“Rafe, I don’t think—”
“There are some spectacular designs – to be worn on any finger. Just take a look.”
Under Billaud’s hopeful expression, she allowed herself to be led to a sitting area where a steel suitcase with a lock and handcuff on the handle sat on a glass coffee table.
Inside, diamonds and other jewels were set in an array of precious metals and settings. Sarika was almost blinded by their splendor. She held back at first, but soon the temptation was too much and she started trying on rings by random – on her right hand. One ring in particular called to her: a round, brilliant cut, six carat diamond on a platinum band inlaid with pavé diamonds. It fit her hand perfectly, neither gaudy in its opulence nor awkward to wear.
“An excellent choice,” Billaud said. “The cut, color, and clarity are spectacular, and the platinum band displays the stone without distracting from it. I agree with your choice of carat, as well. While some may feel bigger is best, in this case, your hand is better suited to this diamond. Bravo.”
“Oh no, I’m not choosing it. I’m just…admiring it – like all the others. Rafe understands.” She pinned him with her stare. “Don’t you.”
“Absolutely.” He said it in a way that told her the ring would show up on her bedside table one of these mornings alongside her coffee and croissant.
After that, Monsieur Billaud packed up his case and took his leave.
Rafe leaned forward as soon as they were alone and nuzzled her throat. Sarika considered pushing him away, but the truth was, she wanted to hold him close. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she leaned back on the leather couch and shut her eyes.
“Did you like the rings?” he asked. “The one at the end was especially beautiful.”
She tugged on his hair – a gentle reprimand that he ignored. “We’re not engaged, Rafe. Even if you buy it for me, I haven’t agreed to marry you.”
“And you haven’t agreed not to, either. You said you were going to fight for me.”
She pulled his head back to look at him and quirked her brow. “Does that mean you’re willing to talk to me now?”
He paused, eyes narrowed. “Within the boundaries of what we discussed last night.”
“So that means anything unpleasant in your past is off limits, but the present and future are fair game?”
That muscle twitched in his jaw. “I suppose so.”
A smile creased her face, and she sat up, reaching for her bag. “In that case, I bought you a present.”
When she handed him the gift-wrapped book, he gazed at it skeptically. “Is this one of those maudlin, self-help things women read?”
“I’ll have you know some of those books give very good advice and can inspire a person, male or female, to take positive steps toward their future.” She pointed a finger at him as his eyelids quivered. “Do not roll your eyes.”
He raised a brow instead, then looked back at the gift. With one swift move, he ripped the paper off and threw it to the floor. His forehead creased as he perused the cover. “A thesaurus?”
She tried not to laugh. “Yup.”
“Are you trying to tell me my vocabulary needs expanding?”
“In some ways. Although, who else but you would use ‘maudlin’ in a sentence?”
“It’s a perfectly acceptable and descriptive word.”
She shrugged. Then waited on pins and needles for him to ask about the book. Finally, he sighed in surrender – a feeling she wanted him to get used to.
“Okay, Princess, spill it.”
She took the thesaurus out of his hands and opened it. “It’s to help you identify and express your feelings. More specifically, your present feelings about me or any situation in your life that affects me. So instead of shutting down when something’s bothering you, you pick up this handy little book, find a word that matches your emotions, and tell me.”
His face grew increasingly shuttered. Not a good sign.
“Like right now. What word could you use to express your feelings rather than going all King of the castle on me?”
“King of the castle?”
“Retreating behind your walls and pulling up the drawbridge so I can’t come in, even though deep down I know you want me to.” She lifted a finger and traced it over the muscle jumping in his jaw. “Yeah, I’ve figured you out.”
“What does that mean?”
“You want to marry me, Rafe. Really want to marry me. And not just because of Ana Lisa.”
His lifted his hands in exasperation. “What the hell have I been telling you for the last week?”
She ignored him and looped one of her long legs over his lap. He gripped it, making her smile. “There’s a part of you that is desperate to let me go and walk away, the scared part. Especially when I’m pushing you. But there’s a stronger part that keeps pulling me back.”
“Uh huh.”
“Which gives me a lot of power in this relationship.”
He glowered at her, but she preferred the angry fire to his cool retreat. “Power to push for a better connection between us. For instance, right now you look mad.” She opened to mad in the thesaurus and skimmed past the crazy kind of mad to the angry kind. “Are you ‘Furious’, ‘Irate’, ‘Enraged’? No, those seem a little strong. How about ‘Fuming’? I think you might fume quite nicely behind your walls. Here we go. ‘Indignant’, ‘Irritated’, ‘Exasperated’. Those all seem to fit from my perspective.”
She looked at him to find he’d contained the fire and shut her out again. Pushing upward onto her knee, she straddled him. Her hand slipped between the buttons on his crisp, grey shirt so she covered his heart. “One word, Rafe. That’s all I’m asking.” She brushed his lips with hers. “You keep saying you want to make me happy. Well, this is it.”
His hands gripped her hips, and for a moment, she thought he would push her away. Then he dragged her closer and pressed against her center, covered only by a pair of silky, pink panties. She shivered and rocked against him as the familiar, aching heat pooled in the tips of her breasts and the soft folds of her core.
“Why can’t I just show you how I feel?” he asked, kneading her bottom.
“Because sometimes I need to hear it.” She dropped all of her self-protective barriers, all the amusement and sense of play, and let her heart speak for her. “Please, Rafe.”
He exhaled heavily. “One word?”
She nodded. “It doesn’t have to be a loving word, but it can’t be desire, either. That’s too easy. All it has to be is real.”
Shoulders tense, he swung her off his lap and stood. Picking up the book, he flipped through it as he walked toward his desk. When he pulled out his chair and sat, she followed to perch on the corner.
He was doing it. Actually responding to her plea and willing to communicate with her even though he didn’t want to. His expression was a little grim, but mostly determined. Her pulse pounded as she waited. What would he choose? Frustrated? Ticked off? She could accept those. She would accept anything as long as it was a genuine emotion.
“Why don’t we start with the A’s?” he suggested, raising stormy eyes to hers. “‘Aggravated’. That about sums up how I feel. But then there’s ‘Argumentative’ – which you, Princess, win hands down. And finally, ‘Asinine’. As in this whole thing is asinine.
He slammed the book shut and dropped it on the desk.
She wanted to lash out, but really, he’d only done as she’d asked. Parts of it. “I’ll give you points for ‘Aggravated’. I expected as much. And I’m only ‘Argumentative’ if you argue back.” Then she leaned in and kissed him. When he grunted and curled his fingers around her arms, she stepped back, walking to the other side of the desk. He stared at her with heavy lids.
She repressed a triumphant smile at his obvious bemusement and planted her palms on her hips. “As for ‘Asinine’, that’s fine. It goes quite nicely with ‘Arrogant’, as in, sometimes you’re an arrogant ass.”
Her dress flared as
she spun around and returned to the couch to retrieve her bag, then headed to the door. Hand on the knob, she turned to see him slumped in his chair, hair ruffled like he’d just run his hands through it. “All I’m asking for are words, Rafe. I’ll expect the B’s tonight.”
* * *
Rafe watched as Sarika sashayed through the door, hips rocking side to side in a way that brought out the animal in him. Despite how ‘Aggravating’ she was, he wanted to pin her down and bite her all over. Especially on the curve of her behind that tilted up at him so temptingly. And he would. As soon as they were married. Get her sated and pregnant and back under control.
Yeah, right. When had she ever been under control?
His eyes landed on the thesaurus she’d given him, and his lips twitched in spite of himself. Only Sarika would think of something like that. He picked it up and contemplated dropping it into the middle of the Pacific. Instead, he opened it and flipped through from the end. She was right. They were just words. So why the hell were they so hard to say?
He came to the B’s and slowed down. ‘Brat’ jumped out at him. And ‘Bossy’. Very apt. Maybe he’d keep the book after all. He turned a few more pages, gaze skimming the text until it came to a crashing halt at ‘Beloved’.
His heart rate increased and he frowned. It was just a word. It had no power over him.
He was still in control of his life, his behavior. Everything was going as planned. Sarika would be his wife, the mother of his children. Ana Lisa was happy and healthy. He cared about both of them. It didn’t mean he had to change who he was. Lose himself in his lover like his father had, causing such havoc in the family.
Besides, there was no comparison. Sarika wasn’t the other woman. There never would be another woman. Just her. Always her.
If it made her happy to play this little game, he’d do it, for as long as she wanted. But he’d choose his words carefully, so the emotions didn’t get the best of him again.
With a deep breath, he tried to loosen the strange ache in his chest. Blow it out through his lips. But it remained. What the hell was the matter with him?
They were just stupid, meaningless words.
He banged the book shut.
* * *
The knock on Sarika’s bedroom door was soft, and an excited shiver whispered through her. It could be one of the household staff, but probably not, and Ana Lisa was still in the hospital.
That left Rafe.
Laying the book she’d been reading on the bed, she cleared her throat and said, “Come in.”
The door opened and Rafe stood there, so damn handsome it made her heart hurt. He’d shed his work clothes and wore navy sweats and a white tee shirt that stretched across his chest. His feet were bare on the plush cream-colored carpet.
Part of her was still amazed that this gorgeous, powerful man wanted to marry her. In a small corner of mind, she’d always be the gangly teenager trying to capture his attention. Well, she’d certainly caught it this morning.
Pushing her hair behind her ear, she swallowed, wanting him to notice her new, pink, silk and lace nightgown. She’d worn it hoping he’d come see her after he returned from work – even though she’d told herself she was playing with fire.
“Am I disturbing you?” he asked.
She fought the urge to roll her eyes. “Am I aggravating you?”
“Almost always.”
“Ditto.”
He started to close the door behind him.
“Keep it open,” she said.
He sighed but left it ajar about six inches, moving toward her like a stalking panther, all muscled strength and grace, tempting her to tell him to close the door after all.
Pushing up higher against the pillows, she made room for him on the bed, and he sat on the edge. His eyes caressed her face and down her chest. Lifting a finger, he traced the gown’s neckline into the valley between her breasts. She watched, fascinated, as her skin pebbled and her nipple rose beneath the silk.
“Nice,” he growled, circling the bud.
She caught his hand and pressed it flat against her breast to ease the ache. “The door is open.”
“I know.” With a sigh, he withdrew his hand then reached into his pants pocket and retrieved a ring box. “I wanted to do the honors.” When he opened it, the diamond winked at her cheekily. She caught her breath. Gorgeous.
Pulling it free with his right hand, he put the box down and held out his other hand palm upward and waited. His eyes never left hers.
She was drawn in, mesmerized. Her heart raced as she raised both her hands, then lowered them, then raised them again, indecision crashing through her like an autumn wind – roaring and tumultuous. Slowly, she crept her right hand forward onto his, palm to palm, leaving the left hanging back, the envious, maiden aunt.
He slid the ring onto her fourth finger. “For now, Princess.”
The moment crystallized, and she knew she’d remember it forever. The sound of the blood pumping in her ears. The feel of her hand gripped by his. The weight of the ring on her finger – but it felt like the wrong hand, the wrong finger, like she’d made a terrible mistake.
She bit her lip to stop herself from telling him to change it, that, yes, she would marry him.
As if he sensed her uncertainty, he pulled her tight against him, his breath soothing in her ear. Minutes passed as they held each other. They didn’t have to rush anything.
Then he cupped her head and kissed her. On her lips, cheeks, the tip of her nose, her brow.
“‘Believe’. That’s my ‘B’ word for tonight,” he said. “I believe in us. And ‘Belong’. You belong to me, Sarika. We belong together.”
He caught her mouth and the kiss deepened, their tongues tangling, hands seeking bare skin. Then he pulled back and stared at her. “Let me stay with you tonight. No sex, I promise. Just…let me sleep beside you.”
She didn’t hesitate, just flipped back the covers and moved over. He leaned forward to turn off the light, plunging the room into darkness, then she heard him quickly strip off his clothes before climbing into bed beside her.
A contented sigh escaped both their lips as they fit together, then a second later, he yanked her nightgown over her head.
“As pretty as it is, I want to feel you skin to skin”.
* * *
“Rafael Cesare Fabrizio!”
Rafe jerked awake to the strident tone of his grandmother’s voice. He blinked in the bright morning sunshine and looked over Sarika’s tousled head toward the doorway of her bedroom at Ana Lisa. She held onto the knob, face flushed, staring at them in the bed.
Ah, hell!
Heart pounding, he raised onto his elbow and lifted a placating hand toward her as Sarika roused in his arms. Her breath stirred the hair on his chest.
“Nonna, you must calm—”
“Don’t you Nonna me. I asked you to take care of her and this is what you do?”
Sarika stiffened against him and glanced backward, moaning quietly. He knew exactly how she felt.
Making sure they were both adequately covered, he sat up. “Please, Nonna, just calm down. You mustn’t stress yourself.” Damn it, he needed to go to her, but his sweats were on the other side of the bed along with Sarika’s nightgown.
“It is the sight of you taking advantage of a distraught young woman that has me upset. She is fragile right now, and you knew that. How could you do such a thing?”
Sarika faced Ana Lisa, pulling the covers with her. “Zia, it’s not what you think. Rafe didn’t take advantage.” Her voice trembled, sounding like she might cry at any moment.
He fisted his hand in the sheet. “Hush.” If anyone would take the blame for this it was him. He didn’t want Ana Lisa thinking badly of her Goddaughter. Their relationship was too important.
“But, I—”
“No,” his grandmother said firmly. “He’s right to take responsibility for this. I trusted him with your care.”
Gritting his teeth, he wondered
how much to reveal about his relationship with Sarika. Was it fair to her that Ana Lisa found out about their year-long affair this way? That he’d asked her to marry him, and she’d said no?
Maybe after last night she’d change her mind. He hoped so. Ana Lisa would be happy, and that strained look on her face would disappear.
“Nonna, it’s not…it’s not…” He glanced at Sarika. She stared at him with wide eyes. He couldn’t do it. They needed to work things out between them before he involved Ana Lisa. Looking back at his grandmother, he squared his shoulders. “It is my fault. I’m sorry.”
She nodded stiffly. “You will make yourselves presentable and meet me in the library.” Then she turned and marched out the door.
He pressed the heel of his hand to his brow, letting out a string of muttered curses. How the hell had this happened? Why hadn’t Santo notified him his grandmother had been released early from the hospital?
When he looked up, Sarika stared at him through watery eyes. He cupped her cheek, intent on reassuring her that everything would be alright, but she squirmed backward.
“Tell me you didn’t plan this!”
Anger burned through him like a flash fire. He snatched back his hand, shoved off the covers, and strode toward his clothes. “How can you even ask me that? She’s been in the hospital for over a week.”
He pushed himself haphazardly into his wrinkled pants and shirt. Sarika’s purse lay on the dresser, and he tossed it to her. “Check your phone.” He only allowed himself a minute in the bathroom, worried about his grandmother, and when he came out, Sarika was on the bed listening to messages, her phone plugged into its charger.
“The doctor released her unexpectedly after morning rounds. Santo tried calling you, but you didn’t answer, and my phone was dead.”
Gathering her silky nightgown from the floor, he tossed it to her.
“Rafe, I’m sorry.” Sarika hesitated then pushed back the covers and came to him in all her naked glory, looking like a luscious, tousled, sex Goddess.
Laying her hands on his chest, she gazed at him, eyes turbulent. “I was upset. I know you’d never do anything to hurt Ana Lisa.”
He held onto his anger for a moment, then let it go with a heavy sigh. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he pressed his lips to her brow. “I know. But it is my fault.” The clock on the bedside table read quarter past nine, and he shook his head. “I never sleep this late. Are you sure you didn’t jump me in the night? Wear me out?”
The Fabrizio Bride Page 11
