Scoundrel for Hire (Velvet Lies, Book 1) (37 page)

"Do you?"

His heart tripped to hear that husky plea. The longing in her eyes nearly undid him. It sent a crackling jolt of expectancy straight to his loins.

"Rafe, I can't go on living this way, afraid of being loved, afraid of being touched. Will... will you help me?"

His whole damned body flushed at her meaning.
Jesus.
After her story, the last thing she needed was a confirmed rake like him. But she apparently didn't realize her danger—or the effect she was having on him. When her shaking hand raised his, pressing it to the buttons of her bodice, his fly became a risky restraint. He could feel how hard her heart was pounding against her whalebone and lace.

"Honey," he croaked, despising himself for even thinking about baring that alabaster globe to his mouth, "I don't think you're ready—"

"I am. I
am
ready."

He tried to withdraw, but she only gripped his hand more insistently against the ridge of her corset. Her eyes begged him, and God knew, he ached to oblige. There was nothing he'd like better than to act out the fantasies he'd been sweating through every night since she'd given him that sassy, all-knowing smile at the Mining Exchange.

But he'd be worse than Townsend if he laid her down now to vent a selfish desire. The confrontation, the memories it had resurrected, her worry for him—all had left her vulnerable. Combine those with the spell of honeysuckles and starlight, and she couldn't possibly know her own mind.

He drew a sobering breath. "Max and Cellie will be looking for us."

"I don't care." Her chin quivered, and she pressed closer, so close that the soft, fleshy curve of her breast filled his palm. "Let them."

He licked his dry lips. "You don't mean that."

"I do! I don't care what anyone else thinks anymore, or how it's supposed to be. This may be the one chance I ever have to be with you, once the truth comes to light. Please, Rafe."

"Silver," he half pleaded, half cursed, "you'd regret this. You'd regret
us."

"Why?" Her face crumpled. "D-don't you want me anymore?"

Oh God.
He squeezed his eyes closed, struggling to quench the unholy fire that smoked through his veins. "Of course I want you. It's just that you need a decent man. An upstanding man. Someone who isn't wanted in three states. Someone with a future."

"I need
you,
Rafe. Don't you see? You're the only one who can make it right for me because... because I love you."

His throat tightened over the lump that had wedged there. She
loved
him, God help her.
Him.
He could see it shining in her eyes like the heaven he'd thought he'd be forever denied.

Reason failed him then. In that moment, confronted by a truth so hallowed that even his soul had to believe, he couldn't force himself to turn away. He couldn't deprive himself of the one blessing that, he realized now, he'd been searching for his whole life. Silver's love was his salvation, and salvation was within his reach. Call him callous; call him selfish, but he grabbed for the prize with both hands.

"Then marry me, Silver," he said fervently, cupping her face in his hands. "Marry me and be my wife and Aaron Townsend be damned."

Silver gasped as Rafe's lips swooped, possessing hers. A tender savagery had suffused him; she swayed, exhilarated and yet awed, clutching the pleats of his shirt as his mouth plundered hers. He held her enthralled, a willing captive in the wildfire of his passion. His kisses devoured her; her breath became his. Lightning danced beyond the fringe of her lashes. She was sizzling from head to toe when he clasped her buttocks, imprisoning her hips against the heat of his arousal. And just as her world was spinning deliciously, precariously out of control, he lowered her to the chaise.

The weight of him was a scandalous pleasure. She squirmed with delight, flattening her breasts against his rock-ribbed torso. She wanted more of him, all of him, and fumbled with his waistcoat and bow tie. She might have succeeded at tearing the nuisances free if she hadn't been so wickedly distracted. A sudden gust of mountain air warned her that her corset and chemise had been expertly rifled. When the sultry wetness of his mouth descended over her nipple, she gasped, blushing. She couldn't help but revel in the teasing courtship of his tongue.

"How beautiful you are," he murmured, his hands gliding lower. Stays and garters parted like smoke before his touch; she shivered, feeling the silk of her stockings cascade to her ankles. In a heartbeat, maybe two, she'd be naked beneath him. It was a heady realization, but a sobering one, too. Would the erotic fusion of flesh to flesh steal her hard-won nerve?

He was shedding his own clothes now: black worsted, linen, satin, and leather. The earthy manscents of him—sandalwood and pine—grew sharper, more seductive, as his skin was bared to her senses. He was rugged and vital, magnetic and sensual, and more heart-trippingly masculine than anything she had ever dared to admire.

She let her maidenly eyes feast on his self-assured display: tight buttocks, crisp tawny hair, and the inevitable thrust of his phallus. A breathless sense of awe washed over her. She waited for the dreaded alchemy that would turn her veneration into fear. Instead, a languorous longing lapped through her. This was Rafe. The man she loved.

Shyly, she stretched her arms for him. He seemed to check himself then, drawing a ragged breath. A tender smile curved his mouth, and he caught her fingers, pressing them to his lips.

"I want this night to be special for you, Silver," he whispered, his eyes aglow with a secret promise as he pulled the ribbon from her hair. It tumbled around her in a lavender-scented mess, but he smoothed it, weaving his fingers through the curls. "I want to make your love dreams come true. Will you trust me, my darling?"

She nodded, too tongue-tied to speak. She recognized a sacredness in his manner, a reverence for the act in which she had once nearly been defiled. Rafe's very smile made her feel exalted and adored, and when he lowered himself beside her, gathering her to his chest, she wanted to cry for the sheer gentleness of his embrace.

Lips like velvet roses nuzzled hers; hands like well-worn leather massaged her buttocks and thighs. His tongue, teasing her inner ear, distracted her from her first jolt of virginal unease, but when his finger slipped inside her, she clawed his shoulders, stunned by the boldness of his exploration.

"Trust me," he crooned again, rocking her against the satiny hair of his chest. She loosed a throttled moan, and his tongue circled her navel. He feasted lower, nuzzling her groin, nipping her knees. She found herself arching helplessly, her legs jerking open as if pulled by strings, while he, the puppet master, wooed her bashful muscles to obey.

Soon, the steam of his breath tantalized her most private places. A flash of insight followed, more shocking than anything she had dared to imagine, and just as she was assuring herself she was mistaken about his intention, his mouth settled and sucked.

She whimpered, nearly crawling out of her skin.

"Rafe, please—"

"Patience, love," he urged, his voice broken and breathless. "You're not ready."

Not ready?
she wondered dizzily.
How could that be?
His tongue now mimicked the maddening thrust of his finger. She trembled, beginning to writhe. "Rafe," she moaned again, straining to touch him, but he twined his fingers through hers, effectively making them prisoners. Dimly, she recalled the devil in him, the wicked tormentor who could set her blood on fire with a single, bawdy grin. She wanted to make him feel the same way. She wanted to make him ache for her the way she ached for him. Twisting, she half sobbed for relief. He gentled his petting and kissed her.

"You're still too tight," he said hoarsely, his explanation distorted by the pounding in her head. "Let me pleasure you, sweetheart. Just a little longer..." He dipped his tongue back inside her steaming flesh, and his growl, low and guttural with satisfaction, vibrated through her on an erotic rumble of sound. "God, you taste like molten honey..."

It was almost more than she could bear, this insidious heat he was slowly, masterfully fanning into a bonfire. She thought she would reach the point of meltdown before she ever ignited. She thought she would lose her mind before she lost her maidenhead. Deprived of her last shred of coherent thought, she wondered if he might not be up to some nefarious purpose to tease her so unmercifully.

And then the bonfire burst fully into flame. She cried out, and he reared up, his mouth covering hers.

Before her dazzled senses could sort one sensation from the other, he'd thrust hard and clean, driving to the center of her being. She bucked uncontrollably, and he sheathed himself again, deepening the indescribable waves of pleasure that shuddered through her body.

"That's it," he groaned, his breath sawing as hard as hers in the shimmering heat. "I want all of you, Silver. All of you. Everything you are is mine now, love. Always..."

She couldn't respond—not in words. So she rose to meet him, again and again, pulling him deeper, clasping his hips closer. He was dynamite; she was the fuse, and when their worlds collided, ecstasy exploded, wracking body, mind, and soul with a glittering avalanche of sensation.

Rafe was still panting when he rolled to the cushions. Emotions too volatile to name ripped through him; he buried his face in her hair. Wrapping possessive arms around her, he clutched her to his crashing heart. For the first time in his life, he felt release, true release, as if the demons had at last surrendered their chains on him. And it was all because of Silver.

"Rafe?"

She tried to stir, but he hushed her with his caresses, wanting nothing more than to hold her and love her and watch the sun rise and set in her eyes.

"W-we have to tell Papa about us. About who you are before—"

"I know, sweet. Not tonight, though."

"But Benson! And Aaron—"

"You let me deal with them, all right?"

She swallowed. Reluctantly, her head fell back against his shoulder. "I couldn't bear it if you were arrested."

He sighed. He had to admit, he wasn't fond of the idea either. But none of his offenses had been hanging ones—yet, he corrected himself darkly, envisioning Townsend's throat between his hands. Until this moment, he'd never had enough to live for to worry about the consequences of his lawless life.

Who would have thought it would come to this? Raphael Jones falling in love—and with the woman he'd set out to fleece, yet? He'd suspected for days he'd been plugged by Cupid, but only now did he understand why. His devotion to Silver had nothing to do with face, shape, or wealth. His heart had chosen her because she'd let him strip off his mask. She'd given him back his humanity. She'd taught him wrongs could be forgiven, even repaired.

But most importantly, she'd taught him he could be loved—even with imperfections. For a love as precious as Silver's, he would lay down his life.

She sighed, and he wrapped her shawl around her, watching her lashes fan lower until she drifted off to sleep. He couldn't remember a time when he'd ever faced so much happiness—and so much fear. Prayers didn't come easily to him, but as the moon began to sink, stealing behind the charcoal ridge of mountains, he finally broke his lifelong vow and talked to God.

I know I'm a sorry bastard, Lord. I know I don't deserve her. But please, don't let Townsend take her away. I'll do whatever you want, whatever it takes. I'll even serve my time, if I have to. Just please keep her safe 'til I come home. Thank you. Amen.

Chapter 14

Silver dozed restlessly in Rafe's arms as dim, vaguely threatening images flitted through her dreams. She wished she could sate her mind as well as he'd slaked her body, but every bubble of bliss floating through her limbs was chased by a whitecap of worry.

Before another day dragged her deeper into self-loathing and fear, she wanted to confess her crimes to Papa; she wanted to fire Benson; and she wanted to find some way to keep Rafe out of jail. Most of all, she wanted to rid her life of Aaron Townsend and start the future she'd always dreamed of—with Rafe.

But Rafe didn't seem to share her sense of urgency, at least not when it came to confessing their misdeeds to Papa. In fact, he'd seemed rather amused by her panic to dress and sneak inside the house before Benson awoke and discovered them missing.