Touch of Heaven (10 page)

Still eyeing him suspiciously, Randall started across the garage. As he neared Warrick, his brows furrowed when he noticed the broken glass on the floor. “What the hell happened in here?”

“An accident. I need a shower,” Warrick announced abruptly, brushing past his frowning uncle.

“What about this mess on the floor?”

“I'll clean it up when I get back.”

Right after I clean up the mess in my damned pants.

W
hen Raina was sixteen years old, she had her first dream about Warrick, a sensual, fog-drenched dream that had left her with a guilty smile on her face when she'd awakened. Of all the steamy dreams that had followed over the years—and there had been plenty—none could have prepared her for the powerfully erotic interlude she had just experienced with Warrick.

As she sped away from his uncle's house like a thief fleeing a crime scene, her heart hammering against her ribs and her head spinning wildly, she felt torn between exhilaration and horror. She couldn't believe what had just happened, though the sweet, pulsing ache between her legs told her the encounter with Warrick had been all too real. After a lifetime of prayer and supplication, Raina had finally gotten her wish. Warrick had kissed her—and it had far surpassed all her fantasies and expectations.

Raina pressed her fist against her mouth to stifle the hysterical sound that bubbled up in her throat, something between a laugh and a sob.

What in the world had she been thinking?

She'd been in trouble the moment she had stepped into the garage
and seen Warrick standing across the room, a smudge of grease on his rugged jaw, his impossibly broad shoulders and wide chest planed with hard, sinewy muscle that glistened with sweat. Her mouth had gone dry, and her legs had turned to water. It had taken every ounce of willpower she possessed to appear calm and collected, when all she wanted to do was fly across the room and jump his damned bones.

All bets were off once they were left alone.

Raina shivered, a slow, delicious heat curling through her veins at the memory of touching Warrick's powerfully built chest, his skin feeling like steel beneath warm silk. The heat of his mouth, the feel of those soft, sensual lips moving possessively over hers, had her wanting to climb inside him. The way he kissed—slow, deep and drugging—left no doubt in her mind that he was a magnificent lover, a skilled, patient lover who would take his time to bring her body and soul to unimagined heights of ecstasy.

Raina let out an agonized groan as she slowed to a red traffic light. She dropped her face into her hands and deeply inhaled. Almost immediately she realized what a mistake that had been, because she could still smell Warrick on her hands, a masculine musk of sweat and desire that went straight to her head and flooded her loins.

Closing her eyes, she shoved her hands between her clamped thighs as a fresh wave of arousal threatened another orgasm.

What the hell was wrong with her, getting off on a man's
scent
like some animal in heat! And not just any man, either. Warrick Mayne. The
last
man on earth she should have allowed herself to get so worked up over.

The
only
man she'd ever gotten worked up over.

She'd had no business touching him, kissing him, wrapping her legs around his waist and writhing desperately against him. They'd practically had sex on the hood of his uncle's car! If Randall Mayne had returned a second sooner, Raina would have been mortified beyond belief to be caught in such a compromising position. But Warrick had been as cool as the proverbial cucumber, leaving Raina to wonder if he did this sort of thing all the time.

Of course he does,
her conscience mocked.
He's Warrick Mayne. He earned his playboy reputation as legitimately as he earned his fortune.

If that weren't enough to convince her to steer clear of the man, the fact that he was her enemy, that he was on a mission to put her out of business, should have done the trick.

But it hadn't.

Nothing had stopped her from succumbing to temptation and melting in Warrick's arms. And now that he had discerned her weakness for him, Raina knew that he was ruthless enough—vindictive enough—to try to exploit his advantage. She couldn't let that happen.

Raina was so consumed by her thoughts that she didn't realize she had reached her sister's house until she nearly rear-ended the shiny silver Lexus luxury sedan parked in the driveway. She stomped on the brake just in time, jerking to a stop behind the car.

She breathed in deeply to compose herself, then climbed out of the car and made her way up to the large, two-story redbrick house with tall windows and surrounded by an impeccably manicured lawn.

The woman who answered the door bore such a striking resemblance to Raina that the two women, though four years apart, had often been mistaken for twins. They were both the same height at five-six, sharing the same high cheekbones, full lips and slanted dark eyes that others had been known to teasingly call “cat eyes.” The two sisters had even cut their shoulder-length dark hair in similar styles. The most obvious difference in their appearance was their complexions. While Raina was golden-brown, Reese St. James's flawless mahogany skin, combined with her exotic eyes, often made her look like a Senegalese supermodel.

Raina, who had always envied her sister's complexion, had spent countless hours in the sun hoping to get darker. But all she ever got for her trouble was sunburn. Ironically, she didn't develop an appreciation for her own skin tone until one summer afternoon at Galveston Beach, Warrick, splashing and frolicking in the water with his siblings, had called out to Raina, “Hey, golden girl, you afraid of water or something?”

It had been one of those exquisitely rare moments when he had given any indication that he knew she was alive. After receiving his invitation, Raina, who had been shy about letting him see her in a swimsuit, had peeled off her T-shirt and waded eagerly into the water. Of course, Warrick hadn't spared her another glance for the rest of the day.

“Where's dessert?” Reese St. James demanded upon finding her younger sister standing on her doorstep empty-handed.

Raina blinked at her, momentarily baffled. Then as comprehension dawned, she slapped a hand to her forehead and groaned. She had forgotten all about picking up dessert on her way to Reese's house. She could thank Warrick for that.

She grimaced sheepishly. “Sorry. I forgot.”

“Yes, I can see that.” Heaving a dramatic sigh of resignation, Reese opened the door wider and gestured Raina inside. “I suppose I should still feed you.”

“Gee, thanks,” Raina muttered, shooting her sister a rueful grin as she entered the house. The hot, appetizing aroma of marinara sauce, oregano and garlic filled her nostrils. “Mmm, something smells wonderful. New recipe?”

“Of course. Got it from one of the nurses at the—” Suddenly Reese let out a shocked gasp. “Oh my God! Are those…
handprints
on your ass?”

What?

Raina whipped her head around, craning her neck to inspect her backside. To her everlasting consternation, she saw that her sister was right. She
did
have handprints on her butt. Two large, grease-stained handprints, glaringly obvious in the bright light that spilled from a crystal chandelier suspended above the foyer.

As an embarrassed flush stole across Raina's face, she mentally groaned. Of all the days she had to wear
white
jeans.

Or, rather, of all the days she had to make out with a man she wasn't supposed to be making out with.

You did a hell of a lot more than make out with him,
her conscience reminded her. Her face grew even hotter as her sister continued staring incredulously at her.

“I, uh, must have sat in something,” Raina lied.

Reese snorted. “Like hell! Those are a man's
handprints,
Raina, and judging by the size of them, I'd say they belonged to a very tall, strapping man.” She grinned at her sister, her eyes alight with avid curiosity. “Girl, what have you been doing this afternoon? Who had his big, greasy hands all over your butt? The friendly neighborhood mechanic?”

Raina wished it were that simple. She wished she could fabricate a story about stopping at the local auto repair shop to get an oil
change, only to wind up being harassed and groped by some lecherous mechanic. Why not? Those guys hit on her and her sister all the time, so it could happen, right? But the only problem with telling Reese such a story—apart from it being an outright lie that would wrongfully malign an innocent mechanic—was that her overprotective big sister would drag her down to the auto shop, and after forcing Raina to point out the offender, Reese would proceed to light into the man, ending her scathing diatribe with the threat of a lawsuit. A threat she would undoubtedly make good upon.

Unfortunately, Raina realized, there was no getting around telling her sister the truth about what had happened between her and Warrick that afternoon.

But she tried anyway. “It's really not important,” she said dismissively, turning and heading for the kitchen.

“Not important?”
Reese was hot on her heels, her bare feet slapping against the gleaming hardwood floor. “You show up here fifteen minutes late for dinner—with no dessert, mind you—and a man's handprints all over your ass, and you say it's
not important?
”

Raina ducked into the large gourmet kitchen and made a beeline for the stainless-steel double oven built into the wall. She opened the door and peered inside, her mouth watering at the sight of a delicious-looking casserole bubbling with cheese and marinara sauce.

“What is this?” she breathed.

“Gnocchi
di
ricotta,” Reese answered, striding into the room. “I got the recipe from one of the nurses at the hospital. She says it was a staple of her grandfather's restaurant back in Italy. She made it for her husband when they were dating, and he proposed to her that very same night.”

Raina chuckled. “In that case, you're wasting it on me. You should be making it for that hunky neurosurgeon you're always drooling over, the one with the dark, soulful eyes and gifted hands.”

Reese rolled her eyes. “First of all,” she said, closing the oven door and slapping Raina's hand away when she tried to sneak another peek at the casserole, “I do not
drool
over Dr. Carracci. How juvenile do you think I am? And second of all, he's not a neurosurgeon. He's a cardiothoracic surgeon. One operates on the brain; the other operates on the heart and lungs.
Capisci?
”

Raina grinned. “Aww, isn't that sweet? He's even got you speaking Italian.”

Reese jabbed a manicured finger at her, dark eyes narrowed in warning. “Keep it up, little girl, and the closest you'll get to eating an Italian meal tonight is the takeout pizza your behind will have to order on the way home.”

Raina laughed, holding up her hands in surrender. “Okay, okay! You don't have to withhold your cooking from me. Sheesh, that's just cruel, Reesey.”

Her sister chuckled dryly as she crossed to the Sub-Zero refrigerator and began removing vegetables to make a salad. “Speaking of Italians with gifted hands, you still haven't told me the identity of the Leonardo da Vinci who left his masterpiece all over your rear end. You're not getting off the hook
that
easily.”

Raina sighed. She should have known her sister wouldn't let the matter go. Growing up, Reese St. James had always been the more persistent of the two sisters, never settling for the simple explanations their parents gave them about everything from the existence of the tooth fairy to how babies were conceived. (And considering her fascination with the latter, it was no wonder she grew up to become an obstetrician.) Nothing ever got by Reese, and like a dog with a bone, she never let anything go. But while her relentless nature had often driven her family crazy, it had served Reese well in life, getting her through medical school and a string of bad relationships, including a painful breakup with her cheating fiancé three years ago.

Heaving another resigned sigh, Raina walked over to the large center island that boasted an electric cooktop and enough counter space to accommodate six barstools. She perched on one of the stools, reached for a gourmet cookbook—culinary arts would have been Reese's second career choice—and began flipping through the glossy pages to avoid her sister's speculative gaze.

“I was with Warrick,” she mumbled into the book.

At the other end of the island, Reese paused in the middle of chopping sun-dried tomatoes. “
What
did you just say?”

Raina blew out a deep breath and repeated in a louder, clearer voice, “I was with Warrick this afternoon.”

Reese's eyes narrowed on her face. “Warrick
who?
”

Raina gave her a look. “There's only one Warrick.”
How true that is!

Reese stared at her. “You mean to tell me you were with Warrick
Mayne
this afternoon?”

Raina nodded.

“I didn't even know he was back in town,” her sister exclaimed.

“He is.”
God help me!

Reese set aside her knife, tomatoes forgotten. Her incredulous expression matched her equally incredulous tone. “So let me get this straight. Warrick Mayne, whom you haven't seen or spoken to in twelve years, is back in town. And you…spent the afternoon with him?”