The Trouble With Coco Monroe
Page 3
And what a face.
The face of a Visigoth.
Up close and personal Coco found herself caught in eyes the colour of bitter chocolate. Rafael might be English, but his late mother had been Spanish, a Catalan. His features were those of a Latin, and he had the arrogance, the plains and sharp cheekbones of an aristocrat. His hair was black as night and had grown out of the short military cut he’d favoured when he’d worn battle fatigues.
Just thinking of him in full dress uniform of a Captain of the Guards had a breath catch in her throat.
The way her heart beat too fast annoyed her enough to snatch her hand out of his and step away.
Why did her system react like this around him? As if she’d touched a live wire? She didn’t even like him. He was looking at her now as if she was a possession, his. How dare he speak to her as if she was one of his troops? Issuing instructions in a clipped precise tone that made her want to snap to attention and salute. Actually, what she really wanted to do was to punch him on that sexy mouth.
Rafe frowned down into breathtaking violet eyes spitting fire.
She’d always been slim, but now Coco appeared too thin, the cheekbones too sharp in that amazing face.
Her skin was flawless, framed by glossy hair that hung in a jet-black curtain to her shoulders. Dark lashes caught on thick bangs in a way that seriously irritated him. Coco never needed artifice, but her full mouth was stained the colour of fresh raspberries. She had an oval, expressive face with huge wide eyes and a straight nose.
She was wearing a petrol blue dress of shot silk. Sleeveless, but high at the neck, the gown fitted her torso like a glove, flaring out in wide skirts to a couple of inches above her knees. She was built like a ballet dancer, long lean limbs and graceful poise. Except a ballet dancer would never wear heels like those. They were some sort of silk and ribbon concoction that matched the dress and he’d no idea how she hadn’t broken her beautiful neck.
The physical punch of her beauty was nothing new.
However, the way her whole body was humming like a plucked guitar string had him study her carefully.
She was upset.
And he wasn’t entirely sure Coco was upset with him.
Okay, he’d behaved like a caveman dragging her to her feet like that, but dammit, he was sick and tired of her giving him the run-around.
She’d been ducking and diving around her brother, and him, all afternoon.
The rift with her father appeared to be hardening on both sides.
Ethan was feeling bad about the way Coco had been treated. But no one went against the wishes of Charles Monroe.
So because Rafe worked for her father her hostility appeared to have spread to him, too, did it?
They might not be the best of friends, but since when had he been the enemy?
“Cut the dramatics,” he said now and didn’t bother to keep the deep irritation out of his voice. “I used to bounce you on my knee.”
Now heavy lashes blinked catching the thick hair of her bangs.
His hand itched to smooth her hair out of her eyes.
But the way her chin tipped and the lethal flash in her eyes warned him she’d probably punch him if he tried it.
“I was a baby and you were eight. Ordering me to dance just because familiarity has bred contempt does not excuse your behaviour.”
He frowned.
Her breathing was fast now and she’d gone too pale.
The last medical report he’d read said she was well on the way to a full recovery from having a knife plunged into her lung.
So why was she out of breath and why was she trembling?
The way her pupils dilated as she stared up into his face fired a hot arrow of desire straight to his loins.
Stunned, both by how his hands itched to throttle her and his physical reaction, he took a careful step back.
Thrusting his hands into the trouser pockets of his morning suit, Rafe prayed for tolerance.
“I’ve never treated with you contempt,” he said in a soft voice.
“Yes, you do. But I’m not about to debate the point at my friend’s wedding,” she said. “Try, ‘Would you like to dance, Coco.’ You might’ve received a surprise. I might’ve said yes.”
Okay. He would play the game.
“Would you like to dance, Coco?”
He held out his hand in a way that dared her to refuse.
The way she battled her emotions told him she’d have loved nothing more than to walk away. But she also knew he’d never permit it.
With a reluctance that made him bite down hard on his tongue Coco placed her hand in his.
And sent him a long, smouldering look. “Much better. Not hard is it?”
He led the way to dance floor and took her in his arms.
The band was playing a slow number as a husky voiced singer sang a song about endless love.
She held herself too stiff, tempting him to pull her close but he didn’t want to press his luck.
Even though she was five foot eight inches and wearing lethal heels the top of her head came to just under his chin.
His hand spread along the back of her tiny waist and it felt so good and so right.
Her eyes appeared to be riveted on the claret coloured rose in his lapel.
“Lovely, isn’t it?” he said in a smooth voice he knew would annoy her.
He was right.
Big eyes flicked up to bean him with a look.
“Did you want something?”
Actually, he did.
And Rafe wondered how he was going to get it.
“Why have you dismissed your personal security?”
Narrow shoulders shrugged.
The last time he’d seen her was the day she’d been released from hospital.
Memories of how they’d nearly lost her made him pull her close.
On a good day Coco was a force of nature. A girl with a big personality who had an opinion on everything and everyone. Especially him.
But today, under the bravado, he sensed an underlying air of emotional and physical fragility.
And he didn’t like it, not one little bit.
Her eyes were still glued to his lapel. “I’ve resigned from Monroe Industries. I don’t need protection,” she said.
Was she serious?
He tipped his head down to look into her eyes, but she wasn’t having it.
All he could see now was the top of that shiny head.
There was something different, off, about her.
But he couldn’t put his finger on it.
The scent of her shampoo, her light floral perfume and something that was pure Coco spun around his senses, dulling the usually sharp thought processes of his brain.
“Your father believes differently.” That brought her head up. “And I agree with him.”
Instead of anger, he read a calculating gleam in those vivid eyes.
And excuse me but was that something like contempt?
“If my father asked you to jump naked through a flaming hoop you’d agree with that, too,” she said in a voice that dripped pure disdain.
What?
How dare she talk to him like that?
His fingers now pressed into her hipbones making her wince and he forced himself not to lose his temper.
By the way her face went too pale again, Coco knew she’d overstepped the mark.
And he wasn’t fucking standing for it.
He guided her to the side of the dance floor near a side exit and felt her tremble.
Before she could utter a sound, he turned her in his arms and pushed her through the door.
She struggled, but he was bigger, stronger.
“I’m not going any...”
Coco found herself in a long narrow hallway.
Then she was jerked around, her back pushed against the wall.
Heart fluttering crazily against her ribs, she couldn’t help but flinch when his hands slapped the wall either side of her head.
She also knew he’d never ever get physical with a woman, unless pushed beyond endurance. The way he’d used his superior strength to shove her through the door, the way his big body caged hers told her Rafe had reached the end of his tether.
Her gaze flicked up to his face.
Yep.
Furious.
“We need to talk. You can come with me willingly or I carry you. What’s it to be?”
Her eyes lifted to meet his and she read the absolute determination in them.
The skitter of fear up her spine and the curl of lust deep in her belly meant she couldn’t help the tiny nudge of her chin.
Those dark eyes narrowed in warning.
“Do not test me, Coco.”
Test him?
With three brothers she knew exactly how to test him.
If he carried on like this, she’d kick his balls into his throat.
However, this was Rafe and she hadn’t come out the winner of their last little skirmish.
“Where are we going?”
“My suite.”
She smirked.
He growled.
“Dream on,” she said.
Now he went nose to nose with her.
The familiarity of his scent, of healthy man and his signature cologne tempted her to take quick little nip of his strong jaw. And her mouth actually watered to bite him. This was so not a good sign. Neither was the almost overwhelming need to whimper.
“Get over yourself, doll face. I simply want to talk to you, nothing more.”
He took a step back.
Relief warred with disappointment while utter mortification wrapped it all up in a great big bow.
She couldn’t seem to help but continually jerk his chain and pay the price.
When would she ever learn?
Chapter Four
As they took the elevator to a penthouse suite Rafe’s face was implacable.
The high cheekbones, the strong jaw with its delectable mouth could have been carved from solid rock.
During the frigid silence, she told herself that this was not like the last time.
These days she was a big girl.
More than old enough to deal with Rafael Cavendish.
If that was true, a little voice said, why did her pulse jump as if she’d overdosed on one of those adrenalin drinks?
The scent of him was amazing.
She couldn’t help but take a deep inhale as Rafe led the way out of the elevator and along a carpeted hallway to his suite.
As they entered his rooms a feeling of déjà vu washed over her.
The sitting room was fabulously appointed with arched floor to ceiling windows leading out to a roof terrace with spectacular views of the river and the rolling countryside beyond.
But Coco ignored the deep carpet the colour of spun gold, the long sofas, the overstuffed chairs and the serving tables with clear glass vases pregnant with scented flowers. She ignored the carefully chosen antique tables, the vast oil paintings showing hunting scenes from times gone by. Her whole system was in a state of high alert.
She’d been in a bedroom with him once before.
It might have been years ago but those old feelings of attraction, arousal, along with frustration, rose up to crush her breath. Then bitter memories of her utter desolation washed over her. Along with her heart Rafael had broken something vital inside her that night.
The way he’d rejected her made the old anger burn hard and burn bright. But she couldn’t think of that night now, because to think of it meant dealing with it. And the only way she knew how to deal with it was to get mad.
Clinging to anger like a drowning man thrown a life jacket in a stormy sea, she used the feelings to stiffen her spine.
Coco dropped onto a plush velvet sofa the colour of a cappuccino, crossed long legs and folded her arms.
Face flushed, she tipped her chin.
“Hurry up and get to the point. Some of us have a life to lead.”
On his way to the bar fridge, he turned and shot her a warning look.
“Drink? I believe Stoli Razberi is your tipple of choice.”
“I’m driving.”
“Never stopped you before,” he muttered under his breath.
But she heard him and rose to the bait. “I never drink and drive.”
Dark eyes lasered into hers.
“No, you drink and can’t stop.”
Bastard.
One mistake made long ago and the son-of-a-bitch never let her forget it.
Her cheeks burned with guilt, regret.
“People change.”
Rafe wished he’d kept his mouth shut because winding her up wasn’t going to help her see reason.
Still he struggled with the deep annoyance, which he always felt around her these days.
Discipline.
That’s what was needed here.
She was the result of an over indulgent father and the lack of a mother.
As much as it galled him to admit it, Coco had been running rings around his security team for weeks, months even, and he’d only discovered that fact less than twelve hours ago.
It wasn’t her bodyguard Samson’s fault. The man was only doing what he’d been told by Ms. Coco Monroe.
Since they’d been at dagger’s drawn for over a week, her father had asked him to handle it and that was exactly what he was going to do.
His mouth set in a thin line Rafe studied her profile as she waited for him to speak, trying to remember why he should tread carefully.
When they weren’t hissing and spitting, father and daughter adored each other. Maybe Charles Monroe was over-protective, controlling even, but who the hell could blame him for keeping her on a short leash?
He’d been very careful with how he’d brought Coco up.
Plus she’d been taught the value of money.
She should have inherited a fortune from her late mother on her last birthday. But Charles had wangled and finagled a way to prevent her touching it until she was thirty.
‘For her own protection,’ he’d told Rafe. ‘To keep the worst of the fortune hunters at bay.’
He’d attended the meeting when Charles broke the news and recalled the serious way Coco had looked directly into her father’s eyes. She’d shrugged, unconcerned, and continued with a conversation about the latest fashions. After all, the daughter of Charles Monroe represented the family, the wealth he’d accumulated. And Coco’s tabloid exploits were great for business.
But as they now knew to their cost those exploits attracted the crazies, too.
In Rafe’s opinion she was a bad tempered, spoilt rotten, society princess.
And what the hell did she think she was playing at?
Her personal protection team was not a subject up for negotiation.
When her violet gaze caught his, the tightening in his thighs, his gut, and everywhere in between was unprecedented.
Rafe let out a long, slow breath.
His gaze took a nice lazy stroll over that fabulous body, the endless legs and slim arms, reached those amazing eyes and read utter disdain and the message, back off.
Ah well, the timing for this little chat might have been better.
And he wondered if it had been a mistake to bring her to his suite?
But what he had to say to her needed privacy.
Rafe took another breath and dived right in.
“Where were you last night?” he said in a hoarse voice, cleared his throat.
“Lou’s.”
“Sorry?”
“Louise O’Brien,” she said, watching him with a wary eye.
Rafe determinedly ignored the flood of relief that she hadn’t been with a man.
“Why didn’t you tell Samson?”
Silence.
He counted slowly to five befor
e she shrugged a lean shoulder.
“I’ve resigned from the company. I don’t need or want a babysitter.”
“No choice, princess.” Her mouth opened and he interrupted, “You know me. Am I a man who takes no for an answer?”
“You know me. Am I a woman who gives a shit?”
“Mouth. Wash. Soap.”
“Get. A. Life.”
“We could go on like this all day. But it’s boring.”
“Yep. You said it, big boy, not me.”
Her chin bumped up again and those blue eyes went like ice.
The urge to toss her over his knee and paddle her ass until it burned warred with the need to kiss some fucking common sense into her.
In the end he did neither.
Instead, he pulled up a chair and sat in front of her.
Their knees were almost touching and he felt the tension in the atmosphere between them grow too thick.
She swallowed and he wished to God she would look at him properly.
What had happened to the sweet teenager with the naughty grin and big eyes?
He told himself to be nice, to reason with her.
“I know we’ve not exactly been friends. But you know the rules, Coco.”
He reached out and lifting her chin with a long finger he felt the familiar jolt of attraction.
By the dilation of the pupils on those fabulous eyes so did she.
Coco jerked away from his touch.
She rose.
Rafe mirrored the move.
They stood breast to chest.
He caught a flicker of fear in her eyes and frowned wondering what she was afraid of.
“If anything were to happen to you, it would kill your father.” Rafe placed his hands gently on her shoulders, felt her breath hitch. “You know that you can come to me at any time.”
Coco couldn’t believe it.
Was he for real?
Not in this lifetime.
And he was standing too close.
The scent of his cologne was turning her brain to a static mess; it mingled with something that was pure male testosterone.
God, he smelt fantastic.
She couldn’t think when he touched her.
Her nipples were so tight they actually hurt.
But that was nothing compared to the slick ache, the heat, between her thighs.
He needed to let her go before she made a complete fool of herself.