Storming His Heart (Westlake Enterprises Book 2)

by Marie Harte

  “Okay, Rafe, dinner’s up.”

  He joined her at the dining table and inhaled the pleasant aroma of a home-cooked meal. “You really can cook.” He took a bite of food and hummed with pleasure. “You’re close to being the perfect woman.”

  She didn’t respond, seemingly engrossed in her meal. She’d cooked a tender porterhouse, complete with baked potato and salad. Rafe didn’t think he’d ever eaten anything tastier.

  Minutes later, Storm laid down her fork. “Okay, I’ll bite. I’m close to perfect, but...?”

  “If you could just learn to keep your mouth shut, I’m sure you’d have guys all over you. Of course, that didn’t seem to bother Hank.” He’d told himself to forget about her meaningless date, but he couldn’t put a lid on his jealousy.

  Storm scowled. “Mouth shut? Jerk. And just what have you got against Hank?”

  “Other than the fact the guy let you take the hit from that car, and that Hank is a name you give to your dog, not a thing.” He felt his cheeks turn red when she just stared at him. “Look, this is a terrific meal. Let’s not spoil it with a fight.”

  Her lips twitched, and he had the uneasy feeling she was laughing at him. “Fine.”

  They finished the meal with banal conversation. The weather, Southern living, her car versus his. Nothing about work or family. Not that he’d tried hard for the information. She really had outdone herself with dinner.

  “Storm, I have to say, I didn’t think you had it in you.”

  She bristled. “I can cook.”

  “You sure the hell can.” He patted his stuffed belly. “You cooked, I clean up.”

  “Now that I can agree to.” She stood and walked to the couch, where she sat back and put her hands behind her head. “Someone to clean my mess.”

  “Someone needs to,” he muttered. He collected their plates, washed the dishes, and had just finished drying the last plate when his cell phone rang.

  J.D. didn’t have much to share, though he laughed his ass off when he heard where Rafe had eaten dinner.

  Rafe joined Storm in the living room. “That was J.D. Seems your black sedan was stolen three nights ago. There’s a valid police report to back that up. We’re at a dead end on this one.”

  Storm shrugged, and from his position behind the couch, he had a perfect view down her shirt. “For what it’s worth, I appreciate the effort.”

  Rafe licked his lips, suddenly hungry for dessert. “Just how far does that appreciation extend”

  “What do you mean?” she asked in a breathless voice and turned to face him.

  It took all his concentration to refrain from joining her on that couch, stripping her, then surging inside her with one smooth, hard thrust.

  He forced a smile, determined to be smart about involving himself with a Buchanan. He refused to be ruled by his dick. Once in a lifetime was enough. “How about dessert?”

  “Dessert?”

  He took a step closer. What if distance wasn’t the answer? Maybe if he slept with her, he’d purge her from his system. That, or make him more addicted to the aggravating woman.

  Storm scrambled to her feet faster than he thought she’d be able. “You know, dessert’s a good idea. I’ll be right back with it.”

  She winced, and he felt bad about prodding her. “You need rest. I’ll go. Tell me where—”

  “No, no. Let me.” She had her keys and purse in hand before he could say no again. “To be honest, I need to work my leg or I get stiff. Can I trust you here?”

  “What do you mean?”

  She sighed. “Never mind. Just don’t upend the place looking for my dirty secrets.” She left him staring after her.

  Rafe watched her go with some concern. If he didn’t know better, he’d think the damn woman could read his mind. And that scared the hell out of him.

  Knowing he’d seen as much of her cluttered living room as he could stand, he peeked through her bathroom and her bedroom and freely looked through her closet and bureau.

  “Oh, this is not a good idea,” he murmured as he held a peach-colored teddy up for inspection. He quickly closed that dresser drawer and sat on her bed. Another mistake, because her rumpled sheets smelled like flowers, like Storm. He could too easily imagine her naked body in the sheets, writhing as she opened herself to him.

  Rafe shook his head and stood, aroused, frustrated and baffled at this pull from a woman he didn’t trust and didn’t really know. Rafe had made love to many women. Hell, he enjoyed sex. But with Storm, nothing mattered but pleasuring her.

  He left her bedroom before he lost his perspective. I should bed her and forget her, use our attraction to get Storm out of my blood. Perhaps he found her so attractive because she was a Buchanan and therefore forbidden fruit. Then again, he’d met her cousin Alex before and hadn’t felt anything for the woman besides an appreciation for her natural beauty. Storm engaged all his senses. And apparently his sixth sense as well.

  “What the hell am I going to do about you?” he asked no one in particular. Rafe needed to stop this weird fascination, but he didn’t know how. He had a bad feeling sleeping with her would only make his growing attraction worse.

  Confused by feelings he hadn’t thought to feel ever again, he looked for the television remote, needing a diversion. As he searched, he straightened the room, all the while wondering what the future had in store for him. He bent down to collect a stack of papers behind the couch and heard the door open. But the heavy footsteps weren’t Storm’s.

  Rafe didn’t think. He acted. He remained crouched, and when an unfamiliar male crept past the couch, he attacked.

  STORM RETURNED TO FIND Thorne and Rafe engaged in a rough-and-tumble fight that had broken a table lamp and scattered books and magazines all over her floor.

  “What the hell is going on?” she yelled, but neither man stopped.

  It was a wrestling match between two equally cagey opponents. Whereas Thorne was taller, Rafe had more muscle and one heck of a technique as he pinned her brother. She wondered if he’d be that forceful in bed.

  Thorne slumped under Rafe’s hold and groaned. “Mercy. Just stop thinking, both of you. Please.”

  Rafe frowned down at her brother. He slowly let him go and rose to his feet.

  “Friend of yours?” Rafe asked her, panting.

  “Not really.”

  Rafe scowled and leaned down again, his fist cocked to fly.

  “Oh, get off it. You know he’s my brother. Rafe, meet Thorne. Thorne, Rafe.”

  Rafe blinked with obviously feigned surprise. “Well, what do you know. I thought you looked familiar.” His eyes gleamed with satisfaction. “Another Buchanan—my lucky night.”

  Thorne groaned, rubbed his stomach and slowly eased to his feet when Rafe backed away. “Bastard.”

  “Dick.”

  “Nice.” Storm sighed and ambled to the counter, where she placed the cheesecake she’d purchased for the sexy idiot she had no right thinking about. She turned and found him right behind her. Rafe steadied her by grabbing her elbows and pulling her into his body.

  Unfortunately, this close she could only think about kissing him.

  Thorne cleared his throat.

  She blushed and shoved Rafe away. “This place is a mess. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t throw that right in your face.” She nodded at the boxed dessert.

  Rafe aimed a thumb at Thorne. “He started it. And if you take a good look, the place is cleaner than when you left, with the exception of the floor by your fireplace.”

  “True,” Thorne agreed. “Hey, is that Tony’s Cheesecake?”

  “I love Tony’s.” Rafe nudged her out of the way as he made a bead for the dessert. “Truce. I’ll finish cleaning up if you’ll dish me some of that cheesecake. I’ll even take out the garbage,” he said with a glance in Thorne’s direction.

  It took her brother a minute to comprehend the insult. When he did, he swore. “Motherfucker. You touch me and I’ll—”

  Storm hel
d up a hand. “Wait right there. Thorne Matthew Buchanan, watch your mouth or I’ll tell Mom.”

  Out of the corner of her eye she saw Rafe’s slow grin.

  “Come on. I’m not ten anymore.”

  “Right. Now make nice or I won’t let you have any.”

  Thorne opened his mouth then closed it with a snap. He snarled at Rafe, “Any dessert. You keep thinking those thoughts and I’ll put your face through the fu—freaking floor.”

  Rafe’s disdainful snort didn’t win him any favors. “Oh, right. You’re the mind reader. I’m impressed.”

  The silence that passed between them couldn’t be good. Thorne’s gray eyes brightened into a diamond-light fury.

  “You too,” Storm warned Rafe. “Be nice or no cheesecake.” She emphasized the word and prayed she wasn’t as red as she felt. Obviously Rafe had been thinking dirty thoughts about her, and she liked it. God, what was wrong with her? He was one of those uptight government wannabes. A Westlake agent. The enemy, or so she’d been lectured since she’d begun working for her uncle. “Rafe?”

  “Fine.” He addressed Thorne. “Sorry I beat you up.”

  “Yeah, I’m sorry too. Sorry I almost kicked your candy ass out of the house.”

  Rafe chuckled. “You wish.”

  Her brother’s eyes narrowed. Storm sighed.

  “And why the hell are you limping?” Thorne barked at her.

  Rafe, the turncoat, added, “Great question. Why don’t you tell him why you’re limping?”

  Storm didn’t think now was the right time to mention the hit and run, not with Thorne in such a big brother kind of mood. She definitely didn’t want him to know she’d gone to Rafe for help on the matter. She blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “Rafe and I were just finishing our first date.”

  Thorne’s eyes widened. “You can’t be serious? He works for Westlake!”

  Rafe leaned against the counter, doing nothing to help Storm out of the mess she’d made. At least he didn’t contradict her. To reward him, she cut a big piece of cheesecake and handed it to him.

  Thorne looked like a man verging on apoplexy, but at least he no longer cared about her current state of health.

  “Thorne, in case it’s escaped your notice, I’m a grown woman.”

  Rafe pulled a fork out of a drawer and just had to say, “Oh, I noticed.”

  She ignored him. “I don’t need to explain myself to you, big brother or not. I’d appreciate it if you’d leave now.”

  Thorne gaped, incredulous. “Are you kidding me?”

  “Not at all. I don’t question you about your bimbos. Don’t question me about my date.”

  Rafe choked on his dessert.

  Thorne growled, “This isn’t over. We’ll talk later. All of us.” With a mental tweak to get her undivided attention, he added, “Including Luc and Max. You’re just lucky Mom and Dad are on vacation.” He slammed out of the house.

  Storm and Rafe stood in silence in the kitchen.

  Rafe scraped his plate clean and licked his fork. “So if he has bimbos, what am I?”

  “What?”

  He started laughing. Not a small chuckle, but a huge well of mirth that brought tears to his eyes.

  The laughter made him even more attractive, but Storm was annoyed. Her life was not one big joke. “You want a label? How about asshole?”

  “Maybe I’m your himbo. A manbo?” he sputtered and tried to catch his breath.

  She fought the smile curling her lips and looked at her trashed living room. “I think it’s time you left.”

  Rafe wiped the tears from his eyes. “Man, I needed that. Yeah, I should probably go. Otherwise I might be tempted to stay and fuck you until neither of us can move.”

  She whipped her head around and stared at him. “Wh-what did you say?”

  “Yep. We wouldn’t stop until we couldn’t move. Afterward, we’d have regrets. You’d think I’m after you for Buchanan secrets, and I’d suspect you of pumping me for information about Westlake. We’d be so caught up in each other I’d be inside you before you could blink. And man, I’d come inside you so hard, filling you so much.”

  “I— I—”

  “Exactly.” Rafe took two steps closer, kissed the breath out of her, then headed for the door.

  “But how will you get home?” she asked, remembering he’d driven them in her car. Filling you so much? Heaven help her, but she wanted to start on that right now, which made no sense. Half the time, she wasn’t sure she liked Rafe.

  He stared at her stiff nipples. “Hell. I really need to go before I do something stupid. I have my cell. I’ll call a cab. But don’t worry, I’ll call you tomorrow. I have no intention of telling your brother the truth. For some reason, I really like the idea of us dating, and that scares the crap out of me.” He shook his head and surprised her with a sly smile. “Bye, Storm. I’m afraid if I stay much longer, your uncle might show up. You might fabricate a marriage or something, then where would we be?”

  She flushed. “It was the best I could come up with.”

  “Right.” Rafe looked like he wanted to walk back and kiss her, but he didn’t.

  She didn’t know whether to feel relieved or disappointed.

  “Tomorrow.” He left without looking back.

  A WEEK LATER, RAFE checked his watch and decided to give Floyd ten more minutes. This was his last appointment for the day, and he intended to get it done as soon as possible. Wrapping up the Higgins case had taken more time and energy than he’d expected. He really needed to focus on more important matters. Like his first real date with Storm Buchanan.

  He still wasn’t sure he’d done the right thing by perpetuating this nowhere relationship, but he couldn’t get the damned woman out of his mind. Just thinking about her turned him inside out.

  “Hell.” He glared at his dick, which had a bad habit of rising whenever he thought about her. Focus, Rafe. Focus.

  Since the shooting last Monday, things had been quiet. J.D. and Jurek had done their best but could find nothing about the attempt made on Rafe’s life. Nor would there be anything anytime soon. Rafe had tried to see who had tried to kill him but had been unable to call forth a vision. He’d made enough enemies that he knew finding the culprit would be extremely difficult without the aid of his gift.

  But at least Jurek had called off security. And now Rafe sat in his car waiting on an informant to finally tie up all the loose ends on Higgins. Floyd should have shown ten minutes ago. The longer Rafe waited, the more uneasy he felt.

  As if thinking about him had conjured him, Floyd arrived. It was nearing seven, but the cloudy, dark sky made it feel much later. Minimal light shone on the deserted lot adjacent to the shipyard Floyd had chosen as their meet point. A nervous little man, Floyd didn’t want Higgins to know that he’d assisted in his downfall.

  The nearest cover, an empty freight car, sat a hundred yards away. Rafe had already scouted the car and found it empty, so he focused his attention on the only logical attack point, the open drive leading into the fenced lot.

  Floyd parked his car, exited and hurried into Rafe’s. “Sorry I’m late. Grabbed a quick bite to eat and got caught in a traffic accident. Forgot my cell or I’d have called you.”

  A short, stocky man in his late forties, Floyd had a healthy appetite for life and food. He handed Rafe a bulky brown envelope.

  “This everything?” Rafe asked.

  “Yeah. That should put the bastard away for a long while.”

  Rafe glanced at the sheaf of trader’s notes and fingered a memory stick before sliding everything back into the envelope. “If this info pans out, your deal is good. You’ll still have to testify, but we’ll stash you somewhere safe in the meantime.”

  “Right. I’ve got to get out of here,” Floyd said nervously. He looked around before he left the car. Floyd reentered his vehicle just as another approached the lot.

  Rafe opened the door and yelled, “Get the hell out of here and don’t stop for anyt
hing.” Floyd took off like a shot. He drove right through the chain link fence and sped away.

  Rafe had two options—floor it and escape, or find out who the hell would be out this way on this particular night. He didn’t believe in coincidence. Rafe quickly got out of the car and kept it between him and the oncoming threat. He readied his gun, prepared to fire if need be. This new threat might be aimed at Floyd, and they couldn’t afford to blow the Higgins case. But the car didn’t even try to pursue Floyd. Rafe waited, his senses attuned to the danger. He kept low as shots rang out and swore when the car sagged. They’d shot out his tires.

  He reached out with his mind, and in that space of an instant—five men got out of the car, no weapons in sight. Their intent was to capture him. No one wanted to disappoint the boss. Succeed or be killed, and no question what they’d pick.

  Rafe broke from the vision as the car finally stopped. He peeked above the hood and watched as five large men emerged from the nondescript vehicle. They seemed organized, had no distinguishing marks, wore dark clothing and little jewelry that he could see. They’d come for him, not Floyd. This had to be tied to his shooting and Storm’s hit and run. Maybe he’d finally get some answers.

  One of the men spoke. “Rafe Savage, we need you to come with us. Our employer wants very much to see you again.” He was blond, tall and possibly the most dangerous of the bunch. He stood with a predatory stillness, his brown eyes alert in his expressionless face.

  Rafe stood and raised his weapon, gauging the reactions of the group. None of the men with the blond flinched. Interesting. “Who the fuck are you?”

  “I’m also to let you know that the minute you fire that weapon, Storm Buchanan will pay the price.”

  Rafe didn’t react. But fear blossomed inside him. “Who?”

  “The woman you intend to meet tonight at the Olde Pink House. We have men in place to take her the minute you don’t cooperate. Drop the gun.”