Secrets and Sins: Raphael: A Secrets and Sins novel (Entangled Ignite)

by Naima Simone

“I thought you gave the police a description of the man.” She frowned. “And I know arrests are public record, but are the police departments’ files open, too?”

  “I did, and they are if you know how to access them,” he said, voice bland.

  “Do you do this” —she waved toward the computer monitor— “often? First there was the not-so-legal search of the DMV records, and now you’re hacking the police department’s system.”

  He held up a finger. “You say hacking. I say cracking. And to answer your question, no. This is not a customary practice for me. It used to be, but that was before I started to use my gifts for good. Y’know how it is. With great power comes great responsibility?” His mouth kicked up at the corner, emphasizing the biteable curve of his bottom lip. She should know—she’d bitten it before. And licked it. She deliberately switched her attention from him back to the monitor.

  “So what has brought you out of retirement?” she asked, cursing the hoarseness roughening her voice.

  Rafe grunted. “Some things you don’t leave to other people to do. Not if they matter—and the risks don’t.” He swiveled in his chair, rolling it closer to the desk.

  She curled her fingers into her lap to prevent her from whirling him around and demanding what he’d meant by “Not if they matter.” Did she? Did she rate important enough to counterbalance the risks?

  “I gave the cops the info I had, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to sit on my hands and do nothing in the meantime. And besides,” he drawled. “The DMV search worked, didn’t it?”

  “Wait.” She straightened. “It did? When? What did you find out?”

  Rafe relayed how he and Chay had located and confronted Justin Durrin, as well as his connection to a dealer named Tag.

  “I know you said Tag doesn’t ring a bell, but what about Justin Durrin?”

  “No. I don’t do drugs. And neither does anyone I know.”

  “That you’re aware of,” he added.

  She twisted her mouth, made a sound of part disgust, part exasperation. “You’re so cynical. Don’t you ever get tired of it?”

  “Princess, what you consider cynicism I call realism.”

  “See?” she murmured. “Princess.” The nickname that foolishly caused her heart to flutter was an indictment on her upbringing and background to him. “There’s that skeptic streak again.”

  “Newsflash, Greer. ‘Princess’ is not an insult but who you are.” He faced her again, propping his elbows on his thighs. “It’s what you are. Regal. Poised. Intelligent. Beautiful as fuck. For a plebeian like me, unreachable…untouchable.” A smile 50 percent admiration, 50 percent sexy, and 100 percent wicked curled the corners of his mouth. His hooded gaze lingered on her lips, dropped to her breasts before returning to her eyes, leaving her speechless and aching. “Which is why I always want to…touch. I have a confession, princess,” he murmured, leaning forward, and damn if she didn’t shift toward him, too, desperate to catch whatever inappropriate, erotic, naughty statement he was sure to utter. “From the moment I saw you sitting all prim and proper in Chay’s office, all I’ve wanted to do is dirty you up. Put my hard, rough hands on your soft skin, mark you, see you sweaty and messy and know I did that to you. I made you come undone—shit, just come. And while everyone else sees the composed, gorgeous lady, only I know what lies beneath. Only I know how wild you get. How loud you get. How wet you get.” His smile had disappeared, and a hard need replaced the teasing sensuality, tautening his features, darkening his eyes. “Our secret. So ‘princess’ isn’t a slight. It’s a reminder. Of what I want, what I had, and no matter how fucking stupid it is, what I crave more of.”

  Her lungs ceased inflating, but her mind worked just fine. Memories of his fingers inside her, his cock pounding into her, his lips tugging on her nipples, assailed her like a tidal wave of erotic images. The erect tips throbbed as if he sucked on her now, pulsing in time with the tiny quivers and spasms in her empty sex. She needed all he’d described in raw, vivid detail. More. She hungered for more. She longed to finally discover the pleasure of being covered by him from head to toe. Yearned to find out if her recollection of that sex-soaked night in the backseat of his truck lived up to reality.

  “Now,” he fell against the chair, palming the arms, all signs of desire wiped clean from his expression and stare. If it weren’t for the slight rasp in his voice, she might’ve questioned whether she’d imagined the whole “dirty you up” scenario. “That mother of yours? There’s a real piece of work. A real student of the you’re-not-our-kind-dear school of snobbery.”

  “You overheard the phone call today,” she stated, not asked. Humiliation crawled through her, leaving a shamed sludge over her pride.

  “Yeah, I did. But I’m talking firsthand knowledge.” He cocked his head to the side, studied her quietly. “I’ve met her in person.”

  “What? When?” No way she’d heard him correctly.

  “Once I finished giving my statement, I went looking for you.” He rubbed a knuckle over the scar on his eyebrow. “I figure you wouldn’t be at your apartment since it was a crime scene, so I found your parents’ address and went there. Your mother met me at the door. Apparently, she was aware of who I was—”

  “I’d told them about being with you hoping they’d believe me about not killing Gavin.”

  He snorted, and the small, derisive sound conveyed his opinion about her parents. “At that time, I’d known you for a matter of hours, and I laughed in the detectives’ faces when they told me about suspecting you of murder. It’s beyond ridiculous. Your parents raised you. How they didn’t believe you is a freakin’ mystery. Anyway…” he continued as if he hadn’t just blown her to hell and back with his offhand display of unconditional trust and support. Her parents’ disbelief had sliced so deep she still bled from it. But he’d laughed in the detectives’ faces? She choked on a chuckle. Yeah, she could imagine that. Easily. “She told me you didn’t live there any longer, then ordered me away from the house and you. Said if I dared speak to the press, she and your father would slap a libel suit on me.”

  “I can’t believe it,” Greer whispered, dumbfounded. Not at her mother’s actions. The threat hadn’t been for Greer’s concern, but her father’s and hers. Couldn’t have his business associates or her snobby circle tittering about their daughter’s one-night stand. Not that it mattered. In the end, a “police source” had leaked her alibi to the media, and overnight, she’d transformed from a jealous murderer to a slutty jealous murderer.

  His actions stunned her, left her reeling.

  He’d cared.

  Raphael shrugged. “I found your cell phone number on the consultation forms you and Gavin had completed. I tried calling, but you never answered.”

  “I’d probably stopped using that number by then.” Once the harassing calls from the press and “friends” sniffing out gossip started, she’d started using the new number. That had been a temporary fix. Before long, reporters had ferreted out the information and hounded her again. That’s when she’d switched to a throwaway phone. Only in the past three or four weeks had they tapered off—once the police had downgraded her from primary suspect to person of interest due to lack of evidence.

  “I figured you just didn’t want to talk to me. So I did what any sane, rational man would do after a woman makes it pretty clear she wants nothing to do with him… I parked outside your brother’s office and followed him home. Since according to your mother you weren’t at their home, his place was the next obvious choice. A couple of hours of waiting later, I saw you leave with Ethan and another man. You seemed okay and in good hands, so I left.”

  “Probably Jason, Ethan’s partner,” she murmured, fascinated by his story. She shook her head, surprise continuing to careen through her at breakneck speed. “Mother never said a word.”

  He’d tried to contact her. He hadn’t chalked her up to an irrelevant one-night stand or tried to distance himself from her and the horrible publicity. What would’ve ha
ppened if she’d answered the phone? Would they have started seeing each other? Would he have come to care about her? Would he have accepted her baby as his?

  She shook her head. What-ifs and “should’ve/could’ve/would’ves” were pointless and added unnecessary pain. She hadn’t received his call. He didn’t trust her or believe he fathered their child. And he might want her, but he wasn’t declaring vows of love. Not even close. When this was over—when this Tag person was caught—he would watch her pack her bags and walk away. Best she remember that and save the happily-ever-after dreams for the romance novels.

  “I’m not surprised.” He stood and crossed the room, halting in front of the large built-in refrigerator at the other end of the room. Moments later, he offered her a cold bottle of water.

  “Thank you.” She twisted the cap off and sipped. And waited. When the liquid didn’t upset her stomach, she downed another, healthier gulp.

  “So today was the first time you’ve talked to her in a while?” he asked, dropping down on the edge of the club chair. His large frame consumed half of the long cushion.

  “Yes. Months.” She curled her feet closer to her body because, frankly, she didn’t trust herself not to straighten her legs and place them in his lap as if they were a real couple. “She didn’t have my cell number until Ethan gave it to her Sunday night when I was in the hospital. And she apparently didn’t waste any time calling Karen Wells and telling her about the baby.” Which, of course, had led to the ugly confrontation at the restaurant earlier in the day. Her stomach clenched, and heat flashed up her neck and into her face at the memory of it. “She assumed Gavin was the father and thought Karen would be thrilled. God, she couldn’t have been further from the truth.”

  “Yeah, Ethan told me about what happened. I’m sorry you had to sit through that.” He scowled. “He should’ve shut her down.”

  “He tried,” she said quickly, defending her brother. “But I told him to let it go. Going back and forth with her wouldn’t have solved anything besides creating more of a scene.”

  “She counted on your manners, Greer. Both yours and Ethan’s. Fortunately”—he grinned, and unlike his earlier smile, this one was mean, predatory,—“I don’t have the same constraints. Did you know Aubrey Chandler was pregnant?”

  “No.”

  He silently studied her, and she forced herself to face his scrutiny when she yearned to duck and avoid the scalpel-sharp stare. “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “That you were hurt.” She closed her eyes, tried to block out the all-knowing voice…the tenderness in it. “That even now Gavin has wounded you.”

  She drew in a shaky breath, lifted her lashes. The flippant denial trembled on the tip of her tongue. But “God, he did,” came out.

  “Baby,” he rumbled.

  “It’s stupid, right?” She shook her head. “I didn’t even love him the way a woman should when she’s about to pledge the rest of her life and body to a man. The sex—before our engagement—was more dutiful than mind-blowing. And I broke off the engagement, yet… I’m so damn hurt.”

  “It’s not stupid, Greer,” he said in the gentlest voice he’d ever used with her. As if he were afraid she would shatter like finespun glass. “You were betrayed by someone you trusted.”

  “I was sitting there as Karen unloaded all over me about Aubrey being the love of Gavin’s life, of how he’d found happiness in his last days. And all I wanted to do was yell at her to shut up. Just shut the. Hell. Up. She didn’t know him. Even if he did love Aubrey…”

  She stared down at her clenched fists.

  “I’d caught him with her. Walked in on them together in his bed. He humiliated me. We hadn’t even walked down the aisle yet, and he was already cheating, lying. I suddenly had a clear picture of what my life would look like with him. Dinners for one at a lonely dining table. Social events and parties where we pretended to be the happy couple, while on either side of the room women he’d slept with cast smug looks in my direction. Long business trips. Explanations to our future children about why Daddy wasn’t home at night or missed baseball games or ballet recitals. As I stood in Gavin’s living room waiting for him to drag on his robe and meet me there, I stared into the mirror on the wall and saw my mother looking back at me. In that moment, I stood at a crossroads, and I had to make a choice. Forgive and pretend to forget about Gavin’s indiscretion and go forward with the wedding, condemning myself to become the woman I vowed I would be nothing like. Or break off the engagement, face the condemnation of my family and friends, but be able to look at myself, to love myself. So I chose me.”

  She scrubbed her palms over her face, spilled her secret fear to Raphael, and watched as John McClane set a trail of gasoline leading to a fleeing plane on fire on the television screen.

  “Still, Gavin and I had been friends for years. He knew me, accepted me. Yes, the cheating and deception hurt, but we could’ve walked away from each other. And maybe sometime in the future, we might have even been able to be friends again. But he went behind my back to my father and told him he and I could work it out. That I had overreacted, and he still loved me. I had agreed to marry Gavin believing at least he wanted me for myself, not my father’s portfolio or connections. In the end, he proved just how wrong and naive I was.”

  Gentle fingers touched her chin, turned her face until she stared into navy eyes so dark they almost appeared black. He’d moved so quietly she hadn’t noticed, but now his hip braced her outer thigh and his thumb brushed over her cheekbone.

  “Go ahead,” he urged. “Finish it.”

  “For some inane reason, I thought Dad might actually have my back. For one moment of blinding stupidity, I hoped he would rip Gavin a new one for betraying his little girl, for bruising her heart. Instead he blamed me. I can still see the disgust in his eyes when I walked into the house. I was nothing more than a business transaction to him—to both of them.”

  Her father’s reaction had shredded her hope and relegated it back to the land of unicorns and fairies where it belonged. And days later when he’d ordered her out of his life and home permanently, he’d destroyed whatever remnants of familial connection might have still existed.

  “Greer, they were the disappointments, not you. When your father brought you into this world, he assumed the God-given responsibility to care for you, to protect you, to be your first knight in shining armor. Being a father…” He paused, inhaled an audible breath, and his hold on her face tightened the slightest bit. “Being a father,” he continued, his tone hoarse, “is more than bringing in money to the house or putting a roof over his family’s head. It’s being there to kiss scraped knees, to chase away monsters in the closet with a broom, to proudly post the honor roll awards on the refrigerator with magnets. To make his family feel safe. He is supposed to father, not dole out money like a bank account. Any ATM can do that.”

  He leaned forward, pressed his lips to her forehead, the bridge of her nose, and finally, her mouth. The kiss didn’t resemble the tangle of lips and tongues from the night before. This delicate press contained none of the greed and heat from the night before. This kiss was soft, comforting, affirming.

  “He failed, baby. Both him and your mother. He should’ve been the example of the man who would one day treasure and love you, treat you like the princess you are. And she should’ve exhibited what it looks like to demand respect, to love yourself, and to have higher esteem then your bra size and bank account. Instead, he left you wide open for a man just like him, and she didn’t protect you. And still somehow you managed to become a beautiful, self-sufficient, strong, intelligent woman who doesn’t just take people’s shit. That doesn’t make you unworthy or damaged. It makes you a survivor. And for the record?” He swept his thumb over her bottom lip, and a corner of his mouth curled. “Survivors are hot as hell.”

  The laughter caught her by surprise—especially since it burst free from her. And from the gleam in Raphael’s gaze, she suspected that had b
een his intent.

  “Thank you, Raphael.” He’d removed his hand from her so she reached for him. Hesitated. Her fingers hovered over his tattooed arm, and his eyes narrowed on the slightly trembling digits before switching to her face. Slowly, she touched him. The muscles under his inked skin flexed, then relaxed, and her heart thumped hard. He was so incredibly beautiful. Walking art. Breathing passion. Living strength. She traced the bulge of his biceps, unyielding even in repose.

  “Why do you call me ‘Raphael’?” he asked. “Why not Rafe?”

  “I figured only people closest to you were allowed to.” She followed the bold outline of an ornate Celtic symbol of a tree, keeping her attention focused on her fingers as if there would be a test later. “We’re not exactly friends.”

  “No,” he agreed. “I don’t usually fuck my friends.”

  Her gaze jerked up to meet his. The faint, lazy half smile remained in place, but his hooded stare burned with the same fire setting her skin ablaze where they touched—his hip against her thigh, his arm underneath her fingers. A hot hunger that couldn’t be satisfied by food simmered in her belly, pulsed in her sex. Everything tingled—her nipples, her palms, the dip at the base of her spine. Hell, even the soles of her bare feet.

  “But I’m willing to make an exception in your case.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Greer blinked, momentarily speechless.

  Did Rafe mean, no, they weren’t friends but he would permit her to call him by his shortened name? Or was he hinting, yes, they were friends, a friend he had sex with? She parted her lips to ask…but then he grasped her hand, interlaced their fingers. All questions, explanations—hell, thoughts—were scattered as he straddled the long cushion, and drew her legs over his thighs. Pressing their locked hands to the back of the chair above their heads, he nabbed her other hand and repeated the movement. The position left her open, vulnerable, her spine slightly arched with her breasts pushing against the thin cotton robe. The lapels draped over either side of her spread thighs, and the cool air of the basement teased her skin, another caress added to the sensory overload.