by Naima Simone
Desperate, almost feverish hope and a desire that crushed her heart gleamed in his gaze. There it was. He’d laid his feelings out there, no longer hiding behind the bonds of their friendship. God, I don’t want to hurt you. He was her friend—her best friend. He’d stuck beside her when no one else ha—
Hold on. He waited…
“What do you mean you waited while I opened my eyes about Gavin’s cheating?” she rasped, slowly sliding her hands free of his grasp. “You knew?”
He ducked his head, too late to hide the guilt that flashed across his face.
“Greer,” he whispered.
“Answer me,” she demanded, rising to her feet. “You knew about Gavin and Aubrey?”
Silence swallowed the room, and her throat tightened as if the key to unlocking her airways would be his denial. His denial of betraying her with his silence. He’d been the one person she could always count on.
“Noah?” she begged. Please don’t take one of the only people I can trust. Don’t steal that away from me.
“Yes,” he confessed. “I knew.” Rising, he held his hands out, palms up in entreaty.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Hurt, confusion, anger—it coalesced into a whirling, fiery ball sitting inside her, gathering steam and power with each second.
“I didn’t want to hurt you,” he said, reaching for her. But she retreated, not wanting his comfort. Not now. When the edge of the couch hit the backs of her knees, she edged to the right, placing much-needed space between them.
“Greer, please don’t do this.”
“You didn’t want to hurt me,” she repeated, ignoring his plea. She hadn’t done any of this. He had. “How long?”
At least he didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “From the moment he agreed to your suggestion of no sex before the wedding, I became suspicious. So I started following him. Greer,” he shook his head, “Aubrey wasn’t the first woman. Just the most recent in a long line. I couldn’t let you marry him. I had to make you see.”
“You should’ve warned me, Noah,” she insisted. “Instead you let me walk in on…” She halted, thrust her fingers in her hair. “You let me…” Sucking in a hard breath, she dropped her arms, stared at him in dawning horror. “You told me Gavin called. Wanted me to come by his house for dinner that night. But he hadn’t expected me. You lied.” She backpedaled another step. “You set me up.”
“Greer,” he whispered. “Listen to me, please. You had to see for yourself. See the kind of man he was. He didn’t love you. Not like me. I would never hurt you like that. Never,” he swore, moving forward. But she slammed up a hand, and he stopped, pain thinning his lips, stealing the color from his face.
“You lied to me by omission, Noah. Every day you remained quiet was another day you chose to lie. And protect me?” She emitted a brittle crack of laughter. “You left me open to be hurt. What about diseases? Since Aubrey’s pregnant, he may not have been being careful. Protecting me would have been forewarning and arming me with the truth. Not sending me over there that night to be humiliated.”
He closed the distance separating them, grasped her arms below the elbows. She recoiled, but his grip tightened.
“Greer, please wait—”
“What the fuck is going on?”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Raphael and anger weren’t strangers.
Sometimes he believed he’d been born angry. Hell, with a raging alcoholic and criminal for a father, a friend who’d been victimized by a pedophile, and relationship issues that belonged on an episode of Maury Povich? Yeah, he and fury? First-name basis.
Yet the rage that consumed him when he entered his den to catch Noah with his hands on Greer, her beautiful features twisted in pain, eclipsed those other instances. This fury burned so hot, it encased him in ice. An ominous, deadly ice.
“Raphael.” Her relief reached out to him like clutching fingers, grasping on to him in a desperate hold. His fury ratcheted up another notch. That she was terrified or hurting in his house—his house, where she should feel safe and secure.
He moved more fully into the room, his narrowed glare focused on Noah, whose hands still encircled her arms.
“I think she wants you to let her go, Noah,” he growled, stopping beside Greer. He insinuated himself between the two, forcing the other man to free her.
“I’m sorry.” Noah scrubbed a hand over his nape, his mouth. He blinked, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Greer, I’m sorry.”
Rafe didn’t risk shooting a glance over his shoulder or ask what the hell he was apologizing for. He balanced on a sharp-ass edge, and Noah Granger windmilled one breath away from having Rafe’s fingers around his neck.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Rafe snapped. “I don’t remember inviting you.”
Noah’s mouth twisted into an ugly sneer. “Greer is my friend,” he fired back. “Long before she became your baby’s mama, ” he mocked, “she was mine. I have a right to see her.”
The derisive “baby’s mama” or the proprietary “she was mine”—it was a toss-up which set Rafe off. He ate up the space between them in one long stride. His chest bumped the other man’s. Hard.
“Raphael.”
But Greer’s soft whisper didn’t prevent him from lowering his face into Noah’s. Didn’t keep him from baring his teeth in a feral grin. Didn’t smother the burning need to pound the arrogant, needy son of a bitch into the ground.
“Get. The. Fuck. Out.” His smiled broadened. “Now please, make me a very happy man and don’t listen.”
“Rafe.” The low rumble didn’t belong to Greer. Neither did the hand clamping down on his shoulder. “Ease up, man,” Gabe warned softly. “Take care of Greer, and I’ll show him out.”
“Greer,” Noah whispered again, craning his neck to peer around Rafe. “Please don’t do this.”
“Five seconds, Gabe.” Fury vibrated in him, and his vision went crimson. His fists tightened, ached with the longing to put a hurting on the man.
“Let’s go.” Gabe grabbed Noah’s upper arm and led him from the room. Rafe didn’t move—couldn’t—until they were gone. Only then did he drop his head and breathe past the red-tipped claws gradually releasing their grip on his mind and heart. Ten. Twenty. Forty. Only when he reached sixty did he lift his chin and no longer view the world through freakin’ thermal heat patterns.
Son of a bitch. If he hadn’t been shot at…if he hadn’t been dragged to the police station to give a statement…if he hadn’t stopped by the office to comb glass out of his hair and shower, he would’ve been here. And no way in hell would Noah have made his way into the house. He wouldn’t have had the chance to hurt her, put his hands on her.
“What the hell, Greer?” he bit out, whirling around. The anger he’d just fought so hard to snuff out rekindled at the sight of her. Arms wrapped around herself. Stooped shoulders. Blank eyes and unsmiling, soft mouth. What the fuck had he walked in on? And what had that douche Noah said to her—pleaded for forgiveness for?
He provided protection to companies and people for a living. Whether technological or physical, he dedicated his life to security, to ensuring that others felt safe, that their businesses or homes were their refuges. He’d lived most of his childhood without that haven. No one should have to suffer such insecurity or fear.
And when Greer came to him, he’d offered her the same sanctuary. Promised her she would be safe here. Nothing would hurt her here. And he’d failed. In his own home.
It ate at him—her vulnerability in a place she should’ve been protected ate at him like the most vicious acid. “Damn it, Greer, I told you not to let anyone in the house except Gabe. What part of ‘except Gabe’ didn’t you get?” She didn’t respond. Not that he gave her a chance. “Hell, I’m trying to keep potential suspects away, and you usher them in right through the front door. And what the hell was Gabe thinking? Just so you know, that ‘baby’s mama’ crack almost had Noah’s ass through the window. I swear to Christ if
he hurt you—”
The air whooshed out of his lungs as her weight hit him full on in the chest.
“What the—?”
Her arms wrapped around his back, squeezed away the little breath he had left. She trembled against him as her quiet sobs bathed his neck, and she whispered his name.
“Well. Fuck.”
He hugged her close.
…
“Why, if you’re comforting me, are we watching Die Hard: With a Vengeance?”
Rafe grabbed a fistful of popcorn with no salt and light butter—the sacrifices he made for the pregnant woman—before passing the large bowl to Greer. He chuckled, tearing his gaze away from the television as Bruce Willis was dropped off in Harlem wearing a billboard with a racial slur guaranteed to get him jacked.
“What are you talking about?” he asked as she burrowed into the giant pillows against his headboard. He tried to ignore the rightness of her in his bed, the sense that she belonged there with him, not down the hall alone in a guest room. Especially after she’d cried in his arms. Goddamn. She’d stunned and scared the bejesus out of him.
When he’d met Greer in the dive bar, she’d recently walked in on her fiancé in the act of cheating. She might’ve been knocking back drinks, but she’d never cried. Months later she’d come looking for Rafe because some asshole had left her with a busted-up car and a FUBAR’ed doll after weeks of harassing letters. She’d faced him across his desk without shedding a tear. Since then an assembled bomb had arrived, and she’d almost been kidnapped at gunpoint. No weeping in sight. Most women would’ve been inconsolable after one of those events, much less all of them. But not Greer. Shaken but not broken. Hurt but not defeated.
Until today.
Until she discovered the person she trusted above all others had deceived her. Betrayed her.
He got it—he did. Though his father had abandoned them long before his mother finally kicked him out of the house, and the woman he’d believed himself in love with had lied and devastated him, Rafe always had Gabe, Mal, and Chay. Even in his darkest, loneliest, angriest moments, he’d never been truly alone. Greer’s parents had abandoned her, and while her brother had supported her, he’d had his own life, his own partner. The one person who’d truly been hers and down for her no matter what had been Noah. She’d lost more than a friend this afternoon, she’d lost the assurance that not everyone lied or looked out for themselves in this life. She’d lost the “good.”
God, did he want to tell her how dead wrong she was. Gabe had spent one afternoon with her and had already fallen half in friend-love. Chay’s protective streak rivaled Rafe’s. All of them would go to the wall for her just because she was…her. Why she didn’t know that—couldn’t see it—dumbfounded him.
He placed the blame on her parents, the messed-up, self-absorbed “friends” she surrounded herself with, including that damn Gavin—fuck that “not supposed to speak ill of the dead” shit. If you were an asshole in life, you were an asshole. Death didn’t magically clean the slate. He even blamed Ethan and Noah. They’d dropped the ball when it came to forcing her to recognize her talent, her beauty, her brilliance, her kind and loving heart. Because she’d needed it most.
And they’d fucked up.
Even him.
He’d wounded her with his disbelief and mistrust.
“I thought you were kidding with that crack about the Die Hard movies,” he muttered even as he smoothed a palm over her hair, drawing the heavy chocolate strands out of her face and behind her shoulders. “How can you not love this one? Give me one good reason why you don’t. Just one.”
She shrugged. “It’s just not as smart as the first two. And Samuel L. Jackson yells through the whole movie. It’s annoying.”
If he were a lesser man, he might’ve gasped. Okay, maybe he did…a little. “Are you crazy, woman? What about the bait-and-switch at the end? Pure genius. And I’ll have you know Willis and Jackson are an awesome team. They play perfectly off each other.”
“Han Solo and Luke Skywalker are an awesome team. Frodo and Sam are an awesome team. Bruce and Samuel L.? Not so much.”
“You are so close to getting shoved off this bed,” he growled. “Solo and Skywalker. Okay, I give you that. But you can compare two dwarves with huge hairy feet, a ring, and a volcano to action heroes, bombs, and a raid on the freakin’ Federal Reserve for the state of New York? Really?”
She snatched a small pillow from behind his back and smacked him on the shoulder. “They were hobbits, not dwarves. And they saved all of Middle Earth, not just a crapload of gold.” The pillow thumped him in the chest.
Like there was a difference? Dwarves? Hobbits? They were both short and hairy. The woman was definitely crazy. “You have no soul. No patriotism. John McClane saves the U.S. from terrorism over and over again. Why don’t you just say you hate hot dogs, flags, and the Pats?” he scoffed. But when she blinked and stared at him, he groaned, smacking his forehead in horror. “Are you kidding me? You live in Boston, for God’s sake!”
She smiled, sheepish. She damn well should be sheepish. “Tom Brady’s hot.”
“Tom. Brady’s. Hot.” Wow. “I can’t believe I invited you inside my house.” He tossed her feathery weapon back at her. “As soon as that baby is born, we’re putting him in a silver-and-blue jersey. Stat.”
The smile bled from her face, and his words seemed to echo in the room, growing louder and louder with each second. Even a bomb blasting on the screen faded into the background.
“We?” she asked softly…wistfully. “Don’t worry. I won’t hold you to that statement. It was just said in the moment.”
He stared at her for several seconds, then swearing under his breath, swung his legs over the side of the bed. Though the opposite wall filled his vision, he didn’t see it, didn’t hear the television. The regret, the apology, the…awful resignation in her expression blinded him, the weary acceptance in her voice deafened him. Hold me to it, damn it, he longed to shout at her. Longed to grab her by the shoulders and demand she promise that his heart wouldn’t be broken again. Vow she wouldn’t walk, taking his child and his fucking soul with her.
Ached to drag her over his lap, press her close, and believe.
Instead he propped his elbows on his thighs and dropped his head forward.
“What do you want from me, Greer?” he asked, the question so loaded it should have had a safety.
“The impossible?” she replied on the tail of a grim chuckle. “Your trust, your faith in me? Rafe, we’ve only known each other for a short length of time—really known each other. Yet you are the most honest, real person I’ve ever met. I think that’s what drew me to you. Why I did something so totally alien and had a one-night stand. You desired me, wanted to have sex with me. No lies, no lines. No agenda. You just put it out there. I wasn’t—I’m still not—used to that kind of honesty and courage from other people…just myself. After my father’s deceit, my mother’s willing blindness, and Ethan’s denial about who he was, I promised myself I wouldn’t lie to myself or others. It was the only control I had then. I’ve never lied to you, Rafe. Never. Not that night in the bar, not since seeing you again, not about Gavin. You accept there may be a possibility that you’re the father of my baby. But if you trusted me, believed in me, you’d know there isn’t a possibility. Just a certainty.”
Trust? Only a few people had earned his unconditional trust. He studied his hands as if they held the answers. As if text would suddenly appear on his palms, instructing him how to find the damn balls to leap in faith. He wanted to. Fuck, he wanted to! The need ripped at him, had him dangling on a rope, one hand stretched out, but the other still desperately clutching it, scared to fall…
“Seven years ago, I fell in love with a woman. We were from completely different worlds—she was wealthy, from a prestigious family, a socialite. Still we fell in love—or I fell in love. And she became pregnant.” He caught her soft gasp, but didn’t turn around. He had to force this out now.
“I was so happy. The woman I planned on spending the rest of my life with was having our baby. I enjoyed every minute of the pregnancy, loved seeing her body change, watching the baby grow. And when he was born…” He stopped, rubbed a knuckle over his eyebrow. So many years ago and yet the faint echoes of that immense love for the child he’d thought was his son continued to pulse within him. So did the pain and grief of what followed. He inhaled a deep breath, released it. “I…”
Slim thighs encased his. Soft breasts pressed against his back, and strong, slender arms wrapped around him, fingers linking over his abdomen. He stiffened; he hadn’t detected movement behind him, hadn’t heard her shift across the bed. But when her embrace tightened, as if telling him she refused to let go, the tension seeped from his body. Since he’d turned fifteen had anyone just held him? Had he allowed anyone to pull him close in comfort? Let himself be vulnerable enough to be held? No. The answer bounced against his skull, loud and immediate. Not even in sex. He’d convinced himself he didn’t want it, didn’t need it.
But as she laid her cheek against his shoulder, he ached for it.
“The baby wasn’t mine. The entire time she’d been seeing me, she’d also been with another man. A man she ended up engaged to. For ten months, I’d believed I was a father—could be the father I didn’t have—to a son. And after a paternity test, I had nothing except a pain I couldn’t outrun and believed I wouldn’t survive.”
“I’m so sorry, Raphael,” she murmured, her voice vibrating over his skin. “I’m sorry she lied and hurt you. I’m sorry I remind you of her and that time in your life.”
“No, baby.” He grasped her hand, pressed a kiss to the center of the palm. “You are nothing like her. Faced with everything you’ve endured these months, she would’ve crumbled. But not you. You’re stronger, fearless even when scared. I loved her, but I don’t think I can say I admired her. You, though? I want to be you when I grow up.”
She laughed, but it ended on a sigh that tore at his heart. Flipping the hand he held, she enclosed his in hers. And squeezed.