TIME JUST flew by; I was no longer bored. Engrossed in my task of sorting and evaluating, I didn’t even look up when the key slid into the lock.
“Evelyn. What have you done?” His voice wasn’t displeased, exactly. Just…he sounded like a parent whose clever charge had built a pyramid out of chairs to reach the sugar bowl and spilled the white stuff all over the floor. There was no real harm, no bodily injury had occurred, but there was a lot of mess to put away.
“Oh, hi, Raf!” I looked up, pleased. It was so good to see him at the end of the day, it even took my mind off my back, which was killing me from hunching over boxes and piles. “I’m looking for Celia’s climbing gear. And while I was at it, I began to categorize all these items…” My hand gestured with theatrical eloquence. I thought my system was obvious.
“The garbage is in those old boxes. You’ll want to go through that, make sure it doesn’t contain anything of personal value. The furniture is right next to it, all piled up. The boxes are labeled, see? Textiles, silver, porcelain, glass, art, jewelry, books…”
He looked around again, this time truly absorbing the magnitude of my accomplishment.
“What happened to the huge pile?”
I flashed him a victorious grin. “Just these few boxes are left. The gear’s bound to be there somewhere.”
“Do you even realize what time it is?” He asked, glancing at his Rolex.
“No...?”
“Pizza time. I don’t want any weird stuff by Claire and neither one of us is going to cook tonight. Or so it seems.”
“Yeah…good idea. I’ll have whatever you’re having!”
I heard him cackle, disappearing into his bedroom as I stretched my back, bending over yet another box full of the flotsam and jetsam of somebody else’s life.
WHEN THE heartlessly plain pizza was long gone, I called Izzy and let him know that he could come over the next day for a truckload of resale goods. The beer was gone, too.
“It tastes… okay, I guess. It’s chewy. Like you’re drinking bread.” Raf finished his bottle of Dogfish IPA and set the bottle aside.
“So would you go back to Miller Lite?” I asked, teasing only halfway.
“I’m not so spoiled I’d turn it down,” Raf said.
“Give it few weeks of being spoiled and pampered…” I grumbled under my breath, digging under old, beat-up baby quilts and moldy, crusty-looking stuffed toys.
“Is this garbage, Rafael?” I shoved the plush Puss-in-boots toward him. His felt was riddled with holes and the stitching showed, although the cracked plastic boots were still securely sewn on.
“Puissy!” I heard him cry out behind me, excited. He picked up the gray cat with reverence. “That’s what’s happened to him! I was afraid he got thrown out by accident; Celia had been threatening me with hiding him in the garbage for quite a while.”
I looked at the depressed cat. His whiskers were broken, his tail hung limp – only his eyes laughed at me, frozen in time.
“Yours?”
“Yeah…”
“You keeping it?”
“Of course!” Raf shot me a look laden with suspicion. “I’ll have you know we went through a lot together, he and I. He’s my buddy, my pal. Puissy, meet Evelyn. Evelyn, meet Puissy.”
I gave Raf a sideways glance. “So… how did he end up with a name like that?”
“Very funny, Eve. Nobody will ever give me a break over his name. It just happens to be short for ‘Puissant’, so you can get your mind out of the gutter right now.”
“Puissant?”
“It happens to mean powerful, mighty, potent, good stuff like that.”
“Oh,” I said, trying in vain to suppress my giggle. “Potent. I see. Well right now he looks like he’s going to fall apart if you look at him with a crooked eye.”
“Yeah. I need to find someone who knows how to fix old toys.”
I nodded. “You already know someone.”
“Who, you?” Rafael’s eyes filled with hope.
“Actually… I hate to bring him up, but Dr. Hinge has always excelled in the needleworking arts.”
“Nick? Really?” I couldn’t believe Raf was so worked up over an old toy. I watched him pick up his phone and shoot out a quick text.
Soon, his phone rang. “Nick? It’s Rafael. Yeah… got a minute?”
I wandered into the kitchen, warming up a glass of milk in the microwave and adding some chocolate syrup. A sense of jealousy seized me over the stupid toy. I wished it were I who was uncommonly talented in needlework; I stood there while the microwave hummed, fantasizing about fixing Puissy, handing the no longer dilapidated cat back to Raf in exchange for his devastating, full-power smile.
Just like Raf felt jealous of Nick’s medical skill…
It seemed we were doomed, Raf and I. We were doomed to keep calling Dr. Nick Hinge’s number every time one of us got shot or sprained an ankle, every time one of us ripped a zipper or lost a button. He was the go-to guy. He could patch up anything. Despite my irritation, the thought made me smile. By the time I returned to the living room, Raf was off the phone and I shared my analysis of Dr. Rafael Hinge in our lives with him.
The patch-up guy.
The cut man.
The seamstress.
He only grinned. “I bet those old baby quilts used to be mine and Celia’s, and I bet you’ll find a giant white stuffed cockroach in there somewhere.
I did.
He tossed the quilts.
He kept the cockroach.
I dug a bit deeper into the box. Under a twisted mass of old, brocade curtains few decades out of fashion, my fingers felt the smooth surface of cool metal.
Metal covered with chalk dust.
A bit of rope… and some plastic buckles.
“Rafael. Raf, I think we got it.”
He dove toward me, shaking out the old, dusty pair of red curtains and tossing them on the charity pile. The harness that emerged was still attached to a coil of semi-elastic climbing rope, accompanied by several carabiners and two self-belay devices.
We lifted our heads and looked at each other. Raf was as white as a sheet, his good mood having sublimated like dry ice on a hot day. He swayed a bit from side to side, catching his balance on the arm of the leather sofa.
I edged all the way toward him, my knees pressed into the blue carpet next to his as I hugged him around the waist. Long, strong arms embraced my shoulders. His chin fell into my hair and I felt him struggle for breath. We rocked from side to side, together, the way I saw Claire rock little Michelle to sleep. He was squeezing me mighty tight for a while. His head dropped to the side of my head as I felt his chest expand in his struggle for air, making my cheek and the side of my neck warm and moist.
I didn’t turn to look at him; he didn’t need me to witness his tears.
TIME PASSED as we sat there, silent, contemplative of what this piece of physical evidence might mean.
“I feel a bit wiped,” Raf said, apologetic, aware it was past the time to turn in.
“It’s all right. Really. Just take your shower and I’ll clean up in here.” He just stood there, watching me place assorted objects in their categories. I sighed and stood up, facing him.
“Rafael. Go. Now.” I used my no-nonsense voice and, to my surprise, it worked. He turned around like an automaton, ambling into his room to shed his dusty clothes. By the time the rest of the boxes were disposed of, and by the time I had vacuumed the much-abused, dark-blue carpet, Raf emerged from his room, wearing pajamas.
I’d never seen him wear pajamas before.
“I’m having a scotch. You want any?”
“Yeah. On the rocks.” I’d have to skip my pain meds tonight.
He handed me my glass of clear, amber liquid. He raised a toast.
“To Celia. She was one hell of a broad, an awesome sister, and she deserved better than that.”
“To Celia.” We sipped, still standing. Raf hugged my shoulders with his free arm and pulled m
e in, kissing my temple.
“Good night, Evelyn.” Then he returned to his room and closed the door.
I showered and slipped into a clean pair of black, silk boxers that I’d “borrowed” from Rafael’s underwear drawer earlier that day and altered so it didn’t slide off my hips. I pulled on the climbing shirt with Mt.Whitney which Celia had given to Rafael, and which he let me borrow. My window was cracked open, the autumn breeze playing with the edges of the curtains. I settled in the middle of my bed, hugging a pillow to my chest. I wanted to sleep – exhaustion deprived me of rational thought – yet I was still unable to stop ruminating on various tasks that might help reveal the way in which Celia had died. I had lists of things to do galloping through my head, their letters spilling out of words and phrases. Schematic diagrams of the Grigri device popped up before my wide-open eyes. Friction coefficients of various types of ropes with their various diameters cluttered the space behind my ears.
I had finished my scotch and wasn’t in the mood for another.
Damn.
I tossed.
I turned.
I felt too hot; I kicked my sheet and comforter away.
Then I became too cold and had to sit up, hunting for them again.
There was a faint knock on my door. “Come in,” I said, my voice low.
A tall, dark figure slipped in; the door closed. My mattress dipped under the extra weight; arms enveloped me and held me tight.
Raf sighed. I stroked his shoulder, his arm, his back.
He inhaled again and held his breath; I felt his back pop.
“I don’t know how you do it,” he mumbled, burying his face into the crook of my neck.
Within two minutes, he was asleep.
“IZZY SILVERSTEIN will be stopping by today. You think you can stay here for him?” The question was asked over a hot cup of coffee, taking me by surprise.
“I had plans.”
“You can work from my home office. And you have your laptop.”
I shrugged, pouring more cereal. “I was hoping to unkink my back after all that bending yesterday. Maybe get some exercise.”
Rafael’s cyan eyes gave me a measuring look. “You’re not going climbing, are you?”
I stared at him like a deer caught in headlights, not saying a word.
“You think you’ll be okay doing that? How’s your butt?”
Slowly, I felt the tension drain from me. “Fine… I don’t have to do much. Just get back in shape. There’s this guy, Frankie, he might know what was going on last year and all. I need to compile a timeline, and if I go during the day, Kirby will be downstairs, working.”
Raf ran his long fingers through his playfully disobedient chestnut hair. “Well… call him then so you can coordinate your schedules. If you get too tired climbing, take a cab home. I don’t want you passing out on the subway.”
A small, well-hidden part of me stirred as he said that. There he was again, all gruff and sweet and concerned. That little part of me had to remain in hiding.
Concern meant the threat of a relationship, relationship meant breakup, breakup meant pain and loss and despair.
I suppressed that little, happy voice inside me as I watched his back disappear out the door.
Never again.
Never again would I let myself be in so much pain.
CHAPTER 13
I WOKE UP next to Rafael. That fact alone was mildly surprising. He was still asleep, his hair a spill of warmth against my pale ivory sheets. He was sprawled as though he owned the bed, which he didn’t, pushing me to the side. I pushed back a bit in a bid to reclaim some real estate. My gesture provoked a mild, sleepy growl. He grabbed the blanket and turned on his side, away from me.
Raf Rinaldi is a blanket thief.
I guess I deserved my fate, considering that I am a real thief and a burglar. What goes around, comes around. The cool morning air felt a bit too brisk with the window having been open overnight. I shivered and rolled out of bed to use the bathroom. Then I returned, spooning Raf from behind, trying to get some coverage under the edge of my dark blue comforter.
“What?” Groaned a sleepy voice.
“Can I have some blanket?”
He flopped the other way, engulfing me under a cozy tent of fabric and sleepy, warm flesh. I burrowed my nose into his shoulder and inhaled his warm, musky scent.
He smells better than after his shower.
My action didn’t pass unnoticed.
“Mmm?”
I inhaled again, my hands skimming over his modest, pinstriped pajamas.
“Evelyn?” No longer drowsy, he leaned into me, nosing my hair to the side. I felt warm, soft lips on my neck. “What time is it?”
“Early,” I groaned. “You almost pushed me off the bed and then you stole the covers.”
“So sorry,” he said, not sounding sorry at all. “Maybe I can make it up to you?”
“Maybe,” I exhaled, hoping my morning breath wasn’t too terrible. I felt his hand skim up my bent leg and across my hip, turning me onto my back, exposing me. His fingers played over the sensitive skin of my inner thigh.
“I may be the blanket thief, but you seem to keep taking my underwear, Eve.”
His hand moved the silk around. An involuntary gasp was ripped from my lungs.
“Maybe I should take it back.” Clever fingers drew a fire trail along the top of the boxers; the tingle of sudden heat surprised a whimper out of me.
“What, Eve? Were you going to say something?”
I widened my eyes, looking at him, ready to open my mouth. Whatever I was going to say was wiped from my mind as his hand slipped under the sinuous silk, his delicate fingers teasing my pale curls.
“Rafael!” I whimpered, bucking up into his touch. He let go of me, divested me of the silk boxer shorts I had stolen from him, and tucked the wad of silk up his sleeve.
“Mine,” he said, his eyes now alert and full of mischief. He sat up and swung his legs off the bed.
“Rafael!” My voice said it all.
Disappointment. Outrage. Frustration.
“What? I’ll be back…eventually.” He disappeared into the bathroom, did his business and when he came out, he was nude and gorgeous; his half-hard alter-ego stirred to greet me as his eyes took in the sight of me, sprawled wantonly across my bed, wanting, waiting.
He pounced.
I moved to roll him under me, but he had the advantage of both size and surprise. Once again he was perched on my chest, his hands twirling my hair, smiling.
“What would you like me to do, Evelyn?”
I startled, not expecting the question.
“Ah… anything goes?”
“Well… almost anything.”
My special fantasy Number 1 was probably too much. However…
Well then. How about my special fantasy number two. I flushed at the thought of saying it out loud, my words frozen under his arctic blue gaze.
“Eve?” His expression betrayed amusement. He watched me swallow, then sneeze in response to my sudden arousal, red blush blooming in embarrassment. “Just whisper it,” he said, his voice a sensuous rumble as his ear descended to my mouth.
I did.
He sat up, considering.
“We have the time, I think, to do this right. I’ll do as you ask, as long as you do as I say.” The promise of unimaginable pleasure made me nod without even thinking about it.
MY BUTT was so close to the end of my bed, I thought I’d slide off the towel Raf placed under me. My knees were bent, planted at the very edge of the mattress.
“I want you to hold your ankles with your hands, Eve.”
Dubious, I reached for one ankle, then the other. The open air cooled the hot, moist skin as my knees spread apart, leaving me curiously open and vulnerable. I tried to do a sit-up to peek and see what Raf was planning to do, but with my hands affixed to my ankles, all I saw was the top of his brown hair.
“Just relax. This will feel different. Just go wit
h it, okay?”
“Okay,” I sighed, my sigh turning to a gasp as I felt a warm, wet washcloth cloth on my thighs, then between them.
A question was at the tip of my tongue, but before I had a chance to let it loose, I heard a curious swishing sound. My ears strained where my eyes wouldn’t serve. A cool softness touched the inside of my leg, the wet, tickly sensation circling in toward my mound. Startled, I let go of one ankle.
What the…?
The sensation ceased.
“Evelyn. Do you trust me?”
I had to think about that. He had covered my back when I had needed it most; we had pulled through despite our frictions. Yeah… yes, I trusted him. I nodded.
“Okay then!” He continued. “Just remember that you trust me and keep holding your ankles. You stop, I stop.” Raf was barely suppressing the amusement under his patient façade. Groaning, I grasped my ankles and spread my thighs apart, resigned to the awkward position.
The moisture returned, smooth and slick and tickly, smothering the sensitive skin under my fine blond hair, laving my soft, tender spots and my crack, going all the way down.
I gasped, the foreign, erotic contact making me writhe and fight for air.
“Rafael… mmm… what are you doing…what is that?”
“A brush made of badger hair,” he said and I could just hear the playful smile on his face.
Badger…badger…
I’ve heard of badger hair being used for something before, something luxurious and expensive…my mind wasn’t making much sense of it under the onslaught of delicious ecstasy.
As though from afar, I heard a small splash of water. His hand stroked the vulnerable skin of my inner thigh, holding it steady.
“Whatever you feel, don’t move, Evelyn.”
I Need A Bad Boy: A Collection of Bad Boy Romances Page 27
