Taken by Storm

by Rochelle Alers

  “Give me an example,” Rafe said, totally engrossed in the history of flowers.

  “Name some flowers,” Simone countered.

  “White roses, violets, irises and daffodils.” They were only flowers he could think of off the top of his head.

  “Irises mean I have a message. The white rose says she’s bringing him her girlhood innocence, the violets represent fidelity in the marriage and the daffodils promise devotion and a sweet disposition.”

  Rafe’s gaze moved slowly over Simone’s delicate profile. Suddenly it hit him. Not only was she a pretty face and sexy body, but she was smart—very, very smart. Lowering his arms, he pushed to his feet and picked up the petal of a white rose that had fallen off its stem. He cupped Simone’s elbow, easing her to her feet. Their gazes locked as he pushed wisps off her cheek and tucked the bloom behind her left ear.

  Simone closed her eyes against his intense stare. “What are you doing?” Her voice was barely a whisper.

  His lids came down, hiding his innermost feelings. Rafe wanted to tell Simone that she was as beautiful and as breathtaking as the delicate flowers in her greenhouse. “I didn’t want to see something so pretty go to waste.”

  Reaching up, Simone pulled the petal from behind her ear, dropping it into the basket with the hydrangeas. “It won’t go to waste. When we go back into the house I’ll show you what I do with them.”

  She sat down on the stool again and snipped smaller blooms of blue and green hydrangeas until she had enough flowers to fill two straw baskets. She took off her gloves and left them and a pair specially angled clippers on a built-in shelf. “I’m going to take these inside. Then I have to change before we leave for Central Valley.”

  Rafe eased the basket from Simone and waited until she set the code to the greenhouse, then escorted her across a manicured field to the main house.

  * * *

  Rafe lay in bed, his head resting on folded arms as he stared up at the shadows on the bedroom ceiling. The glowing numbers on the clock on the bedside table read 2:17 a.m. He was as wide-awake as he would’ve been at two in the afternoon. Although not prone to bouts of sleeplessness, he now knew what insomniacs experienced.

  He’d accompanied Simone to Central Valley to meet with a prospective bride to select the design for her wedding flowers, spending three hours on the porch while the two women deliberated. The mother of the bride-to-be had offered him lunch, but he’d opted for a tall glass of sweet tea.

  They left Central Valley, stopping at a sporting goods store in a nearby mall where he purchased socks, sweats, T-shirts, three tracksuits and a pair of running shoes. He wasn’t looking forward to jogging with Simone because he preferred running on a treadmill.

  He’d driven back to White Plains, and Simone spent an hour in the mudroom where she’d stored the hydrangeas in a built-in refrigerator. When she emerged it was with six round glass vases filled with hydrangeas. Around the lip of each vase she’d tied contrasting ribbon with a decorative bow. Her client had invited six couples and wanted to welcome them with hydrangea centerpieces they would take home as parting gifts at the conclusion of the dinner party.

  It’d been some time since Rafe had been to Manhattan, so he’d suggested eating dinner at a restaurant that featured outdoor dining. There was an instant when he’d sat across the bistro table from Simone that he felt as if they were actually on a date. But when he’d asked himself whether under another set of circumstances he would’ve liked to date her—and the answer was a resounding yes.

  Turning over, he punched the pillow. He had to get at least three hours of sleep in order to keep up with Simone’s busy schedule. He tried counting backward from one hundred, taking slow, deep breaths and then willed his mind blank. It was when streaks of light pierced the veil of darkness that sleep claimed his mind and body.

  * * *

  Rafe opened his eyes, blinking at the glowing red numbers on the clock and sprang from the bed. It was after one in the afternoon, and it was raining. Reaching for a pair of boxer briefs, he slipped them on and headed for the bathroom. The fact that he’d overslept wasn’t as upsetting as not knowing where Simone was or what she was doing.

  He managed to brush his teeth and shower in less than ten minutes. Not bothering to shave, he pulled open dresser drawers for clean underwear, shorts and a T-shirt. Not bothering to put on socks, he tucked the holstered gun into the waistband of his shorts, covering it with his shirt, and raced out of the bedroom and down the stairs. He found Simone sitting on the enclosed back porch, thumbing through a magazine. Rafe hadn’t realized how fast his heart was beating until he saw her.

  * * *

  Simone, seeing movement out of the corner of her eye, turned to find Rafe staring at her. A hint of a smile parted her lips. “Good morning. Or should I say good afternoon?”

  He gave her a sheepish grin. “Good afternoon. I’m sorry I overslept.”

  “So did I,” she admitted. “I think it was the rain.”

  Rafe walked into the room and sat opposite Simone. “I can’t blame the rain. I couldn’t fall asleep.”

  “That’s because you drink much too much coffee.” After dinner, he’d drunk two cups of strong, black coffee to her one cup of decaffeinated herbal tea.

  “You’re probably right.” He’d told her a half truth. There were occasions when he’d drunk coffee nonstop, but it usually didn’t affect his ability to fall asleep. What had disturbed and continued to disturb him was the woman with a mop of curly hair sitting a few feet away.

  Simone closed the magazine and placed on the cushion next to her. “You must have either dressed in a hurry or in the dark because your shirt is on backward.”

  Rafe pulled at the neckline of his white T-shirt. Reaching for the hem, he pulled it up and slipped his arms from the sleeves. Without taking it off, he turned the shirt around and put it on correctly. “What do you have planned for today?” he asked Simone when she gave him a wide-eyed stare.

  “You’re really uninhibited, aren’t you?” she asked, ignoring his question.

  His eyebrows furrowed. “Why would you say that?”

  “This is the second time I’ve seen you half-dressed or completely nude.”

  An expression of incredulity crossed Rafe’s face. “I would never take you for a prude. But if my showing some skin bothers you, then I’ll make sure it won’t happen again.”

  “I’m not a prude,” Simone said in protest, a rush of heat stinging her cheeks.

  “Yesterday morning was unavoidable and I explained that I always sleep—”

  “I understand about yesterday, Rafe. I’m talking about today.”

  Rafe stared at Simone, trying to understand where she was coming from. The seconds ticked by as they regarded each other. “Simone, are you a prude?”

  “No!”

  “You said that much too quickly.”

  Her eyes flashed fire. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

  “That the lady doth protest too much.”

  “Hel-lo. I was married.”

  “There are a lot married prudes.”

  “And I doubt if you’re one of them,” she spat out angrily.

  “I’m not a prude, nor am I married.” He looked at her, gazes locking, then he turned away. “Since I’ve been assigned to witness security, I get to learn a lot about people when there’s just the two of us day in and day out. People can take so much isolation. After a while they talk about any and everything.”

  Simone rolled her eyes at the same time she sucked her teeth. “Well, if you think I’m going to spill my guts, then you’d better think again, because I’m not going to tell you any more than what’s written in the file you have on me.”

  Rafe ruffled his damp hair with his fingers. He wanted to tell Simone that she was no different from the countless other witnesses he’d protected. At first, most would barely speak to him, but after a week they would come looking for him to say something to break up the monotony of staring at the same
four walls. What most had come to understand was that human beings were social creatures and needed contact and interaction with other humans in order to maintain one’s mental and emotional equilibrium and sanity.

  “You still haven’t answered my question.”

  “And exactly which one is that, Rafe?”

  He ignored the thread of hardness that’d crept into her voice. “What are your plans for today?”

  “I’m expecting something to be delivered today.”

  “What is it?”

  Simone counted slowly to three to keep from blurting out that it was none of his business. She had to keep reminding herself that her life had changed, that the barefoot man glaring at her would monitor every phase of her life regardless of whether she was awake or asleep. She woke at five, but hadn’t gotten out of bed until seven because of the steadily falling rain. Even if it hadn’t been raining she’d been reluctant to walk down the hall to knock on Rafe’s bedroom door to wake him for fear of finding him naked again. The vivid image of his magnificent male body was imprinted in her mind—forever.

  Unconsciously, she’d mentally compared Rafe to Anthony Kendrick, and Tony had come in a distant second. Once she’d been able to emotionally distance herself from her ex-husband, she realized all he’d been was a pretty face. And there was nothing about his physique to indicate that he worked out, because if breathing hadn’t been involuntary then he would’ve expired a long time ago.

  What Simone couldn’t understand was how Tony was content to get up every day and not leave the house. The few times he’d attempted to hold down employment he’d complain incessantly about commuting into Manhattan. Even when he’d managed to secure a job in White Plains, the complaints continued—complaints about his boss and/or coworkers. After a while, she realized Tony was responsible for putting the Z in lazy.

  “Construction plans.”

  Rafe’s eyebrows lifted. “You’re having work done on this house?”

  “No—I mean, yes. But not until the fall.” She gave him a hopeful look. “Do you think the trial will be over before September?”

  “There’s no way of predicting that. I’m certain the U.S. attorney wants to gather enough evidence before he takes it to trial.”

  “What more do they need? They have me as an eyewitness.”

  “The government’s going to want more than just your eyewitness account. Forensic evidence must be substantiated, along with footage from close circuit cameras in and around the park at the time of the attack.”

  “Are you telling me that I’m going to be a prisoner in my own home for at least the next three to four months?”

  Rafe shook his head. “No, I’m not, Simone. First, Benton has to be arraigned, then the evidence on him will have to be presented to a federal grand jury, and if there’s a backlog on the calendar, then we’ll have to wait.”

  A shiver snaked its way up Simone’s back when she recalled the feral look in Ian Benton’s eyes as he came toward her. “Do you think he’ll be granted bail?”

  “I doubt that any judge will agree to bail. What they’ll probably do is set the amount so high that only someone like Bill Gates will be able to come up with the money. After all, the man’s accused of trying to kill one of their own, so I doubt if he’ll find one sympathetic judge in all of Westchester County.”

  “What if his attorney asks for a change of jurisdiction because he believes his client won’t get a fair trial in this county?”

  “Whether he’s tried in the Southern or Eastern District, it doesn’t matter. It’s up to a jury to find him guilty or innocent.”

  “What if he cops a plea?”

  “I hope he does, because he’d save the taxpayers the cost of a trial. Regardless of whether he accepts a plea or is found guilty of attempted murder, he’s still going to spend the rest of his life behind bars without the possibility of parole.”

  There was a pregnant silence as Simone closed her eyes. She opened them to find Rafe watching her intently. “What if something goes wrong and he’s found innocent?”

  “Nothing’s going to go wrong, Simone.” Rafe wanted to tell Simone that Ian Benton had dropped off the government’s radar screen before, and there was no way they were going to let him slip away again.

  “What about jury tampering?”

  “You’ve been watching too many gangster movies,” Rafe chided softly.

  “Don’t try and pretend it doesn’t happen, because it does.”

  “I know it does. But if it happens, then he’ll be retried and I’ll get to play your boyfriend a little while longer.”

  Simone didn’t know whether Rafe was teasing her in an attempt to belie her anxiety. “Why do I get the impression that you like pretending to be my boyfriend?”

  Rafe’s eyes smoldered with a fire he’d successfully concealed from Simone within seconds of coming face-to-face with her. He’d called her a prude when he should’ve referred to her as naive, or perhaps even innocent. But what he couldn’t wrap his head around was the fact that she had been married for four years, yet was still uncomfortable with the male body.

  “Do you want me to lie or do you want the truth?”

  She blinked once. “I would like the truth.”

  “I like pretending to be your boyfriend.” His lips were parted in a smile that did not reach the blue eyes darkening with a foreign emotion Simone couldn’t identify.

  Simone felt a languorously sensuous shiver pass between them and she shuddered noticeably when she recognized the sexual magnetism coming off Raphael Madison in a vortex sweeping her up in its force field, refusing to let her go. How, she wondered, could she find herself drawn to a man who physically looked nothing like the men to whom she’d been attracted, or to a man who’d spent only two nights under her roof.

  “Why?” she asked when she found her voice.

  Rafe shook his head in a motion that was barely perceptible. “I don’t know, Simone. Perhaps before I leave you, I will have figured it out.” A clock on a side table chimed the hour, breaking the soporific spell from which neither wanted to escape. He forced a smile. “It’s a little late, but right about now I’m fittin’ to go get a big bowl of Froot Loops.”

  A smile crinkled her eyes. “Fittin’?”

  “You’ve never heard of the word?”

  “Yes, I have. But I never figured you would use it.”

  Pushing to his feet, he approached her and pulled gently on her hair. “That’s because you don’t know me.” Turning on his heels, he walked out of the sunporch, leaving her staring at his back.

  “You’re right, Rafe,” Simone whispered, “I don’t know you.”

  She didn’t know him and she didn’t know herself. One thing she did know was that she definitely wasn’t a prude, but frustrated—seeing Rafe’s nude body was a reminder of what she hadn’t experienced in eight years: sex.

  She’d met Tony the year she’d celebrated her sixteenth birthday, began dating him at nineteen, married him at twenty-one and by the time she was twenty-five she’d filed for divorce.

  The sound of the doorbell echoed throughout the house. By the time she’d made her way to the front door, Rafe had the mailing tube with the schematic for connecting outbuildings that would conform to the design of the farmhouse and replace the greenhouses. He handed her the tube, his gaze lingering on her mouth. “I signed your name.”

  “Forgery is a crime, Mr. Madison.”

  Rafe, pressing his palms together, extended his hands. “Then, cuff me, Ms. Whitfield.”

  “That sounds kind of kinky.”

  His grin was dazzling. “Don’t knock it unless you’ve tried it.”

  Returning his smile, Simone winked at him. “Go eat your Froot Loops.”

  Rafe reached for her free hand. “Come keep me company.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t like eating alone.”

  Simone wanted to tell him that she, too, didn’t like eating alone, but after eight years she’d come to accept it.
She didn’t know how long Rafe would live with her, but within seconds resigned herself to enjoy his company and his protection.

  CHAPTER 7

  Simone went completely still, her brow furrowing when she heard the deep, pumping sound. She couldn’t believe she could hear music coming from down the hall and into her bathroom’s dressing area. There was no doubt Raphael Madison had lost his mind playing music that loud. And the music was a genre that wasn’t one of her favorites!

  Slipping her bare feet into a pair of fluffy pink slippers, she went to close the door connecting the bathroom with her bedroom. It muffled the sound, but hadn’t eliminated it completely.

  She’d managed to spend Friday indoors with Rafe without incident. If it hadn’t rained all day, she would’ve asked him to drive her to Cold Spring to browse through the many antique shops, but resigned to catch up on her reading. Her hands halted smoothing a perfumed crème on her smoothly shaven legs as a frown found its way between Simone’s eyes when she registered the misogynistic lyrics of a popular hip-hop performer singing that all women were good for was sex.

  “Oh, hell, no!” she whispered angrily.

  If Rafe Madison thought he was going to play that garbage in her house, then he was sorely mistaken. Reaching for a short, red silk wrap, she slipped her arms into it, belting it tightly around her waist. She flung open doors and made her way down the hallway. Her rage escalated the closer she came to Rafe’s bedroom. He’d closed the door, but it did little to reduce the pounding, driving bass line. She’d purchased the component system because the brand had come highly recommended, but hadn’t turned the volume up to its highest setting, which was what Rafe had probably done.

  She alternated knocking on the door with calling his name. “Open this damn door! Now!” She was poised to hit the door again, this time with a closed fist, when it opened suddenly. “What do you think you’re doing?” Simone screamed at Rafe.