Which wasn’t her plan. She was in control tonight. He would surrender.
Then his hands moved down her body, caressing across her stomach, so her muscles contracted. He teased the edge of her panties, slipping into her soft curls. His palms smoothed over her hips and legs, then his fingers dragged up the inside of her thighs.
Inches from the top, he played her with tiny, whispering strokes. Her stance widened in response.
She groaned. “Rafe.”
“Just give me the word, Princess.”
His tone rasped in her ear, and her eyes shot open. In the mirror, he looked almost feral –
eyes intent, lids heavy. It was an arousing sight.
Somewhere she found the strength to shake her head. His jaw clenched and that muscle pulsed in his cheek. He kissed her hard on the lips then moved his hands to her hair and loosened the pins and ribbon with unsteady fingers. Black, silky waves tumbled over her shoulders, as the last clip came free. He sifted through her tresses, massaged her scalp.
“Mmmm, that feels good.”
“How good?” he asked. “Good enough to change your mind?”
She laughed then turned toward him. He groaned as he gazed in the mirror behind her. She glanced over her shoulder to see her naked backside curving upward with a small triangle of lace on top. Slipping his hands down, he squeezed the twin globes. Then his fingers followed the string of satin where it disappeared between her cheeks. She shivered.
“Sarika, I can—”
“No.” She took a deep breath and pushed him backward. “Go lie down.” When he didn’t move, she said, “Now.”
He hesitated, then crossed the thick carpet to the bed. Stopping at the edge, he looked at her, one eyebrow raised. She had to grip the dresser to prevent herself from joining him. He was so tempting with his ruffled hair, sultry eyes, and flushed cheeks. And those fingers, she knew exactly what those fingers could do.
“Take off your clothes,” she ordered, voice shaking.
She thought for a minute he hadn’t heard, then he slowly undid the tuxedo vest and dropped it to the floor. Untucking his white dress shirt, he reached for the top button and wrenched the shirt open. Buttons flew everywhere, but she was too enthralled at the sight of his strong chest to care.
“Your socks, then your pants and briefs.”
“Aren’t you bossy. Is that because you’re my wife?”
The way he said ‘wife’, with such satisfaction and possession, sent a thrill down her spine.
“No, it’s because I’m your lover. Take. Them. Off.”
He did. Quickly.
Rafe dressed was a sight to behold. Rafe naked was glorious. He was heavily muscled through the arms, chest and legs with a rippled abdomen and a large, heavy erection. All man. It was enough to make her mouth water and her belly quiver.
“Lie down on your back and hold onto the slats in the headboard. And don’t let go until I say so.”
His chest expanded and he released a whoosh of air. “You’re killing me, Princess.”
When he grasped the slats, biceps bulging, eyes intent on her, she walked slowly toward him. His knuckles turned white around the black lacquered wood. Trailing her fingers from his foot all the way up his leg, she dipped between his thighs and tortured him with the same light caresses he’d given her, never quite hard enough or high enough. He spread his legs and the engorged length of him jerked in demand.
“Sarika, I don’t know if—”
“You gave me your word, Rafe. Just put yourself in my hands.”
“You don’t know what you’re asking.”
She reached the juncture of his thighs and ran her nails over his sac, up his shaft, and lingered, circling the tip. “Yes, I do.”
Planting his feet wide on the bed, he thrust upward with a growl, but she trailed her fingers down the other side, through his crisp hair to his chest, and pinched one taut nipple.
“Okay, I give,” he groaned. “Do whatever you want. But this is our wedding night. Promise me you’ll be there with me at the end.”
She knew what he meant. He wanted to be joined with her. Tears pricked her eyes. She leaned up and kissed him. He lifted his head, sweeping inside her mouth with his tongue.
Retreating, she nibbled his bottom lip then looked him in the eyes with a sultry smile. “Maybe.”
She continued to tease him. Using her lips, tongue, and hands on his body. Even the tips of her breasts. Stimulating herself at the same time. When he neared the edge of his control, she always pulled back, wanting to push him farther than he’d ever gone before.
Making him turn onto his stomach, she kissed down his neck and along his spine then bit the curve of his ass. He shuddered. Scraping her nails up his thighs, she stroked him from behind until he thrust mindlessly against the quilt. She pulled away before it was too late and had him roll over again.
His eyes were wild. His breath came in jagged gasps.
It was time.
She stepped onto the bed and stood above him, straddling his torso. He watched fervently as she touched herself. Palms cupping her breasts, fingers rolling across her nipples, hands sliding down her pelvis to slip under the elastic of her miniscule panties. She’d worn them over her garter, and when she slowly slid the scrap of silk down her hips, her stockings stayed on.
“Release me, Princess. Now,” he ordered, but his voice broke when she stepped out of her panties and moved to stand over his chest.
She fell to her knees. “Not until you surrender.”
He cursed, but when she thrust her hips forward, he knew exactly what she wanted and lifted his head. His tongue scalded her, lapping along her center in long, hard strokes, making her head drop back with a moan. She needed to be close. He wouldn’t last a minute once he was inside her, and she wanted them to find their release together.
Then his lips clamped around her turgid nub and sucked. She cried out, and after a moment, wrenched herself away. They stared at each other, panting.
“Do you surrender?” she asked, barely able to make her throat work.
“Yes! A hundred times, yes! God, Sarika, please finish it.”
She kissed him hard on the mouth then shimmied down his body. Grasping him in her hand, she lifted herself into position. He grunted and strained against her entrance, but she stayed just out of reach.
“Rafe.”
He raised frenzied eyes to her face, unable to answer.
“I love you.” Then she pressed her hips down and pushed him inside her body in one long, slow slide.
They moaned and bucked at the same time. She rocked against him as he thrust upward again and again. Her release roared toward her. Fiery. Explosive. Then his hands clamped her hips, and she lost her mind, shattering into a million pieces. Her screams matched his frantic shout as he reached his own pinnacle and fell into oblivion.
She collapsed forward, his chest heaving beneath her cheek, his heart banging below her ear. His knees rose behind her and his arms squeezed her tight as he continued to shudder with aftershocks. Eventually he calmed and just held her.
After a while, he rolled with her to his side, still entwined, and dragged the cover over them. Sarika released a contented sigh and drifted off to sleep in her husband’s arms, smiling at the thought that after so long, he’d finally surrendered.
* * *
Rafe was drowning. Water surrounded him, choked him, and he couldn’t breath. He struggled upward, but pale hands forced him down, kept him under. He fought wildly toward the surface, desperate for air, only to be pushed further beneath the waves.
He weakened, knew he would die.
In one final surge, he thrashed upward and broke through the blanket of water with a gasping breath. His gaze caught green eyes and a silken river of black hair before those pale hands pushed him under again.
Sarika…
Jackknifing on the bed, Rafe woke with a ragged breath, heart racing and blood pounding in his ears. The room slowly came into focus, and he rea
lized where he was – at home, in his bed, with his…wife.
His heart raced again.
“Rafe?” Sarika murmured sleepily.
Memories of lifting and placing her beneath the sheets hours ago flooded his brain. He’d removed her garter and stockings then made love to her a second time. Slow and sweet. Kissing every inch of her body as she’d whimpered beneath him.
The steely-grey fingers of dawn now stole through the blinds.
Her hand rose to his chest, and he grasped it, kissing her palm before she could touch him – feel him tremble.
“Go back to sleep. I’ll be right back,” he whispered.
Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, he made sure she was covered then walked across the room. The weakness in his legs shocked him. When he reached the bathroom, he leaned against the door and closed his eyes. Flashes of his dream came back, and he cursed, pushing away from the door and turning on the light.
Haunted eyes stared back at him from the mirror. Glimpses of the boy he’d once been. Letting the water run cold, he gritted his teeth and splashed it on his face. What was the matter with him? He was married. Happily. Very happily after last night. He’d never had so strong a release, or so profound a connection to his lover – and the connection to Sarika had always been deep.
The panic rose again, and he smashed the side of his fist on the marble counter.
This feeling was supposed to stop once they were married. Once he’d committed himself to Sarika for the rest of his life, but something inside him still screamed to run.
To escape.
Bracing his hands on the sink, he looked at his reflection with grim determination and knew what had to be done. She wouldn’t like it, but there was no other way. He couldn’t run from this any longer. It was too important. To him. To them.
And if he couldn’t fix it, then she deserved someone better. Someone whole and able to give her what she wanted. What she needed.
God willing, that would be him.
Chapter Thirteen
Empty, cool sheets greeted her as Sarika reached across the bed for her husband. She opened her eyes, squinting in the morning sun that streamed through the curtains. Rising onto her elbow, she pushed the hair from her face and looked toward the bathroom. The door was open and the light off.
“Rafe?”
Disappointment surged through her, when he didn’t answer. She’d expected him to wake her with kisses. Especially after last night.
Wisps of heat curled through her belly as she thought about how wild he’d been the first time they’d made love, and how gentle the second, causing a shiver to race up her spine. She wanted him here. Now.
Then it occurred to her he might be downstairs making breakfast, intending to serve it to her in bed. A smile curved her lips. Or maybe he’d gone to get her a cappuccino, chocolate, and croissant.
She’d treat herself to them and to him all day long.
Pushing back the covers, she walked naked to the bathroom and flipped on the light. The marble, fixtures, and linen were predominantly black with splashes of salmon. Striking, but not very restful. Maybe she’d talk to the designer about redecorating before she and Rafe left on their honeymoon – destination unknown.
Glancing at the mirror, she grimaced. The sexy wanton from last night had turned into a witch: hair a knotted, wild mess, makeup smudged around her eyes. He’d probably taken one look at her and run away screaming.
No. He’d surrendered last night. He’d never leave her now.
Ten minutes later, she stepped out of the shower and into a large, silk, navy robe that hung on the back of the door. Unable to wait any longer, she padded barefoot from the room along the hallway.
At the top of the stairs, she gazed at the gigantic, blown glass chandelier hanging above the foyer. An astounding creation. She was admiring it, when she heard clipped footsteps on the marble floor below. Rafe came into view, looking remote in a dark grey suit and tie with black, leather, dress shoes. He carried a briefcase.
Her happiness faded. “What’s going on? Why are you dressed like that?”
His mouth was grim. “I have to go.”
“What?” Shock froze her heart.
“I’ll be back tomorrow night. The day after at the latest.”
She stood rooted to the spot, mind racing, then ran down the stairs in a sudden burst of speed. “No!”
He took a step back as she hurtled toward him. The robe loosened, and his eyes dropped to her cleavage and the expanse of her legs. She didn’t bother tightening the belt before fisting her hands on her hips and glaring at him.
“Sarika, I have to do this.”
“No. You. Don’t. If you go out that door without me, don’t bother coming back!”
“Don’t say that.”
“Then don’t leave. Damn it, Rafe, you married me. You promised to love and honor me. Running away is neither of those things.”
“I’m not running away.”
“Then take me with you.”
He dropped the briefcase and pushed his hands through his hair. “Look, there’s something I have to do. For us. And…and I need to do it on my own.”
Her eyes widened at the anguish on his face. “What is it? We were just married, for Heaven’s sake. This is our honeymoon.”
He paced away from her. She followed on his heels. When he turned back, he almost knocked her over. His hands whipped around her waist to steady her, then he re-tied her robe so she was completely covered.
When he finished, he stepped backward, rubbed his neck, and let out a frustrated sigh. “I don’t want to talk about it. I can’t talk about it.”
Her arms crossed her chest. “Then you’re not going.”
“And how the hell are you going to stop me?”
“By giving you an ultimatum. You either tell me where you’re going, and I decide whether to be here when you return. Or you don’t tell me, but you take me with you.”
He threw his hands in the air. “Give me another choice.”
“You don’t tell me, you go without me, and I file for divorce.”
“Just like that?”
“Yes.”
His eyes raged down at her – a churning, chaotic mess of emotions. “Why can’t you just trust me?”
“Why can’t you trust me?”
“It’s not about trust!”
“Yes, Rafe, it is. You don’t trust me with your feelings, with your heart. Get out the damn thesaurus if you need to and just talk to me.”
He looked at the door, that muscle jumping wildly in his cheek, then back at her. She put all the love she felt for him into her gaze. When he moved past her to his briefcase, shoulders stiff, her stomach dropped. Walking slowly to the door, he stood there, hand on the knob.
Finally, he said, “I promise I’ll come back.” Then he opened the door and left.
* * *
The thud of the door closing behind Rafe reverberated over and over in her head, in her shocked and shattered heart. Long minutes passed as she stood there, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps, willing him to return. To wrap his arms around her and say it had all been a mistake. A dreadful, repairable mistake.
He couldn’t have left. After everything they’d shared, after all of his promises, he wouldn’t just pick up his briefcase and walk out the door.
But he had. Without a glance back.
Proving he was no better than her father.
She closed her eyes, the anguish that stabbed through her body forcing her to her knees. She hit the tile with a painful thud, but the pain in her knees was nothing compared to the emotional pain. Wrenching sobs squeezed her chest as she grieved the loss, the betrayal. Rafe had left her alone on her honeymoon with no one to hold her as she cried. No one to whisper words of comfort into her ear. To protect her. To cherish her.
No one to build a life with. No place to belong.
Her stomach twisted, and she knew she was going to be sick. Somehow she dragged herself up the stairs
and down the hallway, into another bathroom on the landing. She leaned against the cold toilet, unable to hold back any longer, and lost whatever was still in her stomach from last night. It wasn’t much, but she continued to heave, the muscles clenching and tearing, turning her inside out.
Finally the sickness passed, and she crumpled onto a thick, soft bath mat on the floor. Lying there for hours. Unable to think. Unable to feel.
Numb.
She’d bared everything, given Rafe everything, and he’d thrown it back in her face. Her love, her commitment, her future, her…trust? Her breath caught and she held onto that thought, keeping it from the crushing weight of despair that wanted to pull her under. To immerse her once more in pain and doubt.
Sitting up, she propped her shoulders against the vanity and rubbed the heels of her hands over her eyes. He’d asked her to trust him, promised he’d be back, and she’d hurled ultimatums at him. Words so filled with fear she couldn’t hear past them to the plea in his voice, asking her to understand.
He’d said there was something he had to do. For them. Something he couldn’t talk about.
His parents.
They were the one subject he’d always refused to discuss with her. Did it have to do with them and the twisted pain of his childhood? It made sense. She knew Rafe, and he wouldn’t have married her if he hadn’t wanted to. Certainly not if he knew he was going to end the marriage the next day.
So what was he doing?
She dragged herself from the floor and stumbled into the bedroom. With trembling fingers, she picked up the phone on the bedside table and dialed his number. Her heart pounded as it rang in her ear. When she reached his voicemail, she dropped her hand to her lap and disconnected without leaving a message.
He didn’t want to speak to her. Maybe he couldn’t speak to her. A few days ago, he’d texted her his words because it was too hard to say them over the phone. This conversation would be even harder.
Tears threatened to overwhelm her again but she shook her head, refusing to let them fall. He’d promised to return to her, and she trusted him.
The breath whooshed from her lungs as the enormity of those words hit her.
The Fabrizio Bride Page 15
