Grasping her hands, Rafe turned and faced Simone. This was a Simone he’d never seen before: sexy and teasing. “How would you seduce me?”
Pulling her hands from his loose grip, she rested her palms over his pectorals and undid the buttons on the front of his shirt, exposing his chest. Slowly, methodically, she placed feathery kisses to his breastbone before venturing lower to his flat belly.
Rafe sucked in his breath when she unsnapped his jeans and her fingers searched under the waistband of his underwear to find him hard from the desire she evoked just by them occupying the same space.
Simone closed her eyes, enjoying the feel of the heavy flesh throbbing in her hand. “If you want my goodies, then you better take them now because after today you’re going to be on lockdown for the next eight days.”
It took Rafe a full sixty seconds before he decoded her cryptic statement. He met her amused gaze with astonishment. “What happened to three or five days?”
“Not moi.”
His eyebrows lifted. “Are you sure? After this morning, I’d think you’d want to take a few days off.”
Releasing his sex, Simone began to button his shirt. “Well, if you have a headache, then I’ll understand.” If Faith admitted that she was horny as a mink, then Simone knew how she felt, because since she’d begun sleeping with Rafe her dormant sex drive had kicked into high gear. It was as if she couldn’t get enough, that she had to make up for eight years and that she was ready to overdose on Raphael Madison.
Gently pushing her hands away, Rafe relieved Simone of her tank top and bra, hard-pressed not to smile. “You really have some mouth on you, Simone Whitfield.”
“What’s the matter, darling? You don’t like it?”
His hands went to the waistband of her drawstring pants, untying and pushing them off her hips. “I like the mouth. It’s what comes out of it that I find a bit shocking at times.”
Simone opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue. “You told me that you like my tongue when I—”
Rafe lowered his head and caught the tip of her tongue between his teeth, pulling gently until she moaned softly. He released it, glaring at her under lowered lids. “That’s enough, baby.”
This was one time when he wanted to make love to Simone where they stood, but he didn’t want to risk getting her pregnant although that was exactly what he wanted to do—if only it would permit him to hold on to her.
Rafe had observed her with Kimika Sanborn, awed by the tenderness in her touch, the softness in her eyes when interacting with the toddler. It was obvious Simone was quite fond of the adorable little girl and vice versa. She’d admitted to wanting children, and so had he.
He’d asked himself from the very first time he’d slept with Simone if she was the one who’d make him question what exactly he wanted for himself and his future. He’d gotten his answer earlier that morning. Their lovemaking was different—tender, unhurried and uninhibited. Her response had stripped him bare where he’d almost blurted out to Simone that he loved her.
He’d believed himself in love with Dorene, yet never told her. They’d lived together, shared a bed, and because he never told the woman that he loved her, she’d slept with another man who wasn’t afraid to verbalize his feelings. He’d loved and lost once, but swore it would not happen again.
His heated gaze moved from Simone’s face to her bare breasts and came to rest on the candy-striped panties exposing more than they concealed. Going to his knees, his teeth closed over the silk ties at her hips, pulling them free. Triangles of red-and-white silk settled atop the pants around her ankles.
Rafe stood up, and at the same time he lifted Simone off her feet, she cradling his face between her palms. “Where are you taking me?” she asked when he headed out of the mudroom.
“Upstairs.”
“Ah, sookie, sookie,” she crooned. “I got something to take care of my darling’s head.”
“Now, which head are you talking about, baby?” Simone averted her gaze. “What’s the matter, darling? Cat got your tongue?” Rafe teased.
Nothing was said when he finished undressing her, then himself. Their gazes were locked in a battle of wills when he paused to slip on protection until Simone held out her arms, welcoming him into her embrace and inside her body; their silent communication ended amid moans, groans and shared sighs of fulfillment.
CHAPTER 16
Rafe leaned against the door frame leading into the dining room, watching Simone adjust a crystal water goblet and matching wineglass on the damask-covered table. She’d decided to break with decades of tradition to cancel her Monday-night Whitfield women get-together to host a Friday-night dinner party. Tessa, Micah, Faith and Ethan confirmed their attendance, with her sister and future brother-in-law electing to spend the weekend in Westchester County because Tessa was scheduled to oversee a wedding reception in Croton-on-Hudson.
The week before, Lucinda Whitfield called Simone to tell that her only son, daughter-in-law and grandsons would arrive in New York in time for the annual Whitfield Memorial Day cookout.
Simone was forthcoming when she disclosed to Rafe that Vernon and Yolanda Whitfield, who’d resigned their teaching positions, were expected to return to New York in time to join the rest of the family for what was regarded as an unofficial family reunion.
When Malcolm Whitfield told his son that a developer offered to purchase the land where Whitfield Caterers had conducted business for a quarter of a century, he and his brother decided to accept the offer because business had been steadily declining as a number of hotels went up along the interstate. After conferring with his wife, Vernon and Yolanda decided to return to New York to help the Whitfield brothers with their new business venture: a bi-level bowling alley with a game room for children and a jazz club for adults.
Although Simone expressed that she had mixed feelings about the demise of Whitfield Caterers, she knew her father and uncle were grateful for more than two decades of success that had afforded them the opportunity to purchase homes, educate their children and live quite comfortably into old age. However, she looked forward to interacting with her brother and his family more than summer vacations and every other Christmas.
“It looks perfect.”
Simone’s head came up at the sound of the familiar voice with its distinctive Midwest twang. There were times when she thought Rafe sounded like a Southerner. She gave him a tender smile. “Thank you. I still haven’t decided what flowers I want to use as a centerpiece.”
“What about tulips?”
Her eyebrows lifted. “What color tulips?”
Walking into the dining room, Rafe approached Simone, his penetrating gaze leisurely taking in the sun-browned face glowing with good health. They’d spent the past two days outdoors, taking their meals in the gazebo and relaxing on loungers on the patio. She’d wanted to fill the hot tub, but he’d nixed the idea. Sitting in the warm water, wearing next to nothing was too risky in case he had to react quickly.
“I like the yellow ones with the crinkly orange edges.”
Simone nodded. “Parrot tulips.” She ran her fingertips down his stubbly cheek. “Good choice. I have some orange-and lemon-scented candles that will complement the tulips.” She’d gotten up earlier than usual to set the table for the evening’s dinner before going to jog. “I’m ready.”
They left the dining room, stopping in the entryway to slip on sunglasses. Simone felt a rush of excitement she hadn’t had in a long time. She’d made an appointment at a local salon to have her hair cut and styled, eyebrows waxed and a manicure and pedicure. Cutting her hair symbolized a new beginning.
When she told Rafe that she wanted to host a dinner party in lieu of the Monday-night gathering, he’d offered to help with the cooking. It’d taken hours before they finally decided on a menu with dinner for six: asparagus with beurre blanc, salmon scallops with sorrel sauce, julienne carrots and string beans, risotto, crème caramel and Kir Royales. Rafe reassured her that although the dish
es bore fancy names they were easy to prepare.
* * *
Shortening his stride, Rafe fell into step with Simone. “What time do you expect to be finished with your hair?” He’d tried talking her into changing her appointment because they had to cook later that afternoon, but she told him that she’d made the appointment weeks before and didn’t know when her favorite stylist would be able to fit her in again.
“I should be finished by noon. Remember, I’ve already called in my food order, so we just have to pick it up.” She’d ordered the salmon from a fish market, the vegetables from a gourmet grocer and all that remained was to pick up several bottles of champagne and a bottle of crème de cassis—a black currant liqueur. “Why don’t you get your hair cut while you’re waiting for me?”
“Is there something wrong with my hair?”
“Yes. It’s too long. Either you get it cut now or four weeks from now. There’s no way you’re coming to my sister’s wedding looking like a throwback to the Seventies.”
“For your edification, Miss Whitfield, men had beards and long hair in the Seventies.”
“Whatever,” she drawled. “Knowing Tessa as I do, she’ll have a BF if you show up with your hair hanging around your face.”
“What’s a BF?”
“Bitch fit!”
Rafe winced. “If that’s the case, then I’ll cut my hair.”
“Oh? You’ll cut it for Tessa, but not for me?”
“If you’d asked me to cut it for you, I would’ve.”
“But I did,” she said, protesting.
“No, you didn’t, baby. Just think about what you said.”
Simone’s steps faltered, as they usually did each time she came to the spot where the man had sprung from the trees to plunge a knife into her neighbor’s chest. She thought going back to the crime scene would help her face her fears, but it wasn’t working. Rafe had assured her that she would always feel uncomfortable, but at least she hadn’t let her fear paralyze her so that she wouldn’t be able live a normal life.
Judge Fischer was still in the hospital, with marshals guarding his room around the clock. He was making progress, albeit slowly, and doctors predicted he would be able to return to his home at the end of the first week of June.
Simone found it hard to fathom that she’d known Rafe only three weeks when it seemed as if it’d been so much longer. They slept together every night. There were nights when they got little or no sleep because the passion between them never seemed to wane, but then there were nights when they lay together without exchanging a word. These were the times she treasured most. It was uncanny that they were now able to communicate without speaking.
Without warning, she found her wrist caught in a viselike grip when Rafe jerked her back against his body. Within seconds the gun in the holster around his ankle was in his hand.
“Coyote,” he whispered hoarsely.
At first glance, Simone thought it was a dog. “It’s so small,” she whispered.
“It’s a pup, which means his mother is somewhere around.”
“Don’t shoot it, Rafe,” she pleaded.
“I’m not going to shoot it, Simone, unless it comes at us. A lot of wild animals are carrying rabies, so their behavior can be somewhat unpredictable.”
“I want to go back home now.”
Rafe hadn’t taken his gaze off the coyote pup who appeared dazed. “We will as soon as it moves.”
“Make it move, Rafe.”
He nodded when he heard the panic rising in Simone’s voice. Just as he made a motion toward the animal, it ran off into the woods. Bending slightly, he returned the automatic to his ankle. “Okay, let’s go back.”
“You must really think I’m a coward—”
“Don’t say it, Simone. There’s not a cowardly bone in your body. I wouldn’t mind having you watch my back.”
“The only weapon I’d have is a frying pan.”
“You did all right with your Mace.”
“It was pepper spray. It’s illegal for me to carry Mace.”
As they walked back to the house following their preempted jog, Rafe suggested eating breakfast at a diner. Simone was quick to agree. She liked going out with Rafe because it made her feel more like a girlfriend and less like a witness.
* * *
The doorbell chimed and Simone and Rafe shared a glance. Their first guests had arrived.
Rafe wiped his hands on a towel. “I’ll get the door.”
Simone shot him a knowing look. She’d stopped going to the door whenever the bell rang and rarely answered the telephone without Rafe standing close enough to overhear her conversations. The only time she was afforded a modicum of privacy was in the bathroom.
Rafe went to the door and peered through the security eye. He opened the door, successfully concealing a smile when Tessa’s jaw dropped. Simone made me cut it, he mused. He knew Tessa was staring at his close-cropped hair he’d permitted to grow much too long. If he’d been assigned to courthouse security or transporting prisoners he would’ve gotten a memorandum about his appearance.
But on the other hand, he planned to get a haircut once he was notified of a date for the trial. What he didn’t want to do was think of the time when he’d have to escort Simone into the courtroom for the first time. Not only would it signal the beginning of the end of Ian Benton’s reign of terror against the justice system, but it would also signal the beginning of the end of his relationship with a woman he’d come to love beyond description.
“Come in,” he said smiling. Bending his head, he kissed Tessa’s cheek and then pumped Micah’s hand.
Micah handed Rafe a shopping bag. “There’s wine in there for Simone and a bottle of Jack for you.” The two men shared a knowing smile.
Tessa glanced around the entryway. Colorful flowers in shades of yellow and orange complemented and repeated the colors in lighted scented candles under chimneys. Her sister’s gift for the aesthetics was extraordinary. Whether it was choosing flowers for a bouquet, setting a table for formal dining or shopping for antiques, Simone was without peer.
“Everything looks so pretty.”
“Your sister is incredible,” Rafe remarked as he led the way through the living room, down a hallway and into the kitchen.
Incredible in which way? Tessa mused, reaching for her fiancé’s hand. Rafe was good for her older sister. He’d changed her into the young woman she’d remembered before Simone had married Anthony Kendrick. And after she married him, it was as if she’d forgotten how to laugh or even smile. There were times when Simone was so moody Tessa couldn’t bear to be around her. Most times she ignored Simone, but Simone and Faith went at each other like a cat and dog. Whenever Simone got into a funk, the Whitfields kept their distance until her dark mood passed.
Tessa entered the kitchen, stopping abruptly. Her eyes widened when she saw Simone’s hair. “You did it! You finally cut your hair.”
Simone glanced up from stirring a saucepan with finely minced shallots in white wine vinegar. With the addition of unsalted butter it would become the beurre blanc that she planned to serve with steamed asparagus.
“It is about time, don’t you think?”
Tessa walked over to her sister, wrapping her arms around her neck. “You look fabulous!” And she did. The shiny corkscrew curls framing her face showed off her delicate features to their best advantage. The shorter hair made her appear older and more sophisticated. Now, Simone Whitfield looked like the woman she was.
She smiled at Rafe. “I like your haircut, too.” The shortened strands, ranging in color from flaxen, palomino-gold to jonquil lay against his scalp in perfect precision. Rafe’s gaze went to Simone. “Did my sister make you cut your hair?”
“No,” Rafe lied much too quickly. “I decided it was time I began looking human. With the next full moon, I’d probably turn into the Wolf Man.”
Micah sniffed the air. “Something smells wonderful.” Leaning over, he kissed Simone’s forehead. “Nic
e hair.”
The doorbell chimed again, and Rafe went to answer it. He and Simone were cooking and hosting a dinner party together, something that he’d never done before. It reminded him of the time when his sister invited him to the tea parties she gave for her dolls.
Six years Rachel’s senior, he’d humored her, pretending to sip tea from the tiny cups and eat cake off the small plastic plates filled with gumdrops or cookie crumbs. Rachel promised that when she grew up she would invite him and his wife to her home for a party, not behind the barn, but in a real garden. Whenever he went to San Diego he sat in his sister’s garden, eating and drinking tea, but not with a wife.
* * *
Dinner had become a festive, relaxed affair for the three couples, eating and drinking while sharing stories about childhood antics, quirky people they’d encountered, national and world politics. When the topic segued to sports, Simone, Tessa and Faith rose from the table and retreated to the enclosed back porch.
Faith dropped to a cushioned chair, resting her bare feet on a footstool. “Now that Simi has a live-in chef, I think we should meet here every other Monday.”
“That’s not going to happen,” Simone said as she sat on the love seat next to her sister. “Remember, Rafe’s only going to be here until the sentencing phase.”
Faith closed her eyes. “Is there anything you can do to convince him to hang around after the trial?”
Simone shook her head. “No, Faith. I made him promise that when he leaves he’ll never come back.”
Faith opened her eyes. “Why would you have him promise that?”
“I don’t want a repeat of what I had with Tony.”
“Simi Whitfield, Rafe Madison is no Anthony Kendrick. You give a bum half your life and now when you find a real man, a very good man, you send him packing. You make me so mad that I—”
“Calm down, Faith,” Simone warned. “Remember you’re carrying a baby.”
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