all. He had been too busy partying with the other wrestlers and the slew of women who followed them around.

  “We have to figure out a way to get along,” he said. “At least for Ricardo’s sake.”

  “I know.” Talking about the pain of the past had drained her.

  He reached out and touched her hair.

  “What are you doing?” she asked in a panic-stricken voice. She couldn’t get away from him. She was more or less blocked in by the refrigerator to her right and his muscular arm to the left.

  “Piece of lint,” he responded, showing her. “You seem…what is the word…skittish?”

  Her heart rate started a steady acceleration. “You’re too close, and it’s making me uncomfortable. Would you step back?”

  Rapid fluttering like that of tiny butterflies settled in the pit of her stomach. How could she want him when she still bore the wounds of their ruined marriage?

  “Why would you be uncomfortable? I’m not uncomfortable around you.”

  “You’re not the one crowded against the kitchen counter by a giant wrestler.”

  The corners of his mouth lifted slightly in an amused smile before he stepped back. In an ironic reversal, she missed his closeness. A knowing smile stretched fully across his face. He considered her with a long, appraising look.

  “What?”

  “Do you really like him?”

  “I think we need to continue our conversation about boundaries, and we should include respecting each other’s privacy.”

  “I have nothing to hide.”

  “Neither do I.”

  “Then tell me about Deacon Carlton.”

  “No.” She and Carlton had never been intimate. Because of his position in the church, he remained celibate.

  “I just want to know about my competition.”

  Rebekah swallowed, apprehension settling in her gut. “There is no competition. Our marriage is over.”

  “It’s not over until the papers are signed. Until then, you’re still my wife.”

  “Don’t remind me. The sooner we get this over with, the better.”

  “So you can rush off to the good deacon?”

  “I won’t ask you about your affairs, so don’t ask me about mine!” She only took one step before he grabbed her arm and hauled her back around to face him.

  The hard collision with the wall
of his chest knocked the air from her lungs. She put up a hand to push away from him, but his arm entwined around her waist like a steel brace and trapped her against him. Everywhere they touched, warmth seeped from his body into hers.

  Her gaze shifted to his sensuous mouth when he lowered his face toward her. Her nose recognized and welcomed his masculine smell.

  “Let’s get one thing straight,” he said. His calm voice held a threatening undertone. “There will be no ‘affairs.’ While you’re my wife, no one comes near you.”

  “I think—”

  “Do not try me, Rebekah.” His face became a hardened mask of anger. “Unless you have a pressing desire to see every bone in the good deacon’s body broken—or any other man, for that matter—I suggest you give him a call and make sure he understands your relationship is over until further notice. If you don’t call him, I will, and he won’t like my conversation.”

  A frisson of apprehension snaked down her spine at the threat, but she couldn’t deny also feeling a trickle of excitement at his possessiveness. He was as big and strong as an ox and capable of successful follow-through on his words.

  “I’ve already talked to Carlton about it and he understands.” She surprised herself with her next words. “That goes for you, too, by the way. You’re still my husband, so make sure the groupies know to stay away from you.”

  A gleam of satisfaction entered his eyes. “I’m glad we understand each other,” he said. “And another thing—if Ricardo needs anything, you come to me. If you need anything, you come to me.” His fingers spread out across her back, heating her skin through the material of the dress. “If we’re both staying away from groupies and deacons, what do we do in the meantime to satisfy our needs?”

  He was calm and composed, while his touch wreaked havoc with her senses, dragging her under the tide of his sensual influence. She shouldn’t—couldn’t want him.

  “I couldn’t care less what you do.” Any minute now, he would look down and see she was a liar, see the way her nipples strained against the soft cotton of her bodice. “Use your hand, for all I care.”