Two Sides to Every Story (Love Spectrum Romance) (8 page)

His hands stroked her skin and she became molten lava. If only they could remain like this, the two of them, no worries, no differences between them. But it wasn’t the way real life worked; this wasn’t a fantasy. No one would come in to rescue her and give her her dream of a socially accepting world where race didn’t matter, and it was not even worth the mention in a book. That day wasn’t here.

People would always notice when they went to the movies and saw actors of difference races kissing. It would still be the main focus, no matter what the subject matter was. And an interracial love story would not be read by the masses because they would feel uncomfortable. Just as she knew seeing her with Rafe would make many Blacks and Latinos uncomfortable, and who the heck knew how many others?

Angela had done her best to not let the color of a person’s skin influence her but she had her own prejudices. She blindly hated an entire police department. And now that her brother had voiced his objections, she saw more than Rafe’s green eyes and she didn’t like it. She didn’t like knowing that either of them had those feelings.

“Are you going to throw me in the trash?” Raphael asked her again as his tongue flicked over her neck.

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“Why?”

Angela was shivering. She was falling for him and now was not the time. It felt as if the bones in her body had dissolved.

“Why won’t you throw me in the trash, Angel?”

“Because you’re much too good to ever throw in the trash.” She watched the cocky smile that appeared on his face. “Don’t smirk,” she said.

“I’m thinking that you’re liking me, Angel.”

“I’m thinking that you’re right,” she admitted. “I do have a question, though, if you don’t mind answering.”

“Ask away,” he said as his tongue again swiped the side of her neck over and over, sending delicious sensations flooding her body.

“Since we’re on the subject, why do so many Spanish people that can speak English choose to speak Spanish when they’re in the company of people that don’t understand?”

“Because sometimes there are no words to explain what you want to say in English.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“It’s true.”

“I still don’t believe it.”

“Does it bother you?”

“Of course it bothers me. It’s rude! How would you like it if I spoke in a language in front of you that you don’t understand?”

“That will never happen.” He peered at her. “We never go out in public.”

“But if we did?”

“If we ever do I’ll make sure to not offend you. I’ll speak in English.”

“And if your friends are speaking in Spanish?”

“I’ll tell them to speak in English.” He smiled. “Does this mean you don’t want me murmuring in Spanish to you when we make love?”

Angela couldn’t help smiling in return. She rather liked it when he did that. “No, you can still do that. But I want you to teach me more Spanish, more than the words you say to me in bed.” She blushed. “Things I can use in a normal conversation.”

“Okay, deal. Anything else, any more questions?”

“Just one: why do so many Spanish women call their children and their husbands
poppi
?”

“It means father, but it’s used also for a sign of affection. You could say it’s used when there is the purest form of love.”

“Oh, I didn’t know that. I think I like it.”

“Anything else?”

“No, nothing.”

“Then can I make love to you?”

Before she could answer he was doing just that and she didn’t have the slightest objection.

His hand slid up her leg so slowly that, knowing his goal, she wanted to urge him to hurry. Finally his hand was there and she squeezed her thighs together and allowed the moan to escape.

“Are you wishing that I were Black, Angel? Would this feel better if I were?”

“Shut up, Rafe.”

She heard his deep laugh a second before her own hands began their explorations. She found him heavy with need, his erection full and throbbing, his excitement wetting the tip. She gave a little squeeze, felt him jump from the contact, and she laughed.

“Make love to me, Rafe, and let me make love to you,” she said as she began to caress him in earnest.

His fingers plunged deeper into her and rubbed roughly across her essence. She was going to come and she wanted to prolong it, wanted to feel his hardness inside of her. “No, Rafe,” she moaned.

“Yes,” he answered, “come for me, Angel.”

He gave another squeeze, his other hand cupping her buttocks, pressing her in closer to his heat. “Come for me, Angel.” He groaned and shuddered.

With him touching her like that, Angela wouldn’t have been able to hold back even if she’d had a mind to. And she didn’t have a mind to.

“Rafe,” she moaned over and over, letting the wave of desire fill her, the release surprising in its intensity. Then again, it always was. She wondered if it could always be like that.

Before her orgasm had subsided he was entering her, his muscular, hard body covering her own. His eyes burned with green fire. “Angel
, mi amor
,” he groaned and each time he said it he pierced a little more of her reserve.

She wished there was a way to have this last forever. She felt his shudder and gave up thinking, seduced by Rafe and the massive trembling he was producing in her body. She groaned in surrender, knowing that she was producing the same immense effect on him as he was having on her.

She loved it, loved the two of them together. They were a fit. She knew it and he knew it.
If only
, Angela thought, and that was her last thought before her release claimed her and she gripped Rafe’s hair in her hand.

Chapter 9

Raphael was peeping in Angela’s freezer, as usual. She now believed him when he said he needed nourishment after making love. Of course she couldn’t blame him; they’d made love until neither of them had the strength to do anything but lie still, holding each other and nibbling at the other’s lips. Angela rather thought it was Rafe’s nibbling at her lips that had brought him from the bed to scrimmage for food.

“You have any ice cream or cookies?” he asked hopefully. He sounded so much like a little boy that she laughed in spite of herself. He was sucking her in big time, winning her over with his charm.

“I could make you a pancake.”

He stared in surprise at her. “That’s not ice cream and cookies,” he said softly.

Since they’d begun whatever it was they had over two months ago, it was the first time she’d ever let down her guard outside of bed. To have her offer to cook for him was a first.

“I know,” Angela answered, “but at least it’s sweet with syrup.” She cocked her head a tiny bit to the left. “Want some?”

“Lots of syrup?”

“Yes, lots of syrup.”

He smiled. “Thanks.”

* * *

At the grocery, Angela picked up the chocolate chip ice cream, envisioning the look on Rafe’s face. She laid it in her cart next to the three bags of cookies and felt a ping in her chest. He was getting to her. He was doing what she had sworn would never happen. He was worming his way into her heart, making her think about him and what would make him happy.
It’s only food
, she tried to console her subconscious,
no
big deal
.

But it was a big deal and she knew it, just as her making him pancakes had been a big deal to both of them.

She thought of the way he’d looked at her as he sat at her table eating, his eyes never leaving her face. She doubted that he’d even tasted the food, yet he’d eaten every bite and held his plate out for more. When he was done, she’d refilled it and again he’d eaten while those darn green eyes of his continued telling her how he felt about her.

When he’d kissed her after he was finally done, she’d tasted the maple syrup that clung to his tongue and coated his lips. Thinking about it, Angela shivered as she emptied her groceries on the conveyer belt. A Chicago cop. What had she done?

* * *

Raphael walked hurriedly from one register to the next. He wished now he’d insisted on fast food from one of the millions of places around but Mike Tomas, his partner for today, had moaned that he wanted a sandwich from the grocery deli and he’d been relegated to go for them.

Every aisle had a half dozen customers loaded down with groceries, and not a one of them offered to let him pay for his sandwiches ahead of them.

So much for the respect he’d thought he’d get as a member of the Chicago police force. Finally he stood in what he hoped was the fastest moving line. At least there were only two people ahead of him, not counting the third whose groceries were laid out on the conveyer belt. The next person was beginning to unload when he heard a voice.

“I changed my mind.”

Raphael peered around the mound of groceries and the two people in front of him and smiled. It was Angela. He stopped himself from calling out to her. Instead, he listened to what she was saying to the clerk.

“Take the cookies and ice cream out of the bag. I changed my mind.”

Cookies and ice cream
, his heart thumped in his chest. She was buying it for him, or more accurately, she wasn’t buying it for him. He was hoping she’d change her mind again, but she was sounding more frantic by the second as she attempted to explain to the harried cashier that she no longer wanted the items.

He sighed as the bagger fished the items out of the packed bags, and his hope died in his chest. She still didn’t want to care about him.

Raphael watched her leave the store. He saw a slight hesitation as she pushed her cart. Once again he hoped she’d come back and buy the treats but she didn’t.

He sucked in the sudden hurt he felt, barely noticing that the cashier had finished with the other customers and was waiting for him to place his sandwiches to be scanned.

“I’ll take that ice cream and the cookies off your hands,” he informed the clerk, surprised at the words that came out of his mouth.

“Excuse me?”

“The ones the customer left. You have them off to the side. I’ll take them.” He ignored the woman looking at him as if he had two heads. He paid for the food and left the store.

“We have to stop by my house,” he informed Mike as he climbed into the squad car with the bag. “I bought ice cream and I need to get it in the freezer.”

“Did you see that nut job in the store?” Mike asked as he pulled away from the curb.

Of course Raphael knew who Mike was talking about. Maybe at one time he wouldn’t have minded the comment. But that was before he’d found himself falling for the nut job in question. She was now his angel. Now he wanted to rip Mike’s head off. “I don’t know who you’re talking about,” he said instead.

“The Black woman who’s been trying for months to get you fired. You know, the one that wrote out a dozen complaints against you.”

“It wasn’t that many,” Raphael corrected.

“Yeah, right. I’ve never seen one person so determined. It was like she had a personal vendetta against you.”

“Or against the department,” Raphael offered.

“Could be. Why not? Everybody wants us to keep the city safe but they hate us for doing it. Anyway, when that woman came out the store, she stopped and looked directly at me.”

Did she stop your heart with her eyes?
Raphael wanted to ask as a wave of jealousy clutched at him. “Did you feel anything when she looked at you?” he asked instead, wishing that the words hadn’t popped out before he could stop them.

“Feel anything? What are you talking about? No, I didn’t feel anything. She stared at me as though she was expecting to see someone else, then turned and looked back at the store before walking to the lot.”

“Did you see her drive away?”

“Nah, she must have gone out the other exit. Why? You think she’s trying to find something else to harass you about? Did she see you in the store?” Mike frowned. “Did you see her?”

“Yeah, I saw her, and no, she didn’t see me.”

“You still being investigated?”

“Who knows?” Raphael turned the computer monitor screen toward him, wanting to stop talking about Angela. He had an appointment with IAD in a few days, but he didn’t want that on his mind at the moment. All he wanted was a few minutes to think in peace and quiet about why Angela had picked up the ice cream to start with. Did it mean what he thought or was it only more wishful dreaming?

* * *

It seemed to Raphael that it was now becoming a habit for him to be standing on one side of the door and his angel on the other. He’d barely slept in his own bed in weeks. He didn’t miss it one little bit. He knocked on the door and waited. “
Hola,
Angel,” he said when Angela opened the door.

“Hola,”
she answered.

“Have you finished your work?” Raphael asked as he came in, closing the door with the heel of his shoe. “I find myself envying you more and more, being able to work from home, make your own hours, not having to go out, not even to the store if you don’t want. Those protein bars of yours last forever.”

“You think my job is easy?” she asked.

“Not easy,” he answered slowly, sensing a change in her. She was in a foul mood and he suspected it had more to do with her increasing awareness of her changing feelings than it did with him.

“What’s in the bag?”

Raphael glanced down, having forgotten the package for a moment and realizing that he’d picked the wrong night to get cute. “Just something I picked up. Nothing much.”

He headed for her kitchen, opened the freezer and inserted the ice cream, knowing that from where she stood she’d seen the container. He had no choice but to take the cookies from the bag and put them in the cabinet. Folding the bag he put it under the sink into the container Angel kept them in. Then he waited.

She came over to the cabinet, opened it, and looked at the cookies. Then she opened the freezer and stared. He waited for her to speak, but she didn’t. Instead, she turned toward the bedroom and he followed, removing his clothes and tossing them on the chair in her room. Without talking, they climbed into the bed. Without talking, they made love. And without talking, they went to sleep.

* * *

The feel of Angela’s eyes on him pulled Rafe from his sleep. He blinked and rubbed his eyes before looking up at her.

“I’m going to be busy for the next few days,” Angela announced. “I won’t have any time to see you.” She made an odd movement of her head. “I’ve gotten behind on my work and it’s due.”

“I thought you were caught up?” Raphael countered.

“Well, I’m not. I don’t have to explain. I have a job, everyone seems to keep forgetting that.”

“Suit yourself,” Raphael said climbing from the bed and heading for the shower. He wasn’t going to beg Angela and he sure as hell wasn’t going to fight with her about that damn ice cream. He’d thought she’d find it amusing. She hadn’t.
She’s right
, he thought. They did need a few days apart.

For the past two months he’d almost forgotten that he was sleeping with the enemy. But he remembered now. Raphael showered and left Angela’s apartment without another word to her. She was perched in front of her computer, behaving as though she didn’t know he was there.
To hell with her
, he thought as he slammed the door. If she didn’t want him, he didn’t want her.

But he did.

Angela turned around at the sound of her door slamming. There was a lump in her throat. But she’d done the right thing. She was getting too close to Raphael Remeris. He was exerting too much of a hold on her. She knew it and he knew it.

She walked to her cabinet and took out a bag of cookies that he’d bought. She should have trusted her instincts. No wonder she’d been thinking so much about him in the store; he’d been there. And when she’d seen the squad car outside the store, she’d gotten chills.

He’d been there when she put the ice cream and cookies back and then he’d bought them. And he’d brought them to her home to let her know that he knew. She closed her eyes. She had to go and see her brother. She had to get Rafe off her mind.

* * *

Four days had passed and Raphael had gotten little sleep. He tried telling himself he was coming down with something, but he knew very well what that something was. He’d gotten too used to sleeping in the bed next to his angel.

Tossing and turning, he punched the pillows, willing himself to forget her, to pretend she didn’t exist. A moment later he reached for the phone. Pretending she didn’t exist wasn’t working.

“Can I come over?” he asked as soon as she answered.

“I’m tired.”

“Just for a little while.”

“I don’t feel like making love.”

“Angela.”

“What?”

Raphael sucked in his breath. “We don’t have to make love.”

“Then why would you come over?” she asked him, her voice filled with enough ice to chill the entire state of Illinois.

He sighed. “I have no idea. Who knows what I was thinking?” he said and hung up. But he did know what he was thinking. He was thinking he wanted her in his arms, wanted to feel her soft skin against his own, smell the scent of jasmine and vanilla on her, taste the sweetness of her when she wasn’t growling at him. He wanted to fall asleep with her in his arms. That was what he was thinking. But there was no way he would admit that to her.

* * *

Angela turned in her bed; it felt empty. And she now hated that feeling. Always she’d wanted every inch of space she could get, but the last few nights without Raphael’s body in her bed had changed her.

She hadn’t lied. She was much too tired to make love. She’d been tired since returning from her visit to the prison and experiencing again her brother’s coldness. He’d accused her of wasting time, of not trying hard enough, and she felt guilty.

Adrian was right. She’d spent time in the past two months doing something her brother would hate, and something that her entire family would condemn her for if they knew. And now she couldn’t sleep because not having the one thing that she shouldn’t have was eating away at her. She wished she hadn’t snapped at Rafe. He didn’t deserve that.

She picked up the phone before she could stop herself, wondering if he’d slam the phone down in her ear. Would he react the same way to her as she had done to him?

“Rafe,” she said. “Are you asleep?”

“No.”

“Neither am I.”

“That’s obvious.”

“I guess it is,” she answered. “Maybe you can come over and we can not sleep together.”

He wanted to give her back the same words she’d given him but he didn’t. “Are you still tired?”

“Yeah, I am.”

“I’ll be right over.”