The Secret Sister (7 page)

There was so much of what he'd said that she wanted to address—the comment about her mother and brother and the “princess” reference that suggested she considered herself too good for regular people (like him, no doubt). But all of it was painful and convoluted and something she'd been trained not to discuss with outsiders. She couldn't imagine he'd want to hear the dirty details, anyway. In many respects, she'd been blessed with more than most people. The rest of the islanders certainly viewed her that way. Complaining would only make her look ungrateful and spoiled. So she skipped over everything except the least personal part of what he'd said. “Stop being so dramatic. Except for a few mosquito bites, nothing bad happened while I was on the beach.”

“It could have. Fairham doesn't have a lot of crime. But shit happens everywhere. No point in creating the perfect opportunity.”

Her spoon clinked against the bowl as she took her first bite. “Where's your daughter?” she asked instead of continuing to argue with him.

“We're not talking about Laney right now,” he replied.

“I'm curious.”

“Where do you think she is? I work. Someone has to watch her.”

She brought another spoonful of Frosted Flakes to her mouth. She would never have chosen a prepared cereal with so much sugar—she wouldn't have chosen a prepared cereal at all—but she had to admit it tasted better than the usual healthier choices. There was something cathartic about drowning her sorrows in what she used to eat with her father on Saturday mornings—while Josephine slept in and wasn't there to voice her disapproval. “You have a sitter at the house or...”

“I take her to my mom on weekdays, when my mom's arthritis doesn't make it too hard for her.”

“Where's
her
mother? She can't help?”

“No.”

He didn't answer her question about Laney's mother, didn't offer anything else. Figuring that might be a sensitive subject and feeling she had no business sticking her nose in his private business, she let it go. “So your mother babysits for you.”

“Yes. And I pay her. That way we both benefit.”

“She's never remarried?”

“No, after my father died, she might've dated here and there, but not for some years, at least not to my knowledge.”

“I don't think I ever learned what happened to your father.”

“He was a dietician and personal trainer. He'd just quit his job to open his own gym when he was robbed and stabbed only a few feet from the warehouse space he'd rented for his new business. That's why my mother came here. She wanted to get away from the crime, out of the big city.”

“How old were you when he died?”

“Four.”

They'd both lost their fathers young. “That's sad.”

He lifted his shoulders as if to say it was in the past. “She really should've remarried.”

“She still lives on the island, then?”

“Hasn't moved since she brought me and my brother here.”

Maisey didn't remember either of the Romero boys from elementary school or Fairham High. They'd both graduated before she entered ninth grade. But she'd heard of them. They'd been popular in high school, especially with the girls. Then there was the trouble they caused—partying, ditching school, getting in minor scrapes with the law. Rafe's reputation was part of the reason she'd been so interested when she finally met him. That he was sinfully good-looking didn't hurt, either. “How long has your mother had arthritis?”

He gave her a look that suggested he was finished answering her questions. “How is this turning into a conversation about me? You're the one who slept out on the beach.”

Maisey had no intention of discussing how she'd spent the night. “I'm curious, like I said.”

“About
my mother
?”

“More about your daughter. I saw her this morning, and I
still
can't imagine you as a father.”

He frowned. “Why would I be any different than other men? Do you think I eat children for dinner?”

It felt odd to smile. Her mouth was so out of practice. And yet, since he'd come this morning, she found herself smiling quite often. “Maybe not
every
night.”

“Great,” he responded with a grimace. “In your mind, I'm not only a failure in bed, I can't be trusted with a child.”

“You told me you've changed, grown up.” She slid down the counter to get out of the sunlight streaming through the window. She was also trying to avoid the scent of his cologne. She thought that might be what was wreaking havoc with her mind. She didn't like when a man used too much, but there was just a hint of it on Rafe and, otherwise, he smelled so clean. “I'm willing to take your word for it.”

“You wouldn't have to take my word for
all
of it.”

She paused with her spoon halfway to her mouth. “And that means...”

She saw a devilish expression on his face. “Not if you'll go put that wet T-shirt back on.”

She could tell he didn't expect her to take him seriously. He meant to shock her, make her uncomfortable—teach her a lesson for insulting him. But she felt more tingly and breathless than outraged.
That
was the real shock. Forcing her gaze away before he realized she was more susceptible to that suggestion than she cared to admit, she said, “You had your chance eighteen years ago.”

“When I was drunk off my ass and wasn't expecting to be propositioned? Especially by an underage virgin who told me she was eighteen?”

“That was a pretty detailed recap,” she retorted. “So much for forgetting...”

“
You
haven't forgotten,” he said. “You're still holding me accountable for that night, assuming I haven't changed or couldn't have changed enough to suit you. I'm trying to tell you it was hardly a fair test of my ability.”

“Don't act like I didn't give you another opportunity,” she said. “I approached you the following week, remember? And you turned me down.”

Hooking his thumbs in the pockets of his jeans, he crossed his ankles. “You were too young.”

“
And
you had too many other girls throwing themselves at you.”

“Who were older,” he said, as if any guy would've made the same choice.

She took another spoonful of cereal. “You didn't want me. Admit it.”

He studied her for several seconds. “You expected the world to bow at your feet. That's hardly an aphrodisiac.”

“Ah, the Lazarow thing again. You're intimidated by my name.”

“I'm not intimidated in the least. Well, maybe a little,” he conceded. “You
are
one of the ‘untouchables.'”

She chuckled. “Well, for the record, you were right to reject me. I was angry and acting out, had no clue what I was doing.”

“You'd never make that mistake now...”

“No.”

“Because you're the one who isn't interested in me.”

Unsure where he was going with this, she stopped eating. “True.”

“Bullshit.”

She forced down her last swallow. “You don't believe me?”

“I think I can tell when a woman finds me attractive. You look away whenever I catch your eye, which is a pretty reliable sign. You've just changed, lost the moxie you once had, that's all.”

She wished she could laugh, scoff at him. This was an outrageous conversation. She wasn't even sure how she'd fallen into it, or how it had progressed so far so fast. She'd seen Rafe for the first time in
years
only yesterday. But he was right: she was as attracted to him as she'd ever been. And she'd felt so little of anything positive in the past two years she didn't know how to handle the sudden influx of hormones.

She did, however, know better than to let on. “Don't tell me you've already been through all the other women on the island.”

“A womanizer like
me
?” He scowled facetiously. “I went through them years ago.”

“You wouldn't want to quit too soon. You're bound to find a glutton for punishment here and there.”

He lifted one eyebrow.
“A glutton for punishment?”

She should've heeded the warning in his voice. But he'd started this little battle. She felt she should be able to give as good as she got. “Women who don't mind a man who can only last thirty seconds or so.”

Assuming she'd landed the coup de grâce, she smiled sweetly. No way could he outdo
that
. But she shouldn't have taunted him, shouldn't have taken it so far. The look that entered his eyes as he stepped forward and boxed her in made her realize she'd thrown out a challenge he was more than willing to meet.

“We've talked about the special circumstances of that night,” he murmured, his face just inches from hers.

“That's true. And—” growing a bit nervous, she cleared her throat but would not allow herself to be intimidated into backing down “—and I promise I won't tell anyone how badly it went. Your secret is safe with me.”

She stopped laughing when he took her bowl and set it on the counter. “How about you let me make it up to you instead?” he said, and lowered his head to kiss her.

Maisey knew she should push him away. He was being assertive, going after what he wanted. But the way he was pressing his lips to hers so gently, coaxing her to respond with the barest slip of his tongue, gave her plenty of opportunity to refuse.

If only she
wanted
to refuse. Desperate to push the recent past as far away from her conscious mind as possible, if only for a moment, she was suddenly more than eager to let Rafe make her feel something else, something
good
.

Sliding her hands up his arms, she found the soft, curly hair at his nape and closed her eyes as she sank into the kiss.

He seemed surprised when she parted her lips. She realized then that he hadn't taken her capitulation for granted. It had been a risk for him—one he wasn't convinced would work out—and, for the first time, she felt a measure of hesitation. Would he withdraw? Maybe lift his head to ask whether she was really okay with what they were doing?

She hoped not. That would only yank her back into the real world and ruin everything.

To make sure he didn't, she became more aggressive. Instead of just permitting him to kiss her, she clenched her hand in his hair and kissed him back.

“God, I haven't felt anything like this in
so
long,” she muttered against his warm, pliant lips.

She wasn't aware that she'd spoken aloud until he caught her face in his large hands and made her look at him. “How long?”

“Years,” she admitted.

“That's even longer than me.”

She didn't ask how long it had been for him. She didn't want any more conversation, or she'd have to make sense out of what he said and how she replied, what she was doing. She couldn't justify this, which was why she didn't want her conscience to intercede before she could get what she craved. So she moved his hands to her breasts.

He seemed startled, as if he couldn't believe his good fortune. Then he reached around and unsnapped her bra, staring into her eyes the whole time, testing her to see if she'd stop him. When she didn't, when she let him slip his hands up under her shirt and touch her, she heard him suck in his next breath.

“This is going too well. You won't even go out with me,” he said as he flicked his thumbs over the tips of her breasts. Obviously, he wanted her to convince him, not change her mind. But she could offer no explanation for her behavior. Where was this sudden recklessness coming from? She'd been so sad for so long, it was almost as if all the needs that had gone unsatisfied during that time were welling up at once.

“Are you going to let that stop you?” she asked, and stood on her toes to reach his lips. When he met her tongue, she groaned and gave everything she had to that kiss, even bit his lip and felt him nip at hers.

“Holy shit,” he moaned, closing his eyes as her mouth moved down his neck and her hands traveled up under his shirt.

Feeling strangely gratified that he was already trembling and breathless, she ran her fingers over his arousal. “Is this for me?”

He turned her face back up to his. “Let's go to my place,” he said.

She didn't protest when he scooped her into his arms and carried her there.

7

M
aisey knew she was too thin, but Rafe didn't seem to notice or care as he stripped off her clothes. He looked at her as if she was the most beautiful woman in the world and that was all that mattered because it was exactly what she needed.

His bed smelled like he did. Maisey held a pillow next to her face and breathed deeply, thinking how much she liked that scent as he ran his hands over the curve of her hips.

“Wow,” he said.

He still had his pants on, but she'd pulled off his T-shirt as soon as he'd deposited her on the bed, which meant she could feel the smooth skin of his chest. Until this moment, she hadn't realized how much she'd missed some of the things she'd taken for granted during her marriage, like the opportunity to curl up beside her husband, warm skin to warm skin.

When Rafe's mouth found her breast, she dragged in a gulp of air and closed her eyes. But as soon as he moved lower, she tried to stop him. She'd always been too self-conscious for that kind of lovemaking. Jack had told her many times that she was hard to reach, hard to connect with, even during sex, because she could never fully let go.

She felt that resistance now, and stopped Rafe as he reached her navel.

She assumed he'd abandon the attempt, move on to something that didn't require so much trust on her part, as Jack had always done. But Rafe seemed more determined. “What's wrong?” he asked.

“That makes me feel too...vulnerable. I can't do it.”

“Sure you can,” he said, but he didn't press her. He watched her intently, reading the expressions on her face while he used his fingers instead.

“That's good,” she whispered. “
Really
good.”

She felt him kiss her thighs, but she was so focused on his fingers that she didn't mind. Then, when she was so lost in the moment she would've let him do almost anything, he pressed her legs apart.

“Relax,” he murmured, and when she complied, he settled his mouth on her. The movement of his tongue made her cry out. She couldn't remember ever vocalizing what she was feeling quite like that. But she wasn't herself right now, or she wouldn't be having sex with an acquaintance from her past. She was pretending to be someone who might do something like this, someone who could cast off
all
inhibition without worrying about the consequences. So she dug her fingers into the thick muscles of Rafe's shoulders and arched into him as the pleasure grew into an intense wave that ripped through her.

He must've felt her body jerk, because when he lifted his head, he gave her a grin that said, “Take
that
if you think I'm a bad lover.” He'd done what he'd set out to do—vanquished the specter of the last time they'd been together. But he wasn't finished yet.

Caught in the blissful aftermath of that powerful release, Maisey could barely think as he removed his pants—but she forced herself to speak up when he got a condom from the nightstand.

“You don't have to worry about that,” she said. “My doctor put me on the pill six months ago to regulate my periods.” Her doctor had also said she needed to gain some weight, which she hadn't done.

“That's a relief.” Tossing it aside, Rafe kissed her collarbone, her neck, her jawline. “To be honest, those condoms are so old I was almost afraid to rely on them.”

She wasn't ready to return to her senses, to Sad Maisey, so she was grateful when he made it clear that he wasn't in any hurry to finish up. His hands delved into her hair, forcing her to look up at him as if he enjoyed staring down at the love-drunk sight of her. “Those big eyes of yours, so green...they take my breath away,” he said. “I've never seen a prettier pair.”

She didn't get the chance to respond to his compliment. He didn't seem to need any thanks. His own heavy-lidded eyes revealed that he was feeling as swept away as she was. By the time he pushed inside her, she was so sensitive she gasped.

“Oh, boy,” he said, and lines of concentration appeared on his forehead, giving her the impression that he wanted to stretch out every sensation for as long as he could.

Rafe was built differently from Jack. Maisey noticed that immediately. She told herself it was tacky of her to compare them, but Jack was the one left wanting, and that somehow seemed deserving, after what he'd done.

“Let's take it slow,” Rafe said. Maybe it really had been a long time for him, because he didn't want this to end too soon. But she was feeling the same mounting tension she'd enjoyed a few minutes earlier and craved the same powerful release, which made her urge him on. Gripping his buttocks, she let him know exactly how much she liked having him inside her and, with an exclamation on his part, the rhythm increased.

Every now and then he'd have to pause in order to regain control. He was trying to hold off so she could get all she wanted. But she had the impression that he was reaching his limit. When her climax hit, his whole body tensed as he struggled to stop his own orgasm.

“You get one more,” he said grudgingly enough to let her know he was teasing. But she wasn't convinced he'd be able to fulfill that promise. His breathing was too ragged.

As it turned out, it was only a few seconds later when she heard him groan and felt his body shudder. But she couldn't complain. She felt more satisfied than she'd been since she and Jack were first married and nothing in the world seemed to matter except the two of them.

“You have to admit that was some damn good sex,” Rafe said as he dropped, exhausted, beside her.

Reluctant to inflate his ego, she grinned at him. “Except you promised me one more.”

He cradled her against his body. “Maybe later.”

* * *

When Maisey woke up, she was alone. Judging by the sun streaming through the windows, it was midafternoon, suggesting she'd slept for several hours. She was slightly disoriented, which confirmed it had been a while. She blinked sleepily as she looked around, trying to remember why her surroundings were so unfamiliar—and then it all came back to her.

“Oh, jeez,” she whispered, and shoved up on her elbows. She'd done exactly what she'd told herself she wouldn't do—and made love with her neighbor.

Was Rafe still around? She couldn't hear anyone in the house...

She was about to get up so she could check when she saw a note on the nightstand.

Had to work. Make yourself comfortable and eat whatever you'd like. Be home around six, after I pick up Laney. We'll grab your furniture and get you situated then.

—R

Another day without furniture. They were almost on their way to the unit; instead, she had to reveal how desperate she'd been for a man's touch, so they'd gotten distracted. And now he was at work.

What
had she been thinking?

She obviously
hadn't
been thinking. She'd been reacting to the damage the divorce had done to her self-esteem—and, on a more primitive level, she'd been trying to find the same physical satisfaction she'd known when she was married. It was tough to go without the love, pleasure and comfort she'd enjoyed with Jack.

But Smuggler's Cove was her place of last resort! She couldn't make it impossible, or even uncomfortable, to live here. Why create
new
obstacles to make life hard when she was already struggling to overcome old ones?

Going to bed with Rafe was a stupid move. But he'd been telling the truth when he'd said he could do a lot better than he'd done eighteen years ago. She wasn't sure she'd ever experienced
anything
like the hour or so they spent together, starting with that very first kiss. Jack just hadn't approached lovemaking in the same way. He'd been too practical, almost...mechanical, at times. But Rafe was all about the moment—
every
moment—and that created such intensity.

Now that he'd satisfied her, however, she was embarrassed to have gone after what she'd wanted so aggressively. She couldn't imagine what he had to be thinking.

Maybe she hadn't changed much since she was sixteen...

Or maybe he wasn't thinking anything. Maybe he was just happy that he'd managed to get lucky. For some men, it could be that simple, right? And, over the years, he must've had a lot more sexual experience than she did, at least with different partners. Another one-night stand couldn't mean that much to him.

Feeling slightly better once she'd assured herself of this, she checked the digital alarm clock next to his note. It was three, so she scrambled out of bed. If there was any chance of pretending this had never happened, she couldn't be here when he got home. Besides, she was anxious to check her phone to see if Keith had called, and she'd left it at her place.

The image of Rafe carrying her off, Tarzan-style, entered her mind as she finished dressing. She covered her face in embarrassment, even though there wasn't anyone around to see her. Supporting her weight had seemed natural and easy for him. There'd been something primal in his ability to do that with such ease, and it had made her excitement skyrocket. But Jack would never have attempted it. He wasn't capable of carrying anyone; he put his back out if he lifted a heavy suitcase. So she told herself she didn't care what he'd think of her and Rafe. She had to quit seeing everything that happened in her life through her ex's eyes, quit evaluating her actions and choices as if his opinion still mattered.

Because it shouldn't, even if it did.

Once she was dressed, she decided to leave Rafe a note. It seemed the polite thing to do. She wanted to put some sort of official end to what they'd done, and a hastily written thank-you provided the added benefit of allowing her to escape this uncomfortable situation without having to deal with him directly.

Using the pen she found not far away, she turned over his note and wrote on the other side. “Sorry I made you late for work. I hope you had a great day.”

No, that last part sounded odd. He'd probably connect that to what they'd done, so she crossed it out and tried again.

I hope the repairs are coming together for you. Don't worry about the furniture. I'm sure your daughter needs your time more than I do. You work hard enough as it is. I'm going to see if my mother will send her caretaker over with the truck.

She'd had no business asking Rafe to help in the first place. Why should he have to fill in for Keith? She was just being stubborn. Yesterday, even while she shivered on the beach, she'd sworn she'd do
anything
before going to her mother.

But approaching Josephine was suddenly preferable to relying on her new neighbor.

Should she end her note with some reference to the sex? Maybe include a thank-you? Tell him she'd had a nice time?

No. She couldn't do that without sounding dismissive or shallow—or glib. Come to think of it, there wasn't much point in writing what she'd just written, since he had the key to the cottage where the furniture was stored. If she managed to wrangle other help, he'd know about it long before he got home because she'd have to get the key.

“So much for that.” Somewhat relieved and yet disappointed at the same time, she wadded up the note and tossed it in the trash can in Rafe's bathroom. While she was there, she was tempted to go through his medicine cabinet to see what he wore that smelled so good. She was ready to blame everything that'd happened today on his cologne. It was certainly easier than blaming herself...

Going through his medicine cabinet was intrusive, like searching through his drawers, so she refused to abuse his trust in that way. But she couldn't help glancing around his house as she left. Rafe's bungalow was much neater than she would've expected. The furnishings weren't expensive or particularly tasteful—nothing that would meet with her mother's approval or show up in a decorating magazine—but they weren't tacky, either. For a guy who'd had so little growing up, she thought he'd done quite well for himself. If she had to describe his decorating style, it would be “sensible and comfortable.” His bedroom, although slightly more Spartan than the rest of the house, followed this theme. So did his living room, which contained a large flat-screen TV, along with an overstuffed sectional and chaise, a recliner with an accent table nearby and a coffee table in the center.

He hadn't hung much on the walls, though. It wasn't as if improving that space could benefit Laney, since she couldn't see. And Maisey guessed he didn't care enough about art to bother.

Or perhaps he'd get to that with time. She had to remind herself that he hadn't lived in Smuggler's Cove for very long. Jack would want his space to “show well” should anyone see it. But Jack was a different kind of man—very fastidious and driven.

Maisey was almost at the door when she spotted a pile of children's books on the coffee table and had to stop. She loved books, all books, but especially children's books, even if it was only to look through them to admire other people's work.

Half hoping she'd discover a Molly Brimble story, she sorted through the stack. None of her books was there, but she hadn't seriously expected to find one. If Rafe knew she'd written and illustrated several children's books, he would've mentioned it. He had no reason not to.

Instead of Molly Brimble, she found a lot of Dr. Seuss,
Guess How Much I Love You
—she had to smile at that one—and Shel Silverstein's hugely popular collection of poems,
Where the Sidewalk Ends
. In a second pile was a collection of books on kittens and dogs, and
Chica Chica Boom Boom
, which taught kids the alphabet.

It looked as though he read to Laney quite often. He obviously loved his daughter very much. Maisey was happy for him—happy for them both—but she found it bittersweet that he had his daughter and she didn't have hers. As petty as that flare of jealousy was, her gut twisted as she fingered Laney's books. She knew Rafe and Laney had their challenges, and they'd face more in the future, but Rafe ending up with a child to raise seemed so random and unlikely—not that he'd have a child, necessarily, but that he'd turn out to be such a responsible parent.