by C. C. Gibbs
He scowled. “Speaking of pissed off, I don’t care to hear about that one kind, okay?”
Since she suddenly wanted to lick that pulse beating wildly at his throat, then move downward to taste his entire hard, drool-worthy body, she wasn’t above reversing course. “My fault. Let’s start over. How about we have our own version of wake-up sex?”
He blinked, got his temper under control stat, and came to his feet. “I can do that.” He reached for the zipper on his shorts. “You start, I’ll follow, that way we’re both singin’ the same song.” But he’d no more than half unzipped when his phone rang. “Ordinarily, I’d ignore it”—he gave Nicole a quick smile as he pulled his phone from his pocket—“but there’s so much shit going down this morning—Oh hell, I gotta take this.” He dragged his zipper back up in some Freudian act of diffidence, hit the Answer bar, and said, “Hi, Mum. What’s going on?”
Reaching the bed, he held up his hand, fingers splayed to indicate five minutes, then sat down and listened, nodding once, twice, before speaking. “I went to the club last night so I turned my phone off for a while. It’s so loud there you can’t hear it anyway. Nothing to worry about. Everything’s good.” He grunted. “No, really. Tell Anton to chill. If I’m ever in trouble, believe me, he’ll be the first person I call. I know, I know. I should have answered last night. My phone’s on now, so call whenever. How’s Titus?” He knew that was always a topic of conversation during which he only had to listen. Which he did, his eyes on the clock and after a respectable interval, he made an excuse. “Henny’s at the door. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
He set his phone on the bedside table. “Sorry.” He smiled. “Where were we?”
“I was trying to decide what to lick first.”
He laughed. “Christ, there must a heaven after all.” His shorts were on the floor a second later and a second after that he was sprawled on his back beside her. “Do your best, your worst, whatever turns you on.” He flicked his glance downward, his erection rock hard. “We’re already on our way, so it’s not gonna take much.”
She grinned. “It must be karma. I’m superwired. So let me see this awesome artwork.” She’d just taken his dick in her hands and was lowering her head when her phone rang.
“What the fuck! Sorry.” He sucked in a breath and smiled as pleasantly as he could under the circumstances. “You probably have to take that.”
Nicole hesitated a millisecond more but that ring tone was her mother. She groaned. “It’s my mother this time.” She flexed her fingers around his dick in unconscious demur. “Do I have to be a grown-up?”
Squelching a throaty growl, Rafe steeled himself against the intensity of his desire, twisted his arm upward to reach for her phone next to his, and handed it over. “Be nice. You don’t want problems.” Then he shoved himself up into a seated position against the headboard.
“Hi, Mom. How’s everyone?” Nicole grimaced. “Sorry, Fiona and I were at a party last night. Some people her cousin knows. On a yacht, so the reception was probably no good or I would have picked up your call. I’ll try, yeah, I know, I’ll really try, okay? Word of God. What’s everyone been doing?” For the next ten minutes, she answered politely at first, later in monosyllables, hoping to shorten the conversation—to no avail, her mother didn’t notice. “Okay, great!” she finally said, way too cheerfully. “I mean, that’s too bad, but call me anytime. Of course I mean it. Anytime, Mom. Absolutely. Bye.” Pressing End, she dropped her head and groaned. “Now I have to answer when she calls. My dad just walked in so she had to go, but I heard him in the background yelling, Answer your mother’s calls!” Nicole frowned. “You don’t fuck with my dad. If I worry my mom, next thing I know, he’ll be hauling my ass back to San Francisco.”
Rafe sighed. “How old are we?”
“Not old enough, apparently,” Nicole grumbled.
He grinned. “I was an only child for years, so I have an excuse. What’s yours?”
“I have a helicopter mom. I love her to death, but…”
He held out his hand. “Phone.” Taking it from her, he set it down, then leaned forward, picked her up, and placed her on his lap. Dipping his head, he brushed her cheek with a kiss. “Should we try this again? We’ve dealt with the two people we have to talk to.” His smile warmed his eyes. “Clear sailing now, tiger.”
Wrapping her arms around his neck, she lifted her mouth to his. “Kiss me. I’m feeling deprived.”
“Then I’d better take care of that.”
His kiss was gentle at first, just the slightest pressure, but when she tugged on his hair, he got the message, forced her mouth open, slid his tongue over hers and offered her a hard, wet, toe-curling kiss that brought her to a groaning, hot and heavy breathless need with such ease she might have taken issue if she hadn’t been in such desperate straits. “Now, now, now,” she panted. “I’ll lick you later, okay?”
He understood that it wasn’t really a question. “Gotcha.” And he’d just eased her up enough to guide his erection into her slick, hot folds when his phone started screaming in a ringtone that would wake the dead. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he hissed, hesitating for a heartbeat before he lowered her to the bed. “I’m so fucking sorry,” he whispered. “But that’s big-time trouble.”
Rolling over, he grabbed the phone, shut down the insane din, and said, clipped and curt, “I’ll be right there.” Turning back to Nicole, he sighed. “I feel like we’re in the middle of some screwball comedy, only it’s not fucking funny. Look, why don’t I get you off before I go. Fingers. Mouth. Dick. You decide and I apologize up front, but I gotta make it quick. The bad guys are closing in, Ganz is cranked up to the max, and I have to be there in case one of those which-way-do-we-go decisions is needed.”
Hearing the crackling tension in his voice and taking note of the small worry line between his eyes, she put a smile on her face. “Go. That’s a thousand times more important. I’ll catch you later.”
He dipped his head. “Sure?”
“Yeah.” She nodded. “Go. Ganz is waiting; the bad guys need to be smashed.”
“Fucking A. You’re a total sweetheart. Thanks.” He rolled off the bed and reached for his shorts. “Take a look in the dressing room. I think I might have found a replacement for the dress I ripped all to hell last night. Let me know if I’m close.”
“How did you manage all this while I slept?” She swept her arm to take in the room full of roses.
He was already zipping up his shorts. “Everyone took off their shoes and they got a bonus if you didn’t wake up.” He grinned. “Money talks, babe. Now,” he said, his voice taking on a briskness she’d not heard before, “I’m on the main floor of the house, halfway down the hall, on the side facing the sea. Come see me when you feel like it. And Henny has breakfast in the kitchen. Just tell him what you want. Or call in an order if you’d rather eat here.” He held her gaze. “We good?”
“Super. I’ll see you later.”
“Don’t forget the stuff in the dressing room, tiger.” His smile was flat-out beautiful. “Hope you like it.”
Chapter 18
Nicole stood arrested in the doorway to the dressing room, staring at the huge pile of gorgeously wrapped packages. Each one was the equivalent of a colorful work of art; it almost seemed sinful to disturb their beauty. Although, bottom line, should she even look? It was outrageously too much. She wondered if this was a common practice for Rafe and if it was, she wasn’t sure she wished to be viewed as one of his legion of women who expected gifts for services rendered.
In the midst of her discordant thoughts, her phone rang and, running back into the bedroom, she picked it up, glanced at the caller ID, and couldn’t help but smile. So call her crazy, but damn he was easy to like.
“I’m about to walk into the computer room, so one last order, pussycat. Open the presents or I won’t fuck you again.”
“How did you know?”
“How did I not know? But look, I wanted to do it, and I
want you to like the stuff, so don’t give me any shit. And before you ask, I’ve never ordered gifts for a woman. Ever. So wear something new when you come over. I mean it: open the presents or else there will be dire consequences. Clear?”
“You’ve never ordered gifts?”
It was a question no woman other than Nicole would have asked; all the rest would have taken the presents without a qualm. “Not once in my life. Until now.” Then his voice turned teasing. “That means open them or lose out on my dick.”
“Fucking tyrant.”
“Yeah, but you like the fucking part. Can’t wait to see you in one of your new dresses. Ciao.”
Did he mean it about not fucking her? Yes. Probably.
Could she could talk him out of it? Uncertain.
Did she dare take a chance? She knew the answer to that one.
Funny how awesome, once-in-a-lifetime sex canceled out lesser priorities.
Wallowing in her what-the-fuck, thoroughly selfish happy place, Nicole decided to first smell the roses.
Slowly turning around in the bedroom, she surveyed the multitude of roses in every color of the spectrum before walking out into the hall. Whoa. She came to a sudden stop, glanced left and right, taking note of the considerable length of hallway massed with lush arrangements that stretched to the top of the stairway. Carefully navigating a narrow path leading to the stairs, she descended through a scented sea of roses spilling down to the ground floor, where she came to a wide-eyed stop. Drifts of colorful roses were spread out as far as the eye could see.
Her brain short-circuited, confounded by the incredible extravagance, trying to reconcile the gesture with Rafe’s expectations. With hers. It wasn’t as though she wasn’t reasonably acquainted with wealth. Or that she hadn’t been the object of male attention—even disconcerting levels of adulation on occasion. But this fulsome display was far beyond any previous tribute or interest accorded her. She wasn’t entirely sure how to respond.
Fiona was always willing to listen to her angst or whining any time of the day or night and it was morning, however early. She’d give her a call. They’d always shared the good, bad, and middling in their lives, talked every problem to death, dealt with the doubts and drama of life, laughed a lot, cried a little, and generally saw the world through the same lens. Moving through the billowing roses, she walked back upstairs to where she’d left her phone.
Fiona answered with a wild giggle. “I’m having so, so, so much fun, Nicole! Tell me you’re as happy as me! Tell me you’re even half as happy as me, a quarter even, and you’ll still be walking on air.”
Nicole smiled. “You’re seriously loaded. Where are you?”
“I-biz-ibit-fuck, where all the celebrities go in August.”
“Ibiza?”
“Yeah, yeah, that’s the place. Jack says hi. He’s soooo sweet. You can’t believe how sweet he is. He’s takin’ me shoppin’ tomorrow, well today—we’ve been up all night. He says I can buy whatever I want! Crazy, hey? Nice crazy. Oops, sorry, me selfish. Whaz goin’ on with you? Everythin’ good?”
“Perfect. I just wanted to say hi.” Apparently, Fiona wasn’t going to be her voice of reason when it came to accepting gifts. But Nicole took one more stab at a sensible conversation about her doubts. “You don’t mind taking presents from Jack? You’re good with that? No problem?”
“Are you fucking kidding me?!” Nicole had to jerk the phone away from her ear at the screech. “What’s to mind?” A second later, Fiona went quiet as though the gist of Nicole’s question had suddenly registered and when she spoke, her voice was slurred, but no longer deafening. “Hey, somethin’ wrong? Tell your BFF. I’m listenin’.” She giggled. “You might have to say it twice, but I’m here for you, baby girl. Whaz up?”
“Rafe just bought me a ton of presents. I was trying to decide whether to open them or not, whether to accept them.”
“Don’ be stupit. He’s richer than God. Assep, aksep—fuck, take’m. Take every damn present.”
Nicole smiled. No equivocation there. Total vindication. Seriously drunken vindication, but an answer if she was looking to be persuaded.
“Jus’ so you know, I gave him your sizes. Don’ be mad. Be happy, okay? Hey, Jack wans talk to you. Lissen to him. He knows dudes.”
A moment later, Jack was on the phone. “Hi. Fiona and I are having a great time. You okay?”
“You sound sober.”
“Did a little blow. Keeps me going. Now, what’s this about presents that has your knickers in a twist?”
Nicole sighed. “Rafe went a little crazy. The entire carriage house is filled with roses and now I have orders to open the huge pile of gifts in his dressing room.”
“Orders?” Jack’s voice was amused.
“Private matter.”
“Got it.”
“Rafe’s at the main house. Ganz came in last night and they’re dealing with some crisis.”
“Ah. The recurring piracy. And you’re left behind to open your gifts. I don’t see the problem.”
“It’s just so much, too much. I’m not sure I like it for a bunch of weird, maybe silly reasons.”
“In case it helps, Rafe doesn’t buy gifts for women.”
“He told me. I didn’t know whether to believe him.”
“It’s true. So you’re not just one in a long line, if that’s what’s bothering you.”
She laughed. “Christ, are you a therapist?”
“Been to enough, but no. Since Rafe doesn’t normally do this, I’d say you’re pretty special. Why not just enjoy the gifts. He’d want you to.” Jack chuckled. “Actually he ordered you to. So—did I talk you off the ledge?”
“Yeah, thanks. And thanks for being nice to Fiona. It sounds as though she’s having a good time.”
“Me too. It’s my pleasure. Now go open the presents. Knowing Rafe, he’s expecting to see you in whatever he bought ASAP. He’s not a patient man.”
“Understatement.”
“I’ll have Fiona call you later after she sleeps it off. Say hi to Rafe.”
Nicole sat on the bed for a moment after the call, running the conversation through her mind. She liked knowing from a semi-reliable source—Jack was a cousin after all—that Rafe didn’t buy gifts for women. She wanted to believe him, because call her stupid or Pollyanna, it felt superfine to know she wasn’t one of a crowd. With a man like Rafe, that had been a given. Nice surprise.
Although everything about him was nice.
So seriously, she had to stop fretting about every little thing.
When she had the great good fortune to stumble into paradise, it was foolish to question the cosmic miracle.
Walking into the dressing room, she sat on the floor, trying to decide which exquisite package to open first. They were all tied with real ribbon, some embroidered, some metallic, others of silk so fine, she could practically see dollar signs printed on them. And each bow was adorned with silk flowers or small pieces of jewelry. My lord, it was just a little daunting to demolish such impeccable work.
She decided to start with a small package, like dipping her toe in the water. Flipping up the name tag, she read: To Nicole, love Rafe—and went still for a moment. Quickly reminding herself that she’d known him for less than twenty-four hours, that this was simple politesse—a conventional courtesy—she started breathing again. Jeez, it was easy to buy into the Cinderella myth with a man like Rafe, with this degree of largesse, with the impressive sexual satisfaction she’d recently experienced. But slow the fuck down. Rafe probably was richer than God and the cost of these presents was incidental to his bottom line. Chill.
But it still took another few seconds to dismiss that little word, love, on the name tag. Breathe in, breathe out. Okay, back to reality.
Setting the name tag aside, she untied the bow, placed the silk flower on the carpet, and unfolded the turquoise paper with care. When she lifted the cover on the box, she smiled. Maybe that’s why the name tag said love: nestled inside sil
ver tissue were four pairs of ribbon-embellished lace panties so sheer you could read the paper through them. Now that kind of loving she understood.
Less uptight now, she reached for a second package.
A half hour later, she’d opened them all. Rafe had found a replacement for her silver dress, in addition to two others like it in different colors. Along with several dresses, slacks, shirts, blouses, bikinis, bustiers, and shoes so cute it would have been impossible to resist even if she’d wanted to.
She was surrounded by a ministore of fabulous clothes.
A few of her favorites were stacked in a little pile: a pair of purple spectator heels that were meant to be worn with a purple sleeveless linen dress pleated in little tiny hand-sewn pleats that made the short skirt bell out perfectly. Victorian black-and-white lace boots that matched a black laser-cut skirt and top. Yellow suede high-tops that complimented multicolored fish-print slim trousers and a sweatshirt. Rhinestone, sparkly heels that resembled twining snakes that rose to her ankles. Maybe those with the black lace bustier, she thought with a smile. A brilliant blue cashmere hoodie and pants she could picture wearing at night on the beach. And a pale blue ankle length cashmere sweater dress with a deep V-neck, long sleeves, and a zipper that opened in front that was übersexy. She felt a little frisson just thinking about Rafe slowly unzipping the dress.
The jewelry was hand-crafted, modern in design, and modest. Obviously whoever had selected these items from the boutique in Rome saw them as no more than decorative packaging. For which she was grateful. It was enough to be overwhelmed by the roses and designer clothes. Expensive jewelry would have been impossible to accept.
Picking up a dress from the top of the pile, she walked into the bathroom. After a quick shower, she slipped on the simple black dress in sweatshirt material printed with flamboyant coral, yellow, and white tulips. It was comfortable and easy to wear, as were the black leather flip-flops with tulips painted on the straps that went with it.
After a last glance in the mirror, she set out to thank Rafe for his generosity. Although, considering the venue, her thanks would have to be well-mannered and polite. No wild hugs and kisses for his largesse. No showing off her pretty new panties.