Taken by Storm

by Rochelle Alers

  Rafe didn’t register the frown distorting Simone’s delicate features because he was mesmerized with the high color in her cheeks and the cloud of damp, curly hair floating sensuously around her face to her shoulders. She looked and smelled good, good enough to eat.

  “What’s the matter?”

  Simone was too enraged to take in the stark white shirt, tailored navy blue slacks and a perfectly knotted dark blue and off-white checkered silk tie. When she’d reminded Rafe that they were going to a dinner party at her cousin’s house, it was obvious he’d opted not to wear jeans.

  “Turn the music down!” That said, she turned on her heels in her fluffy slippers and retraced her steps.

  “Keep the robe, but lose the slippers!” Rafe called out to her stiff back.

  “Turn it down,” Simone repeated without turning around. The volume decreased by the time she walked into her bedroom and closed the door. She hadn’t thought it was necessary, but it was apparent she had to reiterate and establish a new house rule: no dishes in the sink, greenhouse shoes are not to be worn inside the house and no loud music. She didn’t want to censor Rafe’s music choices, but there was no way she intended to put up with him playing his music so loud that the prints on the walls vibrated.

  The nerve of him talking about her slippers. At least she hadn’t come to his bedroom wearing nothing more than her birthday suit. An impish gleam sparkled in her eyes. How would he have reacted, she mused, if she’d knocked on his bedroom door completely naked. Simone was willing to bet his reaction time would’ve slowed considerably, to the point where he wouldn’t be so quick to draw a gun on her. Glancing at the clock on the fireplace mantel, she realized she had less than fifteen minutes to finish dressing. She’d told Rafe to be ready to leave at six-thirty.

  * * *

  Simone walked out of her bedroom at the same time Rafe stepped out into the hallway. They stood motionless, staring at each other.

  Simone’s vermilion-colored lips parted in a smile when she realized it was the first time she’d seen Rafe’s hair combed into a semblance of a style. He’d brushed the thick tawny strands off his forehead and ears, the curling ends brushing the collar of his shirt. It was a little too long to suit her tastes, but then she had to remind herself that he wasn’t her type, so how he wore his hair was his business.

  Rafe walked the length of the hallway, carrying a leather overnight bag, his gaze widening as he approached Simone. He forced himself not to stare at her bare legs in a pair of chocolate-brown, fabric-covered high-heel pumps. He hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath until he felt tightness in his chest.

  Simone Whitfield was breathtakingly beautiful in a silky stretch-knit lime-green tank dress with alternating narrow bands of brown and green at the hem ending at her knees. The clinging fabric accentuated every curve of her petite body, while the scooped neckline displayed her full breasts to their best advantage. She hadn’t pinned up her hair, and a cloud of gold-red curls floated over her bare shoulders and down her back.

  Rafe stared at Simone under lowered lids. “You look beautiful.”

  She angled her head, giving him a bright smile. “Thank you. You look nice, too.”

  Simone hadn’t lied to Rafe. The suit jacket fit his broad shoulders as if it’d been tailored expressly for his body. Even his leather slip-ons were made of the finest leather. “I’ll drive tonight,” she said softly.

  Rafe shook his head. “No. I’ll drive.”

  “I know how to get there.”

  “I have GPS,” he countered.

  Simone rested her hand over his sleeve. “My car has been parked in the garage for days. I—”

  “Okay, Simone. You can drive your car.” Rafe didn’t want to argue with her—not tonight. Now when all he wanted to do was enjoy their time together without being reminded that he was her bodyguard.

  She gave him a dazzling smile. “Thank you.” Tightening her hold on a small brown crocheted purse, she started toward the staircase.

  Rafe followed Simone down the stairs. The first time they’d left the house together, he’d turned off the lights, but Simone insisted the house remain lighted because she didn’t like coming into darkness. An hour before sunset, lamps in the many rooms would come on, activated by programmable timers. Bending down, he picked up the bag Simone had left by the front door, along with a large bouquet of pale pink roses, lilies and wild pink and purple heather wrapped in clear cellophane and tied with streamers of curled pink and purple ribbons.

  Instead of making one trip to the car, he’d have to make two because of the decorative shopping bag filled with bottles of red, white and a blush wine for the McMillans. He also had to transfer a case of champagne he’d purchased from the Sanborns from his vehicle to Simone’s. They would spend the night at Franklin Lakes, then return to White Plains Sunday evening.

  Simone left Rafe to lock up the house while she tapped in the code on the keypad affixed to the molding of the two-car garage. The door opened smoothly. She got into the sport utility vehicle and backed the Toyota Sequoia out of the garage. Pulling a lever, she unlocked the hatch so Rafe could load their luggage, flowers and wine.

  “Don’t forget to buckle up,” she teased Rafe as he got in beside her after he’d hung his jacket behind the front seats. The garage door lowered when she touched a button on the remote device attached to her visor. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him reach for the dashboard. “And don’t you dare touch my radio.”

  Shifting slightly on the leather seat, Rafe stared at Simone’s profile as she maneuvered out of the driveway, the hem of her dress inching up smooth, firm thighs. Suddenly he regretted giving in to her request to drive because instead of focusing on the road his gaze would be drawn again and again to her exposed skin.

  “Don’t you drive with music?” he asked.

  “Yes. But not what you were blasting back at the house.” Soft jazz flowed from speakers when she pressed a button on the steering wheel.

  “What’s wrong with hip-hop?”

  “There’s nothing wrong with it if I’m not bombarded with lyrics that put down women.”

  He ran his fingers through his hair and stared out the side window. “Hip-hop has a bad rep. Not all of it is misogynistic.”

  “That may be true, but somehow I had you figured for a country music fan.”

  He turned around to glare at Simone. “Because I’m from Kansas?”

  “Yup.”

  Rafe gave her a pointed look when she took her gaze off the road for several seconds. “I’m sorry to disappoint you. Gospel music was the only music I was allowed to listen to when growing up. My father was a fire-and-brimstone, Bible-thumping zealot who told me I was going to hell so many times that I’d decided why go to church or pray if I was already condemned to eternal damnation.”

  “What did your mother say?”

  “Her father was a preacher, so she was used to the incessant preaching. She goes to church three or four times a week, doesn’t wear makeup, swear, listen to secular music or imbibe the devil’s nectar.”

  Simone smiled when he’d mentioned the devil’s nectar. The last person she’d heard refer to wine or liquor as the devil’s nectar had been a devoutly religious great-aunt. “Why did your father say you were going to hell?”

  “I suppose it was because I used to challenge him. He said I was insolent and disobedient.”

  A slight smile parted Simone’s lips. “Were you insolent, Rafe?”

  “Were you, Simone?”

  Her mouth made a little popping sound when she pursed her lips. “Ah—I don’t think I was.”

  Leaning to his left, Rafe pressed his shoulder to hers. “Admit it.”

  “Admit what?”

  “Admit that you were a bad girl.”

  Simone wrinkled her nose, unaware of much Rafe had come to look for the gesture. “Never.”

  He dropped a kiss on her bare shoulder. “You don’t have to admit it because I know you were.”

&n
bsp; “Were you a bad boy?”

  Rafe pulled back and exhaled. “My father and I never agreed on anything, and the downside was that he punished me by doubling my chores. Instead of getting up at five to gather eggs and muck out the barn, he’d get me up at four to help him milk the cows.”

  “Did you grow up on a farm?”

  He nodded. “I grew up on land that’s been in my family for more than a hundred and fifty years. My great-great-grandfather started out growing wheat, and over the years whoever managed the farm added barley and hops when beer companies sprang up throughout in the Midwest. Now it’s corn and soybeans.”

  Simone signaled and then accelerated as she sped past a slower-moving car. “Does your dad still run the farm?”

  Rafe recalled the last time he’d gone to visit Gideon Madison. All he’d talked about was the farm. Who was living on his land? Had he sold it to strangers? Had someone plowed over the corn and soybeans? “No,” Rafe said after a marked pause. “The farm was sold to a distant cousin because we wanted to keep it in the family.”

  “Where do your folks live now?”

  “My folks are no longer together. My mom lives in San Diego with my sister and her family, while my dad still lives in Kansas.” Esther Madison had left her husband, yet refused to divorce him. She claimed divorce went against her beliefs.

  Simone noticed it was the first time Rafe referred to his father as “dad,” and she wondered if a rift still existed between father and son. She also wondered why his parents were now living in different states. She wanted to know more about the man living with her, but decided not to pry.

  She’d been on the receiving end of countless questions, had become an object of scrutiny the day she’d become Mrs. Anthony Kendrick, and the result was that she’d become a very private person. And she knew the spotlight would be on her again when she introduced Raphael Madison as her boyfriend.

  “Slow down, Simone, before we’re pulled over,” Rafe warned when he noticed the speedometer inching above eighty.

  “I ain’t afraid of no po-po,” she teased. “Not when my boyfriend is po-po.” Her foot eased off the gas pedal. “By the way, do have your shield with you?”

  “Yes. But—”

  “Then don’t sweat it, darling. Even if we’re stopped, they’re not going to give me a ticket.”

  He frowned. “I thought I warned you about calling me darling.”

  Simone sucked her teeth. “Lighten up, Rafe, or you’ll never convince anyone that we’re involved with each other. After all, we are living together.”

  “Living, yes, but not sleeping together, darling,” he drawled.

  “Don’t push it, farm boy,” Simone warned. “That’s where I draw the line. There’ll be no sex.”

  Rafe angled his head as if deep in thought. “Hmm—no sex,” he murmured softly. “It’s not going to be easy with my girlfriend looking like she does, but I guess I’m going have to go along with her decision not to give me any and continue with the cold showers.”

  “Are you really taking cold showers?”

  Winking, Rafe gave Simone a Kool-Aid grin. “You saw what I looked like when you surprised me in bed the other morning.”

  “I can’t believe you’re bringing that up again. You’re downright disgusting!”

  He sobered quickly. “You’re wrong, Simone. What I am is a normal man who thankfully can still get it up without the aid of pills or other mechanical devices. You’re thirty-three years old, you were married, and you have the face and body that most men fantasize about, so cut out the innocent-little-girl act. Not only is it tired, but it’s not becoming.”

  Simone’s temper flared as fury choked off the words poised on the tip of her tongue. “Who the hell do you think you are to talk to me like that?”

  “I’m someone who’s not afraid to tell you the truth,” Rafe countered, his own temper rising. “You’ve probably heard poor little Simone so often that you’re content to wallow in an ocean of self-pity. So what if your marriage failed. Join the millions who couldn’t make a go of what they thought was going to last forever.”

  “Why are you talking about my marriage?”

  “Because you’re the one who admitted that your personal life was in disarray when you were in college and you got into floral design to pull yourself out of the doldrums. Unless you’re prone to depression, which I suspect you’re not, then whatever crap you’ve gone through would have to be because of your ex.”

  The sounds of measured breathing, the slip-slap of tires on the roadway and the hauntingly beautiful sound of Chris Botti’s muted horn filled the SUV as Simone stared through the windshield. She wanted to tell Rafe that he was wrong, that she’d accepted that she’d made a mistake to marry Tony. The ensuing silence between them was deafening as she took the exit leading to the Palisades Interstate Parkway.

  “I don’t blame Tony because my marriage didn’t work out,” Simone admitted when she crossed the state line from New York into New Jersey.

  “Who do you blame, Simone?”

  Her eyelids fluttered wildly. “I…I blame myself for hoping and praying for a miracle that never manifested itself.” Tears filled her eyes, and she blinked them back before they fell.

  Rafe, hearing the catch in her voice, said, “Pull over, Simone!”

  “What?”

  He placed his left hand on the wheel. “I said pull over. I’ll drive.”

  She maneuvered over to the shoulder and they exchanged seats, he adjusting the driver’s seat to accommodate his longer legs. After securing his seat belt and repositioning the rearview mirror, he pulled out into traffic as Simone rested her head against the seat rest and closed her eyes.

  “I’m sorry, Simone.”

  She didn’t open her eyes. “What are you sorry about?”

  “I had no right to bring up your past.”

  “It’s all right. I need to talk about it with someone other than my family.”

  “You don’t have to tell me.”

  “But I want to tell you,” she insisted. “Perhaps talking about what happened with you is like going to a therapist. You’d be impartial.”

  Rafe wondered how impartial he could be when he realized he was beginning to have feelings for Simone Whitfield. He could say his feelings were purely physical in nature, but that wasn’t entirely true; what he was beginning to feel for Simone went beyond his wanting to sleep with her. The truth was he liked her—a lot. She was beautiful, bright, sexy and above all spirited. And it was her spunk and fire that he admired most.

  He’d grown up challenging his father because his mother wouldn’t or couldn’t. Rafe didn’t doubt that Gideon loved his wife, but his need to have everyone submit to his will was a source of ongoing contention between father and son.

  “Even if I wasn’t impartial, I still have no right to cast judgment on you.”

  Simone opened her eyes and stared at Rafe’s distinctive profile. “Have you ever wanted something so badly that you refuse to accept the truth? Well, that was the basis of my marriage to Anthony Kendrick,” she continued without waiting for his reply. “I met Tony when I was sixteen and he was in his first year of college. He’d asked to take me out, but Father said he was too old for me and that I had to wait until I graduated high school. However, Daddy did let him take me to my senior prom.”

  “Had you dated other boys while you were in high school?”

  She nodded. “I went out with a couple, but it was nothing serious. I was saving myself for Tony. The day I moved into my dorm room at Hampton, he called and left a message that he was driving from D.C. to see me the following weekend. We spent most of our free time together and when he asked me to marry him, I said yes. He was the first and only man I’ve ever slept with,” Simone admitted when Rafe gave her a sidelong glance.

  Rafe groaned inaudibly. He’d accused Simone of being a prude when in reality she wasn’t that sexually experienced if she’d been with only one man. “How long were you engaged?”


  “Not long. I wanted to wait until after I’d graduated college, but Tony said he’d waited long enough for me, so we returned to New York and married. I didn’t want to transfer from Hampton to Howard, where Tony was a business major, so we continued to commute on the weekends to be together. The first indication that my marriage was in trouble was when Tony called to say he couldn’t see me every weekend because his GPA was slipping, and proposed we get together the first weekend of the month. We alternated calling each other every night, but when I couldn’t get in touch with Tony for a week I borrowed my roommate’s car and drove to D.C.”

  “Did you find him?”

  “Not really.”

  Rafe gave Simone an incredulous look. How naive had she been? It was apparent her husband was doing more than trying to pull up his GPA. “What do you mean ‘not really’?”

  “His roommate told me that Tony had hooked up with several other students who were in a study group, and he hadn’t seen him in days. When I told him to give Tony a message that his wife had come looking for him, I thought he was going have a stroke. It was apparent that my loving husband had neglected to tell anyone at Howard that he was married.”

  “What excuse did he give when he finally surfaced?”

  “That he was studying and that he’d lost track of not only the time, but the days.”

  “Excuse me for saying it, but that’s a lot of bullshit, Simone.”

  “I know that now. I’d heard that he’d been seeing a girl, but he swore on his father’s grave that he hadn’t been sleeping with her.”

  “So you forgave him.”

  Biting down on her lower lip, Simone nodded. “Like a fool, I did. I returned to Mount Vernon for the summer, but Tony stayed at school to take some graduate courses. When I returned to Hampton, I changed my major and continued with what’d become a slowly eroding marriage. I graduated the same year Tony got his MBA. We came back home, rented an apartment and he applied for a position with an auditing firm to prepare for the CPA exam. He put in the hours, took the test, passing it on his first attempt.

  “Meanwhile I went to work for Whitfield Caterers, while dabbling in designing wedding flowers. I also began saving to buy a house. Those plans were dashed when Tony came home one night and announced that he’d quit his job, and that we didn’t have to worry because his mother was going to subsidize him until he found another position.”