A Need So Insatiable

by Cecilia Robert

  Fuck. This hurts. I need to breathe and try not to let the ache cripple me like it always does when I think about them.

  I curl my hands into fists. Of all the reasons for her not to remember me, I hadn’t expected this.

  She turns away, her gaze frantically searching the room, biting her lower lip. “Do you remember what you told me before you left?” she asks.

  I do. Christ, I do. How could I forget?

  “Promise to wait for me, Sophie. I’ll come for you, and take care of you. Even if it kills me.” I repeat the words. “I’m so sorry I never came back.”

  “This isn’t possible,” she mumbles, over and over, her hands shaking at her sides.

  Her gaze darts to me, then quickly away. I just sit. Waiting. As much as I want to comfort her, I don’t. She needs time to process this and I’ll give her all the time in the world if it brings her back to me.

  “Do you have any idea how I felt when I thought you’d died? My heart broke and I couldn’t find a way to fix it. I still can’t, Rafael.” She blinks fast, swiping a hand across one cheek, then the other, as tears slide from her eyes. She takes a long, shuddering breath.

  I’m here now. I’ll fix it for you. That’s what I want to tell her.

  She frowns, seeming to mull something over in her head. Her forehead smoothes out as she focuses on me again. “You and Mom worked together.” The words are almost a whisper. “I saw the picture in Simone’s office. You looked so familiar . . . oh my God! You were here in front of me the entire time. How could I have not known?” She moves closer, scrutinizing every part of my face. What does she see when she looks at me like that?

  I nod once, waiting to see what she does next.

  “Didn’t you want to see me?” she asks.

  “I wanted to see you so much, Sophie. Not being close to you was--is--physically painful.” I stop and take a breath. I’m baring my heart to her, something I’ve never done with anyone. She might end up rejecting me, but at least, she’ll finally know how I feel. She’ll finally know the truth. “When my parents died, I changed. I went down an ugly path and I didn’t want you to see me that way.”

  She flinches. “I thought you knew me better than that.”

  “I did. I do, Sophie. But I was so ashamed.” I still am.

  She inhales deeply, closing her eyes tight. “I--I can’t think about this right now. I need to go.”

  I stand and block her path. “Stay.” She takes a step back.

  “Stay,” I say again. “Ben can drive you home tomorrow. But tonight, stay here with me. Please.” My heart pounds in my chest. If she leaves, it might be the last time I see her. I can’t let her walk away. Somehow, I know if I do, I’ll lose her forever. I just can’t.

  “We won’t talk about it, unless you want to,” I say, grasping at whatever I can to make her stay.

  She bites her trembling lip, rubbing her arms. Tears hover at the corners of her eyes. Fuck! I made her cry. The girl who never cries, even when her world is crushing her. I don’t drop my gaze from hers, though. If I can’t touch her, tell her how much she means to me, then I’m counting on my eyes to relay the message.

  “All right,” she says finally. “I’ll stay. But I need to call my sister and friends to let them know I’m okay.”

  I nod, swallowing around the lump in my throat.

  She ends the call minutes later and looks up at me, her eyes wide and beautiful.

  “Are you . . . do you want to go to bed now?” I ask, somehow hoping she’ll say no and we can finish our conversation.

  She nods, her chin trembling.

  “Come,” I say softly, shoving my hands in my pockets to stop myself from touching her. “I’ll show you to your room.”

  Upstairs, I usher her into one of the guest rooms next to mine. I want her close to me, not to keep tabs on her, but just to have her there. At least, if I can’t have her any other way, I’ll know she’s near. I leave and return with one of my t-shirts, offering it for her to sleep in.

  “Rafael . . .”

  I halt in the doorway, turning around. I don’t care that my heart is in my eyes. I want her to see it. She owns it. She always has.

  “I just need to wrap my head around this, ‘kay?” she says softly, my t-shirt bundled in her hands.

  “Take all the time you need, Sophie.”

  She nods and I leave the room. I don’t stop until I enter the gym. Stripping off my shirt, I grab the remote control on top of the shelf and point it at the music player. Seconds later, Linkin Park blasts through the speakers and I stride toward the punching bag, my muscles and fists itching.

  Sophie

  MY PHONE beeps at three-forty a.m. I uncurl from the pillow I’ve been hugging and blink at my phone. My eyes feel heavy and too damn painful. Rafael’s confession had finally broken my restraint, and everything had come crashing down around me.

  Taking a deep breath to stop the stupid tears, I scroll down the screen to read the text from Jace:

  Rafael freaking Van Rees’s house? U naughty girl. I need details. I won’t lecture on the joys of letting go, so have fun. Happy orgasm! ;)

  I giggle into my pillow, my face heating up. “There’s more to life than orgasms, you know.” I press send.

  Seconds later, she texts: “Keep lying to yourself.”

  I toss the phone on the nightstand, and curl back up again, staring into the dark. I haven’t told Jace about Rafael’s revelation. She and Dani would be on the doorstep right now, if I had. How can two little words bring my world screeching to a halt?

  I’m Arie.

  I squeeze my eyes shut, but it doesn’t block his dark eyes, wide and uncertain, from my mind. That’s the first time I’d ever seen his expression so open. Terrified, almost. He’d laid himself bare for me. He’d taken that step and told me the truth. I can’t even begin to imagine how that must have felt. He could have gone on without telling me who he really is.

  But he didn’t.

  Shouldn’t that count for something? He’s leaving for Italy. What if something happens and I never get to see him again? Or he regrets telling me? I’ve lived a life of regret since Mom died, and I’m not about to do that to him. I’ve spent so many years thinking he died in that plane crash. And now, he’s alive, and here with me. I know I don’t want lose him again, but I also know I need time to get used to this. My heart beats harder and my breath rushes in and out.

  I have to see him before he leaves in the morning.

  Sliding my legs from the bed, I plant them on the heated floorboards. I step, barefoot, into the hallway; moonlight shines through the window at the far end. My room is flanked with three more to the right, and the left. Not sure which is his, I twist the knob on the first door to my right, and suck in a breath. Silver light pours in from the glass roof, illuminating the sofa at the far side of the room, a medium-sized TV on the wall, and the dark-hardwood, unoccupied bed covered with a red comforter. It’s beautiful and masculine.

  Everything in it screams Rafael. The scent lingering in the air, the variety of ties thrown casually on the sofa, the bed. I stop below the see-through glass and glance up at the stars. I squint at the words carved in black along the white frame of the skylight, then walk back to the door and flip on the switch.

  “You showed me the stars, and filled my life with light when I was full of darkness and despair. August 1989”

  I clutch the bedpost to steady myself. That was the night we’d lain on the lawn outside my house, watching the stars. The night I’d vowed I’d fix him because he looked so sad, and every time I looked at him, my heart broke. He’d honored that night by building this perfect dream of a roof.

  I switch off the lights and dash downstairs, halting in the dark living room. Where the heck is he? Did he leave? Maybe he thought I’d pushed him away after his revelation?

  I turn and head back upstairs so I can call him, but stop when I hear faint music pounding from somewhere in the house. I follow the sound to a door slightly open,
revealing a flight of stairs to what, I think, is the basement. I climb down the steps, the music getting louder.

  Once my feet hit the cool, laminated floor, I glance around the mirror-outfitted room. It’s a gym, complete with weight-lifting equipment, treadmill, and yoga mat. Across from me, Rafael bounces on his bare feet, his gloved hands punching a heavy bag hanging from the ceiling. He’s shirtless.

  Right jab. Left. Right. Left.

  He pauses long enough to move to the speed bag. His jaw is clenched tight, eyes focused as he throws punches like he’s punishing or purging himself of something. Holy sweet mother! The man has excellent reflexes. His arms are muscled, but not overly so. Sweat pours down his exposed, ripped chest, absorbed by the black pants slung low on his narrow hips. How long has he been down here? Hasn’t he slept since he left my room?

  I can’t take it--the loud, angry music, the muscles rippling with every swing, the smell of leather and sweat. Heat boils in my veins, settling down low in my stomach. I prop myself against the wall, my breathing coming in pants.

  In. Out. In. Out.

  He stops abruptly and jerks his head up, our gazes locking in the mirror. The intensity in his eyes reminds me of a predator narrowing in on its prey.

  When I’d first seen him all those years ago, in Simone’s music room, he’d been sitting in front of the piano, looking small, his shoulders slumped forward. The man staring at me now is a far cry from that little boy. Everything about him is intense. The way he walks, the way he’s looking at me, his punches, his body. If he hadn’t told me who he was, I would never have recognized him.

  He prowls toward me, his gaze shifting to where my t-shirt’s edge hits, just above mid-thigh. He swallows and when he looks up, those dark eyes are darker, hooded.

  I’m rooted to the spot, watching the rise and fall of his chest. My stomach clenches with a need I haven’t allowed myself to feel for a long time.

  “Sophie.” His voice is a soft baritone, dark, delicious, intense. Powerful. “You’re awake.”

  Aw, shucks! Every nerve in my body gravitates toward him. Other than the two round-ish, dime-sized scars on his right shoulder and the right side of his chest, his skin is smooth and tanned. Everything about him is masculine, sexy. His citrus scent slams into me, and I’m glad the wall supports me.

  He lifts his hand and touches my cheek with his fingertips. The gesture is so intimate and sexy and wholly sweet. He brushes the corner of my eye, his eyebrows scrunched together. “I’m sorry for making you cry, Sophie. I didn’t mean to.”

  “I was overdue, so don’t apologize.” I lean closer. “You’re fighting . . . the punching bag?”

  He trails his fingers down my neck, tracing my collar bone. “Just getting rid of some issues. A nice way to loosen up, if you ask me. Maybe I could get you in here sometime. Show you how it’s done?”

  Oh, yes! Please please, please . . . “You have issues?”

  “Everyone has issues.”

  “I don’t.”

  “You curse. A lot. It’s rather frightening. I’ve never met anyone who curses as much as you, and still manages to look sexy and innocent while doing it. Half the time, I find myself wanting to kiss that pretty mouth clean.” His gaze drops to my lips.

  Holy crap! The hungry look in his eyes is too much, so I end up lowering my gaze to his chest, trailing after the drop of sweat skating down his hard stomach. I swallow as it soaks into the band of his pants. I jerk my head up, and clear my throat.

  “I thought you left.”

  He cocks his head to the side. “Why would you think that?”

  I fiddle with the edge of the t-shirt. “I woke up and wanted to talk to you. I couldn’t find you, so . . . I saw the glass and stars in your room.”

  His expression doesn’t change, but his eyes look more wary.

  “It’s beautiful. A memory of the night you promised you’d come back for me.” My voice takes on an accusing tone, even though I didn’t mean it to.

  “Sophie . . .” He squeezes the back of his neck, turning away from me. He moves toward a built-in cupboard a few feet away, and returns with a pair of gloves. “Put these on.” He holds them out for me, but doesn’t wait for me to take them. He grabs my hand and slowly slips it into the first glove. He does the same with the second, his eyes fixed on mine. “Come.”

  He turns and stalks across the mats. I trot after him on wobbly knees, halting behind him. He circles me, and then his body is a second skin on my back, his arms enclosing me to grasp mine. He nudges my legs apart with his foot, and my knees buckle. He grabs me by the waist before I can make a complete fool of myself.

  “What are we doing?” I say, shivering.

  He doesn’t answer, just continues rearranging me. He finally grunts in what I think is satisfaction, and moves around to my front.

  He holds his gloved hands, palms facing me. “Hit.”

  I blink several times to get rid of the lust crowding my vision. “Are you serious?” He nods curtly. “I don’t see the point.”

  “Just hit it.”

  I take a deep breath and punch with my right glove.

  “Harder.”

  Breathe. Raise. Punch. Over and over. I feel the frustration of the last few months bunch into my fists. Hit. His eyes widen, and he stumbles back a step.

  “Why are you down here?” I ask, panting.

  “I couldn’t sleep.”

  “Because of me?”

  He ignores my question. “You should be sleeping.”

  “I couldn’t sleep, either.” I wipe the sweat on my forehead with the back of my hand. “I wanted to see you before you left.”

  He’s silent for a moment, absorbing my punches with his gloved palms. “I’m glad you’re here with me.”

  Eventually, we stop. He presses the remote control and the music fades. “Come on. You need to sleep.”

  AFTER SHOWERING in the bathroom inside my room, I walk out to find Rafael leaning against the doorway, hands tucked in his pockets. The t-shirt he’s wearing hugs his hard chest, and light, cotton pajama pants frame his toned thighs. Definitely a girl’s wet dream.

  He stares at me from under his eyelashes, smiling shyly. That smile. It’s the same one he’d worn when I gave him that butterfly in my room; the same one he’d had when he said he’d marry me.

  It’s perfection.

  “Just wanted to check if you need anything else?”

  I have to stop being a coward. I want him so damn much right now. And I don’t want to be alone tonight. I stroll forward to stand in front of him, watching him eye me warily. His shoulders slump forward slightly, and for such a huge man, he suddenly looks really small. I touch his face, reveling at the way his scruffy beard scrapes my skin.

  “You could have let me believe we didn’t know each other, but you didn’t. Why?”

  “Because you gave me a butterfly,” he answers simply. He hooks his hand on the nape of my neck and pulls me to him, kissing my forehead. “Goodnight, Sophie.” He turns to leave.

  “Wait!” He looks over his shoulder, infusing so much hope into that single look.

  “Can I sleep with you tonight? Well . . . not that way . . . I mean . . .” I flounder for words. My heart literally stops as his lips spread into a huge grin. He pulls me into a hug.

  “Yes, please, yes. I swear, I’ll keep my hands to myself unless you want me to touch you.” That smile transforms his face again, giving him a boyish look. I like it. I like it so much, I want to tattoo it on my heart.

  I put it there.

  My heart thumps in my chest as my feet guide me forward and into his room. He picks up the remote control on the nightstand and presses a button. Shutters slide across the glass, blocking the moon’s glare, leaving just enough space for us to see the stars.

  He flips the heavy, red-satin bedspread aside and climbs onto the bed, motioning for me to join him. I scramble quickly into bed. He slides his arm around my waist, pulling me to his body so that he’s curled around me. />
  “Goodnight, Butterfly.”

  “Goodnight, Rafael,” I say, then add, “Arie.”

  He buries his face in my hair, and inhales deeply before tucking my head under his chin.

  Sophie

  EARLY MONDAY morning, I hop in the shower to prepare for my appointment at the bank. I dress in a knee-length, black and white checkered pencil skirt, black high heels, and a grey silk blouse. I brush my hair and let it fall loosely around my shoulders. After nervously applying mascara and lip gloss, I grab my handbag and the folder marked “Olivia’s Circle”, climbing into Jace’s Saab in record time and driving to the third district. I hope Mr. Marks sees a mature, capable woman, and not the ten-year-old that used to tag along with her father, nibbling on bank candy while they chatted about grown-up stuff.

  Today will determine the fate of Olivia’s Circle; my fate with Kravic, too. As soon as I step inside Mr. Marks’s office, his gaze snaps to mine. The balding spot in the middle of his head gleams under the ceiling lights. He squints, trying to figure out who I am, and when he does, there’s a subtle shift in his expression. A huge smile stretches across his lined face. I extend my hand to him, but he surprises me by pulling me into an embrace. It’s not a weird hug, though, more like grandfatherly affection. We move apart and settle down to talk.

  AN HOUR later, I leave Mr. Marks’s office, a huge grin on my face. The bank agreed to the loan, using the restaurant, and my house, as collateral. A hundred and thirty thousand euros will be in my account in two weeks! I’m pretty sure they only agreed because our house, as well as the restaurant, is worth more than that. But either way, this is fantastic!

  Fat drops of rain hit my head. My gaze darts quickly to the heavy, dark clouds, then to Jace’s Saab, parked twenty feet away. Freakin’ rain stole my thunder. Literally rained on my parade. I climb into the Saab and start laughing, pulling out my phone to text everyone the news. Minutes later, I check my rear-view mirror. Looks like I don’t have anyone shadowing me today. Pressing my foot on the gas, I weave through traffic toward Olivia’s Circle.