by Mari Manning
He pried the tightly folded square of paper from her fingers. “Pobrecita,” he said softly. Poor baby. He opened the note. The square of paper, torn from a mini-notebook, had begun to mildew at the corners, and the blue lines had faded. But time had not erased Momma’s last words.
Di,
I can’t took it no more. I am staring over with in S another place.
Momma
It wasn’t as ugly or as angry as she remembered it. When she’d first read the note, the writing seemed to slash across the paper like an accusation. But thinking back on that time, maybe the ugliness and anger were inside her.
“Does this seem like her? ‘I can’t took it’? ‘Staring over’?” asked Rafe.
“It’s her writing. At the time everything was falling apart. Half the people in town avoided us like we were dying from the plague. It made sense she would want to run away, so I wasn’t surprised to find the note.”
“Come on, Di. ‘You weren’t surprised’? That was how you felt? Your momma had just walked out on you at the worst time of your life.”
She took a deep breath. “Okay, I was hurt she was running away from me, too. I would have gone with her. So I guess I figured she didn’t want me around anymore.” She’d barely been able to admit this to herself. Ever. But it didn’t hurt as much to share it with Rafe.
“I told myself Momma had given up and skulked off like a spanked dog. So I was determined to be better than her and thumb my nose at the town in grand style. That’s when I went to the quarry and did my naked swan dive.” She grimaced. “I gave the town a real reason to hate on me.”
“No one hates on you. Leastways no one who knows you.”
He was being so sweet, it made her heart ache. “Let me see the note,” she said.
Rafe dropped the note in her hand.
The loops of ink belong to Momma. Each letter perfectly executed with dots placed exactly over Is and Ts crossed with a straight, balanced line.
“I never really thought about the mistakes. I figured she was in a hurry, but it wasn’t like her. She taught school before she met my daddy, so penmanship and spelling were like a crusade for her.”
Rafe shifted uncomfortably.
“Why, Rafe?”
“I wanted to get some background on your momma.”
“That’s not an answer.” But it was an answer. It hit her as she spoke. Her momma was gone. Same as Daddy.
“We found some other things in the cabin.” He pulled his phone from his shirt pocket. “A pair of woman’s sandals for one.” He held out the phone so she could see a photo of cork-soled sandals with a blue leather strap across the toes. “Do these look familiar?”
She spared a quick glance at them before fixing her gaze firmly on her lap. “Blue is my momma’s favorite color, but I don’t know if those are hers. Lots of people wore this style back then.” Including Momma.
“Okay. How about this?” He shifted uncomfortably as he fiddled to bring the next photo up on his phone.
Find me, Di. I’ve been waiting so long to come home. Her momma’s ghostly voice echoed in her head, and Dinah closed her eyes.
“Pobrecita.” His voice grazed over her skin like a caress. “We can do this later.”
She folded her arms across her body. “Now is fine.”
The yellowed sweatshirt in the photo was as familiar to her as the stars glowing on her ceiling. Her mother’s sorority sweatshirt. It had been spread out on the blood red Navaho rug in the cabin. Across the front were three triangles and underneath, the words “Tri Delt.” Blood had spattered across one shoulder and sleeve.
Dinah pressed her hands to her mouth to push back the scream rising in her throat.
Rafe touched her arm. “We have a crew ready to start digging tomorrow. I’m sorry, Di.”
She had to get out of this house, this town, this state. Away from the death and the ugliness. Away from Rafe and his strength, his body and those damn dimples.
She sprang up.
“Di. Wait.” Rafe grabbed her hand, his palm gentle against her sore wrist.
Why did she have to want him? “Stop touching me! Leave me alone.” She flew down the staircase, the wood cool beneath her bare feet, banging her elbow on the newel post as she flung herself across the tiny hall and burst through the front door.
A camera flashed, flooding the front yard with white light. Turning away from the flash, she scrambled to break away in the opposite direction, but another journalist stepped in her path. The light of his camera exploded in her face. She staggered backward, blinded and confused.
“Dinah. Miss Pittman. Can you tell us who kidnapped you?” A male voice, aggressive, demanding.
“Is this connected to the robbery?” Another voice, deeper and harsher.
“Leave me alone,” she shouted.
The light from the flash faded to a pinprick in her eyes, and she blinked, trying to adjust to the dark. Where were they? A shadowy figure moved to her right. She spun left and nearly ran into someone who stepped out from behind a tree. Where was her pepper spray when she needed it? Another camera flash. The light felt like a knife plunging into her forehead. She waved her arms in front of her, trying to feel her way past him.
“How did they find you?” He was close to her, his breath reeking of coffee and cigarettes.
She backed away from him into another warm body. “Miss Pittman. If you just give us a few minutes and answer some questions, we’ll leave you in peace.”
“Get away from me.” She tried to push past him, but he grabbed the back of her T-shirt. She fought to break free and the shirt ripped. She pulled harder, desperate to get away, but he held fast. Then she was free, falling forward from the sudden release of her shirt.
Above her, a fist slammed into a body, then she was lifted up and set on her feet. Rafe glowered down at her. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Rafe, please. Just let me go.”
Flash. Flash Flash. Three cameras went off, illuminating the front yard and Rafe. Worry glimmered in his eyes. “Let’s go inside, querida.” He spoke the words softly. His strong hand closed around hers, warm and tight and possessive, and he led her into the bungalow amid the explosion of camera lights and whirr of advancing film.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Dinah stood at her darkened bedroom window and watched the journalists’ cars pull away from the curb, red taillights twinkling as they disappeared. The vultures had gotten what they wanted, but they’d be back again with more intrusive questions and their snapping, snarling cameras.
The stairs creaked under Rafe’s boots. Without turning around, she knew he was standing at her bedroom door watching her. Her body warmed as if she’d just been touched. Momma was dead, and it was on her daddy’s head, just like every bad thing that had happened these past few weeks. Stupid girl that she was, she wanted an El Royo cop more than any man she’d ever laid eyes on. History repeating itself.
“I brought you some soup. I hope you like chicken noodle.”
“I can’t eat.” Or look at you. She’d want to hold him if she did.
The faint tinkle of pottery against wood broke the tension in the room as he set the bowl down.
“I’m sorry about your momma. I shouldn’t have told you that way.” He was inside her room now, maybe close enough to touch her.
“You were just doing your job.” That was unfair. He’d tried to be gentle. No one else had ever held her and talked to her the way he did. Like a lover. She remembered all her boyfriends, past and present. Takers and snakes, users, thieves. The kind who leave when the fun is over.
He sucked in his breath. “You should get some sleep then.”
“What about you? Where will you be?”
“I’ll be downstairs. Just holler if you need me.”
She turned away from the window. He was near enough she could make out the shape of his lips in the semi-darkness. His eyes trailed down her body—lingering on her mouth, the gaping tear in her shirt that exposed her
right shoulder, the mounds of her breasts beneath her shirt—igniting a fire in each place before snapping back up to her face. He held her gaze, the tip of his tongue making shadowy impressions against the inside of his cheek as he considered her. It reminded Dinah of the taste of his mouth and how it had mixed with the musk of his skin when they kissed, wearing away her defenses until she felt weak…and willing.
Finally he turned. “Just holler now, Miss Dinah.” Regret deepened his voice, and the sound was thick and warm against her skin. Her body contracted.
When had he become a hunger that wouldn’t go away? “Don’t go.”
He stopped in the door. The light from the hall limned the broadness of his shoulders and the narrowness of his hips. The soft denim of his jeans rolled over powerful thighs and down a set of long legs, and she allowed herself to imagine how those legs would feel entwined with hers.
He didn’t look at her. “I should be downstairs.”
“Stay with me tonight, Rafe.”
“Seems like I’d be asking for something you don’t want to give me, Di.”
“We’re two adults who are attracted to each other. Can’t we keep it simple?”
His head dropped. It was a gesture filled with disappointment, and it made her heart ache. But she was a mess. Her body was all she had to give.
He cleared his throat. “I’m going downstairs to lock up and make a call into the station. Why don’t you get yourself ready for bed? I’ll come up and sit with you until you fall asleep.”
Like hell he would.
She weighed the advantages and disadvantages of pajamas over a nightgown. A nightgown would be easier to work with if a little obvious. But Rafe seemed like a pajamas man. She’d bet he liked pushing up tops and pulling down bottoms and taking his sweet time doing it. A shiver of anticipation skittered through her, and she could almost feel his warm, rough hands against her skin, cupping her breasts, finding the place between her legs… She pulled a pair of green boxers and a translucent white tank from her dresser.
As she was climbing into bed, he reappeared at the door. His eyes swept the room, traveling over her discarded clothes and coming to rest on her tank top.
“Couldn’t you find something more modest?”
“All my granny gowns are in the wash.”
“Hmm.” The hall light dimmed, and he became a dark shadow crossing the room. He stopped by the bed, standing over her as his fingers loosened his holster, and he set his useless gun on the bedside table. He kicked off his boots then lowered himself onto the bed.
“Come here,” he whispered.
His arms closed around her waist and gathered her in, twisting her around, pressing her back to his chest, cupping her with his body. The faint scent of spicy aftershave swirled around her head, and her bottom snuggled closer to his hips.
“Careful there, Miss Dinah,” he growled.
She lifted his arm from her waist and kissed his palm. “You hand smells like leather.”
“Di.” The single syllable fell from his tongue like a plea. His lips pressed against her bare shoulder, gentle and voracious at the same time. Her thighs grew damp.
“I don’t believe we’re looking at things the same way, and tonight is not the night to straighten all that out,” he said.
He was falling in love with her. She hadn’t realized. But in this dark room, lying so close to him, it oozed from his pores and curved his muscles to the shape of her body as if she was a part of him.
“What about the sweet, hometown girl of your dreams? Have you given up on finding her?”
He pulled her tighter against him. He was hard, and she wanted to touch him, hold him, taste him.
“I can’t get you out of my head, querida. I’ve tried.”
She twisted her head and kissed his arm. His skin was salty and warm. “How?”
“How what?”
“How have you tried to get me out of your head?” She kissed his arm again. Keep it light.
His lips moved in her hair. “Let’s see. I been going to the gym a lot lately and running in the evenings.” He kissed her head, and a wave of desire spread downward, an invisible finger touching and arousing her. “I even tried punching Swope.”
She smiled in the dark. “Maybe you just need to quench your thirst.”
His arms loosened. His hands slid up her ribs and cupped her breasts. “You’re in my blood, querida. A night of fucking isn’t going to get you out.”
She slipped out of his arms and turned to him. “How do you know?”
His mouth curled into a soft smile, but his eyes glittered with regret. “Stop talking and close your eyes.”
She did, and in an instant his mouth was over hers, and he was pushing against her lips with his tongue. With a sigh of pleasure she opened to him, twisting her tongue around his, teasing his lips with her teeth, combing her fingers through his heavy hair. The taste of him only whet her appetite.
She wanted to melt into him. Her skin screamed for the touch of his fingers, and when he pulled his mouth away to press his lips against her jaw and nibble at her earlobe, begging words fell from her lips like breathless kisses.
“Please, please, please…”
“Slow down, querida. We have all night.” The words rumbled through her ear and went straight to her loins. She tightened with desire.
A pajamas man. She’d been right about him.
He pushed her back, holding her shoulders against the mattress, and gazed down into her face. “You know how I feel.”
She trailed the back of her fingers across his pecs. “Rafe, I—”
“Don’t say anything. Just wanted to make sure you understand where I’m coming from is all.”
He bent his head, suckling her breast through the thin cotton until it pebbled. Then he turned his attention to the other one, taking the tip into his warm, wet mouth. The nub between her legs throbbed. The emptiness ached to be filled by Rafe’s body.
She twisted her hips up, struggling to rub herself against his hardness, but his hands stayed pressed against her shoulders. She pushed the heel of her hand against his erection, struggling to push him past self-control, but he pulled her way.
“Slow down.”
“Let’s do it fast and hard,” she whispered. “Take me. Fill me.”
He released her. The bed shifted as he sat up. “I figured you for a tiger in the sack, Miss Dinah, and maybe we’ll get to, ah, explore your uninhibited side another time, but tonight I intend to indulge myself.”
She tingled all over. “Indulge yourself?”
“By unwrapping you like a Christmas present and tasting every inch of you like you’re a particularly sweet mess of Texas barbecue and I’m a hungry cowpoke.”
He hooked a forefinger in the top of her tank and pulled it down. One breast popped out, still damp from his mouth. He bent his head and licked the mound with his tongue, drawing circles around her nipple. She gasped and arched her back.
“That’s better, querida.”
He pulled his T-shirt over his head. His chest was smooth and tanned with a feathering of dark hair. As he lay back down beside her, she caught his waist and buried her nose between his pecs, drawing in his musky male scent. His heartbeat quickened. She kissed the pulsing skin.
He pressed her back into the mattress. “Where were we?” He pushed down her top and licked and sucked her other breast until her hips were jumping and she was moaning. Just touch me. Let me come.
He tugged up the hem of her tank. Finally. She lifted her arms. The scrap of white flew over his head and joined the growing pile of clothes. He kissed her mouth thoroughly and deeply, while his hands caressed her spine, traveling from the base of her neck to the curve of her waist, then up again. Go lower. Please. She tried to throw a leg over his hip, but he pushed it away before dropping his head to her breasts again. He lifted them in his hands and kissed the sensitive undersides. Her desire sharpened into an exquisite pain.
His mouth moved lower, showering warm, wet
kisses over her ribs like a summer rain and rimming her belly button with his tongue. He stopped and looked up at her. “That will do for the top half for the time being.” His eyes gleamed wickedly in the dark. “Although I might have to come back for seconds.”
She was wet and so hot for him, she wanted to tear off her pajama bottoms, but he didn’t seem to feel her urgency to finish this. Probably because he still had his jeans on. A protective shield.
“Take your jeans off.”
“Sure thing.” He slid his hands into the back of her boxers and cupped her bare bottom. The tips of his fingers touched her wetness. “I like the way your body responds to mine.”
“Then take off your pants.”
He chuckled. “Just as soon as I’ve finished tasting you.”
A stab of fear pulled her out of her hazy desire. He was too in control. He could take her with his mouth, see and taste the most private parts of her body, then grab his shirt and walk out.
“Rafe, no.”
His hands stopped kneading her bottom, and a moment later he was beside her, studying her face. His eyes crinkled with concern and her fear fell away. “What is it?”
“I, I mean, we’re going to, uh, do it, aren’t we?”
He dug his hand into the pocket of jeans, and pulled out a strip of condoms. “That is my intention, Di. But if you are having second thoughts about—”
“No.”
“What is it then? Tell me.”
“I-I just want to make sure we come together.”
He gazed down into her eyes. His dark depths gleamed with intensity. “Let me make love to you, Di. I promise to come with you.”
She was still a little leery. “Okay, but you have to take off your pants.”
“You’re making this harder for me.” He stood and unzipped his jeans and pulled them off. He wore black boxer briefs. The thick ridge of his erect penis stretched the fabric, straining to spring free. She itched to touch him, fondle him, take him inside her.
She pressed her hand against the hardness. It burned through the thin jersey. He pushed her hand away. “Hands off,” he growled and pushed her back against the covers.