Redeeming Rafe (13 page)

Rafe appeared in front of her. His face was sweaty, and his hair was a mess.

“I need to talk to you,” he said urgently.

Abby’s stomach bottomed out—and not in a good way.

“The children …?”

He hesitated for a fraction of a second and then nodded. “That’s it. The kids. They’re okay. That is, nobody’s dead, sick, or hurt but there’s an issue we need to discuss.”

“Then what?”

He looked around. Abby saw the panic in his eyes as the waitress he’d been talking to before approached with a dinner plate on a tray. Apparently, she was bringing Rafe something special to eat.

But instead, she stopped in front of Emile. “Mr. Giroux? I have a plate for you. It’s plain cold ham with some roasted Brussels sprouts and raw asparagus. I can assure you there has been no cross contamination.”

Rafe seized Abby arm—and lightning struck. “We have stuff to take care of, Abby!”

And in the wake of the aftershocks, he towed her away.

“What?” Emile asked. “I don’t understand.” Abby wondered idly if that was in response to the food or that Rafe had morphed into a Viking warrior and was dragging her away like she was some Saxon woman whose daddy had done him wrong.

They were halfway up the stairs before she recovered. “Rafe! You can’t go to the second story of someone’s home without an invitation.”

“Don’t you have a room somewhere in this junk shop mausoleum? I assume it’s on the second story. Which way?” He looked left and right at the top of the stairs.

“Rafe, I demand—”

“Where?”

“Third door on the left, but—”

He threw open the door, pushed her inside, and slammed the door behind them.

“The kids!” she demanded. “What’s this issue we need to discuss?”

“That they aren’t here.”

With that, he seized her, covered her mouth with his, and flattened her against the closed door.

Immediately, they were in total sync. She couldn’t have protested even if she’d wanted to, with his tongue caressing hers, his penis rising against her, and his hands stroking her shoulders and neck.

Her nipples peaked and dampness bloomed between her legs.

Finally, Rafe came up for air. He held his pelvis fast against hers, but slid his hands over the jeweled bow at her waist.

“Pretty,” he said. “I like this blue dress.”

“My mother-in-law sent it.”

He shook his head. “No. You don’t have a mother-in-law. That would mean you have a husband, and if that were true, I couldn’t do this.” And he drew his hands slowly up her sides, traced the scallops at the top of her bodice, and let them settle on her breasts, squeezing, caressing, lifting. “And for the record, you don’t have a Crazy Hockey Goalie either.”

What? But then he settled his mouth in the hollow of her throat, and she couldn’t wonder what anymore; she could only melt and rotate her groin against his.

“Yeah. Keep that up.” He pressed harder against her. “Do it again. Mmm. I was wrong about something.”

“That this wasn’t going to happen between us?” she asked.

“Yeah that, too. But I was thinking of something else. We don’t need you in high heels for us to fit together.” And he stroked his hardness against her to prove it. “Did you wear those sparkly, flat shoes for me?”

She’d told herself no when she packed them. Now she wasn’t so sure. “Does it matter?”

“Not much.” And he pulled her skirt up and let his hand drift up the inside of her leg. When his hand left the top of her stocking and met the bare skin of her inside thigh, he stopped and gasped. “What? What’s going on here? Did I tear your panty hose?”

“I’m not wearing panty hose. I’m wearing a garter belt and stockings.” She felt her cheeks go hot with embarrassment. Her midnight blue underclothes were old—gifts from a lingerie shower—but she’d never worn them. Gregory hadn’t been comfortable with provocative underthings. She’d packed the set because it matched her dress. Maybe Rafe would think it was slutty, too. Maybe she should go to the bathroom and change into her robe …

He squeezed her thigh and groaned. “I need to see.” And he started pulling on her dress without one bit of respect for the fastenings.

“Wait, Rafe! Don’t tear it. I plan on selling this dress.”

He continued to pull on the bodice. “I’ll buy it. I’ll give you a thousand dollars for it. Five. Whatever—as long as it’s on the floor in about two seconds.”

“If you want me out of it, you’re going to have to unfasten it.”

“Have it your own way.” He reached behind her and fumbled around. “I can’t find a zipper.”

She turned her back to him. “It laces up the back.”

“What in the ever loving hell? What kind of sadist does this to a man? Where are the scissors?”

“You are not cutting those laces. You’re going to have to go about it right.”

“Fine!” He towed her over to the ornately carved sleigh bed and bent her over the mattress, face first. “Give me directions.” Abby doubted if this was what Deborah had in mind for this silk coverlet.

“Untie the bow at the waist,” she said.

“Okay.” He worked on it for a while. “Damn! Who did this? It’s in a knot.”

“Noel. We didn’t want it to come loose.”

“Yes we do. Wait. I know what.”

And the next thing she felt was his face against the small of her back. “Rafe? Are you working at that knot with your
teeth?”

He answered her, but his words were muffled.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“There! Let me loosen this … Hey.” And he licked the bare skin above the waistline of her panties.

She moaned. She wasn’t sure she’d ever been touched there before, let alone licked. Oh. And now he’d gotten it open enough to suck.

“Okay,” he said. “Maybe laces aren’t such a bad idea. It’s like unwrapping a present. Sort of … Maybe.” And he slowly unlaced the dress, kissing and letting his tongue trail up her spine. By the time he got to her shoulder blades and ran his tongue there and up to the nape of her neck, lightning hadn’t just stuck, it had fried her and left her for dead.

“I never …” she began.

“You never what, angel?” His breath was hot on her hairline at the back of her neck.

But she couldn’t answer. If she did it would be disloyal. “I … I forget.”

He pulled her to her feet with her back against him and worked the dress over her hips. When it was on the floor and she had stepped out of it, he turned her to face him and took a step back.

“Well.” That was all he said, but the look on his face would have sent the most insecure woman on the planet on an ego trip into outer space. His mouth was a perfect O and his huge blue eyes were wider than she’d ever seen them. “Well,” he repeated, and then he blushed, dropped his eyes to half-mast, and let his mouth settle into a twisted grin. “Looking at you like this, I must seem like country come to town.”

“Country’s not a bad thing,” she said.

“Neither is town.” He moved closer to her and ran his fingers up her arm, over her shoulder and neck, letting it come to rest on her cheek. “You might have guessed by now that I haven’t been around the block as many times as Gabe.”

“I wasn’t exactly thinking about Gabe.”

“Good to know. It’s just that, truth be told, I’ve never seen any underwear like this.”

“Some people might think it makes me look like some kind of cheap trollop.”

He laughed and shook his head. “Some people would be wrong. You’re beautiful. And classy. You couldn’t look cheap if you put a nickel price tag on your head and marched naked in the buy one, get one free parade.”

“Thank you.” That meant more to her than it should have.

“You are very, very welcome.” He encircled her with one arm and stroked her breast with the other hand, his calluses catching on the silk of her thin bra.

“Not much there,” she said apologetically.

“Plenty. Exactly the right amount.” And he laid her down face first on the bed. All her senses were sharper, more sensitive, so she wasn’t surprised when the sound of his zipper caused a fresh release of dampness between her thighs.

As he covered her body with his, he slid his hands up her arms until they were palm to palm, their fingers laced together. Then he rolled his erection against her bottom before cradling it between her thighs. Soon. He would be inside her soon.

“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.