“Do you have a condom?” she asked.
“No. Here. Roll over a little. I want to …” He reached inside her bra. “There. Yes.” He ran his fingers over her nipple.
She moaned and tightened her thighs around him. No condom? “No! How can it be no?”
“Do we need one?” He kissed the space underneath her ear. “Sammy said you couldn’t …” He let his voice trail off.
“I can’t,” she said. “No chance. But there are other reasons.”
“You’re clean. Unless I am very, very wrong, I’d say you’ve only slept with one man.”
“True.” And Gregory had never slept with anyone else either. “But …”
“You have nothing to fear from me. I’ve never had unprotected sex, but I had myself tested anyway when I quit carousing. That’s also when I quit carrying condoms.”
“You quit carousing? Then, what’s this?”
He tipped her face up and let those amazing eyes meld with her own. “I don’t know what it is, Abby. But not that. I only know it’s me not being able to stand letting another day go by without knowing what it’s like to be deep inside you.” His penis jerked against her and he grasped her hips to feel her better. “I want you. You want me. Can we go with that and figure out the rest later?”
And he stripped off her blue lace panties, leaving her only in her bra, stockings, and garter belt, and brought his hand between her thighs, cupping and caressing for long beautiful, torturous moments before inserting one finger and then two.
She cried out.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” he echoed her earlier words back to her. “Let me …” He pulled away and stood up.
She was set to protest and reach for him until she saw that he was undressing. She settled back to enjoy the sight—and what a sight it was. Why had she never noticed how sensuous, how masculine it was to watch a man untie a Windsor knot with deft, capable fingers—fingers that had so recently been inside her? Would her scent remain on the silk of his tie? He had a scar here and there, but that only contributed to his magnificent appeal. She refused to dwell on how he’d gotten those scars, though it wouldn’t have stopped her. It was too late for that. Besides, chemistry didn’t equal forever.
“Should I?” Abby reached for her bra fastener.
“No.” He took both her hands in one of his and held them over her head as he laid her back and took an erect nipple into his mouth through the silk of her bra.
“I’m going to pass out!” she gasped.
“No you’re not. You don’t want to miss this.” And he changed breasts.
Just when she thought it couldn’t get any better, he sat back and ran his finger against her neck. “Take your pearls off.”
Figuring he was afraid of breaking them, she unfastened the necklace that had been her grandmother’s, but when she went to place it on the bedside table, he stopped her.
“I’ll take that.” And he removed her bra and trailed the pearls over her breasts and around her nipples, chasing the cool beads with his warm tongue—patient and thorough, so very thorough, sucking, swirling, nipping, and biting. Had she not been rendered incapable of thought, she might have never had the courage to reach for his smooth, throbbing penis. She loved the warmth and weight of it against her palms, but when it jerked, seemingly of its own accord, she released it, startled.
“No,” he protested and guided her hands back to hold him. “Please.”
“I’ve never been too sure about this,” she admitted.
He made a sound that was half laugh and half groan. “You can be sure. Here. Like this.” And he showed her how to grip the base and run her other hand over the head, while letting both hands glide up and down.
There was something very empowering about the way he lay back, eyes closed, wallowing in the pleasure. He made a halfhearted attempt to reach out to touch her, but she quickened the movement of her hands on him, and his hand, still grasping her pearls, stopped in midair and fell to the mattress.
“Sorry,” he said around a moan. “Selfish, I guess. I haven’t forgotten you.”
She couldn’t help but laugh. “I didn’t think you had. I like seeing you like this.”
He opened one eye. “At your mercy?”
“Maybe.” Never, ever, in her life had she had anyone at her mercy.
“Yeah?” He rose on one elbow and placed the pearls on the table. “I’ll show you mercy.”
“Please.”
She expected him to mount her, but instead he lay back and pulled her toward him. “I want to see you,” he said. “Straddle me. Stroke me.” Still not inside her, Rafe put his hands on her hips inside the garter belt she still wore and set the pace, lifting her so she alternated between light and hard strokes.
So transcendent was the experience that Abby would have happily gone on forever with no thoughts to food, weddings, or a silk coverlet that might never be the same again. But Rafe moaned and lifted her away from him.
“Give me a second. I’m going to come if you don’t. Kiss me.” He pulled her against him and plundered her mouth with exactly the right amount of tender and exactly the right amount of “I can’t wait.” His penis throbbed between their bellies and it was all she could do to stop herself from sliding up and notching herself against him. Instead, she caressed her aching nipples against his bare chest.
At last, he stroked her hair back. “Abby. Beautiful, beautiful, Abby. It’s time.” And he didn’t wait for her to reply. He grasped her hips, parted her legs, and guided himself into her. “Slow. Come down on me slow and easy.” He steered her bit by bit, inch by inch until he was firmly sheathed inside her.
“Oh, Rafe.” Her words came out like a lazy sigh, though she couldn’t fathom how. She felt anything but lazy.
He reached for her breasts and said, “Lean forward. Just a bit. Yes. That’s it.”
And, indeed, that was it. In that same moment, he lifted himself hard against her, rocking just enough to make her cry out. Then all too quickly, the quakes took hold, making her bloom and fly apart all at the same time. They went on and on until she collapsed against his chest.
“Oh, no,” she whimpered before she could stop herself.
“Oh, no?” His tone was teasing, and he had a very self-satisfied expression on his face.
Embarrassed, she covered her face. “It was wonderful. I only meant I wish it hadn’t been over so fast.”
Pulling her hands away from her face, those heart-stopping blue eyes smiled into hers. “You think it’s over?” He grasped her bottom and rolled his hips to remind her he was still rock hard and wanting inside her. “It’s not over by a long shot.”
And it wasn’t—not for a long, long time.
Chapter Twelve
A fire truck was coming, fast and furious, ringing its bell—which didn’t really make sense. Modern fire trucks had sirens, not bells. But whether it made sense or not, by the time Rafe woke and realized it was a ringing phone, not a fire truck, his heart was racing, and his shirt was soaked.
After putting the fear of fire to rest, his first rational thought was of Abby. He’d left her, sneaking out of the house about 3 a.m. only after they were sure the partygoers were all gone and the family was in bed. What a night. Maybe she was calling to say she was coming over to his hotel; maybe she’d wear some more of that fancy underwear. He grabbed the phone.
Bad news and worse shouted at him from the screen. It was just after 6 a.m., and it wasn’t Abby.
“Hello, Christian,” he said around a yawn.
“Get dressed, Rafe, and come and get me. We’re going to see a man about a horse.”
He sat on the side of the bed. “Who? What? Where are you?”
“Where do you think I am? I’m at Noel’s house. And I’m sitting on the front steps having my coffee and waiting for you.”
“Don’t we have to go to some kind of brunch thing? Here at the hotel?”
“True, that. It’s at ten. Which is why I’m calling now. He’s loca
ted about thirty minutes out of town. We have plenty of time, but we need to get moving.”
He hesitated. “What if I don’t want a horse?”
“You do. Especially this horse. Great blood lines. He’s big boy. 15.3 hands.”
“Quarter horse?”
“Of course. Would you ride anything else? Mahogany bay.”
Damn straight, he’d ride something else. He had last night. And she had ridden him …
“Come on, Rafe. It won’t take long.”
At least it would distract him from thinking about Abby and what had happened with them last night. Never had it been like that before; never had a woman put herself so totally in his hands and trusted him so completely to give her pleasure. He thought he’d risen to the occasion pretty well.
“I guess it wouldn’t hurt to take a look.”
“I’m waiting.” And Christian hung up.
• • •
Abby stepped out of the taxi in front of the 21C Museum Hotel where Rafe, along with most of the rest of the bridal party, was staying.
She was more than a little miffed. Never again would she be so far from home without her own transportation. She had assumed that since she had ridden with Rafe to Louisville that he would see to it that she got to all the activities. One might make the case that she had not asked him to pick her up for the brunch, but she’d been a little distracted—and not just from the sex, though that had been a full-time job for a lot of hours. They’d had fun, laughing about everything and nothing, and sneaking him out of the house in the wee hours like teenagers in a slapstick summer movie.
But, the best she could tell, Rafe was missing in action this morning and so was Christian, though she couldn’t fathom why they were off together. If they were off together. And they were bound to be. Not that it was any of her business.
That aside, Abby had been on her own. True, she could have called Emory or Gwen, who were staying at the hotel, but she hadn’t known how far the hotel was from the house, and she hadn’t wanted to bother them. As for hitching a ride with someone from the house—in the interest of not letting Nickolai see her on the day of the wedding, Noel wasn’t going to the brunch, and the rest of the household seemed to be having meltdowns over a variety of things—napkins, a missing cake server, and a torn hem in the flower girl dress. In the end, it had seemed a better choice to take care of herself—which was something she hadn’t done a very good job of last night.
She stepped inside the lobby and looked around. She’d heard about this place. Located in a renovated warehouse, it was part hotel and part modern art museum. As she suspected, a lot of the art was pretentious and the kind that made people say, “I could have done that,” and others haughtily counter, “But you didn’t.” “And there’s a reason for that,” Abby always wanted to reply but never would.
“Ah, ma chérie. I was about to go to find where the brunch is to be held. We can search together.”
Oh, great. Emile. It had been fun at first, the flirting and teasing, but it had morphed into annoying—probably because he wasn’t sincere. It wasn’t that she wanted him to be, but somewhere along the way, it had occurred to her that he didn’t know that. If she’d believed his sweet talk and cared, she’d be in for a world of hurt—which she might be anyway, though it had nothing to do with Emile.
Stop thinking that way! She massaged her temple.
“You look beautiful,” he said.
She smoothed the skirt of her pink linen sheath. She had worn this dress to one of her own wedding parties, though she couldn’t remember which one. Her mother would say it was too late in the year for the fabric and the color. That might be true in Boston, but here it was still warm and sunny.
“Thank you. You look nice, too.” And it was true. Emile was part boy, part devil, and he wore it well. What he didn’t wear well were his clothes. In his suspenders, striped shirt, and bow tie, he looked like a fraternity boy who’d gotten the wrong memo. Not that there was anything wrong with the clothes, per se. But he looked uncomfortable, like he was trying too hard.
“You disappeared last night,” he said.
For a second she didn’t know what he was talking about, and it must have shown on her face.
“From the party.”
Right. “Oh. Yes. I needed to go upstairs and call my little boy to say goodnight. And then I was so tired …” The lie made her feel doubly bad because she never had called Phillip.
Just as the air was sucked out of the universe, Emile looked over Abby’s shoulder and laughed.
“I did not realize we were to dress in costume for this event,” Emile said.
Abby slowly turned and found herself face to face with Rafe. And not just any Rafe. No. This was Rafe the cowboy, complete with big, black hat.
He smiled at her, and she looked him up and down. Starched blue plaid shirt, though it was a little sweaty. Boots that showed some wear and luster all at the same time. Jeans faded almost to white held up by a belt with a big silver buckle that proclaimed him the Built Ford Tough Professional Bull Rider of the Year. She read it twice to be sure—probably because she was afraid of how she might react if she let herself dwell on the fringed chaps that were the proverbial icing on the very, very tasty cake.
In truth, the whole outfit ought to remind her of how he was bent and determined to kill himself. It ought to make her run. And she would do just that. Any second now. As soon as she stopped looking.
He tipped his hat. “Howdy, ma’am.”
Everyone laughed except Emile, and it was only then that Abby realized “everyone” included Christian. What was that about?
Abby searched for something to say that had nothing to do with chaps. “I thought you said you only dressed like a cowboy when you were doing cowboy business.” She was not entirely successful in her selection of words, but at least she didn’t say, “Turn around, please so I can look at you from behind in those chaps.”
He nodded. “I’ve been doing cowboy business. I just bought a horse. Arion. A mahogany bay quarter horse. A man can’t buy a horse without riding it first. Though I also bought a pony, which I didn’t ride. Turns out the breeder happened to have a pony his kid had outgrown. White. Welsh. Name of Snowball.” He inclined his head toward Christian. “Christian found him. The friend of a friend of a cousin.”
Abby shook her head, trying to take it all in. “And you just happened to pack your horse riding outfit?”
Rafe shook his head. “My rodeo gear was in my truck.”
Yes. It would be. Packed and ready to go.
“We’re running later than we expected.” Christian gestured to her black pants and gray twin set. “Do you think I’m dressed all right? It’s not what I planned, but—”
“You’re fine.” Abby removed her pearl necklace and held it out to Christian. “Here. This will dress it up a little. You don’t need them, but it will make you feel better.”
Abby felt Rafe’s eyes follow the transfer and give her a knowing look. Then he shook his head as if trying to rid himself of what was on his mind.
“But I’m not dressed okay. I need to go change. Though I don’t have anything as fancy as Emile there.”
Emile cocked his head to the side. “Just trying to complement the magnificent art in this hotel.”
“Yeah?” Rafe said. “What do think of that big, gold, naked man out front?”
“You don’t know Michelangelo’s David?” Emile said.
“No. Can’t say that we’ve met. I suppose about the time you were getting to know him, I was meeting a bull named Diablo’s Sin and being made Rookie of the Year. Diablo’s Sin helped me win nearly a million dollars that year. What did David get you?”
Abby was taken aback. This was so out of character for Rafe.
Emile narrowed his eyes. “Nothing but the pleasure of knowledge. Though, I have done all right since then. Tell me, Rafe. Have you spoken to the chef about my dietary requirements?”
What?
Rafe shrugged
and smiled. “No time. Got to get myself brunch worthy. See you there.” He tipped his hat and turned to go.
Abby watched him walk away, chaps swaying.
Christian spoke quietly into Abby’s ear so Emile couldn’t hear. “You’ve got it bad.”
Chapter Thirteen
“I’m not too sure about this,” Abby said to Gwen as they pulled into a parking space in front of Miss Laura’s Tearoom and Gossip Parlor. “We didn’t get back from Louisville until yesterday afternoon, and now I’m leaving the kids again to go out to lunch.”
Gwen cut the engine. “Consider it a public service. Rafe is never going to be comfortable with the twins if you don’t leave them with him.”
“He’s getting better.” It was true. As soon as they’d returned yesterday, Rafe had gone to the nursery of his own accord. And though she’d had to remind him, he had come to kiss the girls goodnight later. “But I’m not sure he knows what to do.”
“I am very sure he does not,” Gwen said. “But he can call Dirk if he needs to, and Jackson’s there for backup.”
“I appreciate that Dirk took Phillip. That will help.” They approached the front door. “Still, this is my job, and he made it clear it was 24/7.”
“And you get to eat lunch—especially when the bride summons. By the way, what does your family think about your new situation?”
“Well.” Abby swallowed and looked at the sidewalk. “They don’t exactly know yet.”
Gwen stopped with her hand on the doorknob. “And what do you mean by exactly? That they know you’ve moved and have a new job, but don’t know the details? Or they know nothing?”
“That last one.”
“Oh, Abby.”
“It’s not like they’re going to show up on my doorstep and say surprise. They aren’t exactly surprise kind of people.”
“You mean you haven’t talked with them since you came to live at Beauford Bend?”
“I didn’t say that.” In fact, she had talked with at least one of them every day. “I just haven’t mentioned it. Yet.”
“I’m sure you know best.” Gwen pushed the door open.
Redeeming Rafe Page 11
