With a playful huff, she grabbed his plate and returned to the stove to make him another sandwich. As she worked, she heard him rummaging around in the kitchen, opening and closing drawers. Pots and cutlery clanged and clinked.
She glanced over her shoulder and found that he had returned to the counter, but now a bottle of champagne sat beside him along with two crystal flutes.
When she walked over with his sandwich and placed it before him, he poured himself a glass of champagne and was about to pour her a glass as well when she held up her hand to stop him.
He arched a brow in challenge. “Now, Josephine. You wouldn’t let a man drink alone would you?”
“I’ve never had a drink before,” she admitted, and his brow arched even higher.
“Not ever?” he pressed.
“Not ever,” she confirmed, and he chuckled.
“Well, maybe it’s time for your first,” he said, but she shook her head, emphasizing that she was unconvinced.
With a chuckle, he said, “Stubborn, aren’t we?” Then his eyes narrowed. “But brave, right? I don’t see you as someone to turn down a challenge, whether it’s writing a book or having your first sip of champagne.”
For a man who didn’t really know her, he seemed to know her quite well. But before she could reply, he rose from the table, walked to one of the kitchen drawers, and took out some items. He returned and laid them on the counter next to his plate: a pair of dice and playing cards that the head chef used to fleece his workers from their pay during break time.
“I don’t understand,” she said, peering at the items.
He picked up the dice and juggled them in his hand. “Highest roll wins. If I win, you stay and have a sip. If you win, you go back to work. What do you say, Josephine?”
Well, well, well. Now this is getting interesting.
Chapter Four
Josephine’s gaze skipped from Rake’s dimpled smile to the rattling dice then back to his face. “Just a sip?”
“Just a sip…if that’s all you want,” he said, and she had the strangest feeling he wasn’t simply talking about champagne.
But Josephine Galena Valencia never backed away from a challenge. She sat down and held her hand out for the dice. He slipped them into hers and as he did so, the barest touch of his skin against hers roused flares of fire against her flesh. She jerked her hand away, brought the dice to her mouth, and blew on them as she’d seen the chef do during the kitchen gambling sessions. She supposed he did it for luck, and he won more often than not.
She could use some luck right now.
The dice clattered on the counter before coming to a stop. Two ones. The black pips on the dice seemed to laugh at her lack of skill like evil snake eyes.
“It would be hard not to beat that,” Rake said as he scooped up the dice, blew on them, and then rolled.
A one and a two, yanking laughter from both of them.
“You barely beat it,” she said.
Grinning, he poured her a full glass of champagne. “But I did.”
He picked up his glass and raised it for a toast. She tentatively lifted her glass and he said, “To friends.”
She was sure that men like Rake weren’t interested in having a woman as a friend, but she obligingly tapped her glass against his and echoed him. “To friends.”
My first sip of champagne, she thought with heady anticipation as she brought the glass to her lips and drank. The aroma of it teased her nostrils a moment before the taste of it exploded in her mouth and bubbles played on her tongue.
“Delicious,” she said and set the glass down.
“See what you’ve been missing?” He nearly drained his own glass. “Drink up,” he said with a wave of one hand while he picked up the grilled cheese sandwich with the other.
She nodded but used restraint as she took little sips while he ate and peppered her with questions about her studies at the convent. She answered him, explaining that she was almost done with the classes and hoped to be able to get a job shortly.
“We will miss you,” he said, his tone sincere and filled with emotion.
Heat worked up from her core with his words. She grabbed the champagne and took a bigger sip of the chilled wine to fight the traitorous warmth. As she put the glass down, she realized it was empty and didn’t get a chance to protest as Rake immediately refilled it.
“And then you’ll work on your novel,” he said, more statement than question.
Buoyed by his optimism, she nodded. “I will.”
He raised his glass for another toast and she joined him as he said, “To your novel.”
“To my novel,” she repeated, elation filling her with the thought.
“Tell me about your book,” he said.
The words spilled from her as she relayed bits and pieces about the new story she wanted to write about her abuela and abuelo’s courtship in Venezuela. As she did so, she sipped at the champagne little by little until her glass was once again empty. Rake quickly refilled it as time flew by with them chatting and laughing. They drank until the bottle was empty, and Rake went for a second.
Since her head was already swimming from a combination of the wine and his charm, she waved him off, but he merely gave her that rakish arch of his brow.
“My dear Josephine, is it time for another bet?” He reached for the deck of cards and although she was vehemently shaking her head no, he shuffled the deck and held it out to her to choose one.
My, my, this is getting even more intense, isn’t it? And that champagne, so tasty and so liberating, right? Maybe too liberating, my friends?
Angel and devil wrestled with each other on her shoulders, fighting for her attention.
“Think of Martin,” the angel said, and the devil added, “who betrayed you this morning.”
The angel broke free of the devil, stamped her foot, and said, “Don’t touch those cards!”
“You can’t lose every bet!” the devil teased.
Josephine drew a card, earning a joyous shout from the devil before they both disappeared.
The Queen of Hearts, a sure winner, she thought before the queen’s face morphed. Suddenly it was her abuela staring at her, shaking her head in a chiding manner and saying, “Niña, no good can come of this.”
She placed the card on the counter so Rake could see her choice and smiled.
“Feeling lucky, aren’t you?” he said and shuffled the cards.
“I am,” she confirmed with a wobbly, possibly inebriated nod. Since she had never had a drink, she wasn’t quite sure if the lightheaded, slightly fuzzy way she was feeling had to do with the champagne or with the handsome man who had been so incredibly captivating and attentive for the last few hours.
Rake drew a card and laid it down over hers. The King of Hearts.
“Fate?” he asked and stared at her intently, his dark gaze glittering with amusement and something else. Something decidedly dangerous.
A blast of heat raced through her body and up to her face. She covered her cheeks with her hands, trying to hide her response.
He grinned that enticing smile and reached out, gently taking hold of her wrists and applying pressure to lower them.
“Maybe it’s time for some fresh air?”
It was definitely time for lots of fresh air, she thought. Maybe a walk in the cool of the night and out in public would be just the thing to prevent this all from getting out of hand.
“Yes, that sounds good,” she said and whirled to escape the intimacy of the kitchen and the nearness of Rake.
Out in the lobby, the hotel manager came running over, his anger apparent at her tardiness, but he must have caught sight of Rake trailing behind her because he stopped short and returned to the front desk.
The heat in her cheeks intensified and she raced from the lobby and across the veranda that was virtually empty at the late hour. The sound of the river and a cool breeze beckoned her, and she hurried over until she was at the railing by the start of the marina. Ra
ke joined her just seconds later.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he said, but as she looked up at him, she realized he wasn’t looking at the river.
“Mr. Solvino—”
“We’re well past that stage, Josephine. Rake. My name is Rake.”
“Rake,” she said, finding that his name slipped way too easily from her lips. “I-I need to walk.” She hoped that if she kept on moving it would keep things on an even keel.
“Of course, Josephine,” he said and as she rushed from the railing, he matched his pace to hers and placed his hand at the small of her back.
No, that spot wasn’t tingling, she told herself, but imagined fireworks bursting from that point of contact directly into the night air.
Gritting her teeth, she fought the sensation, but it was like swimming upstream as the waves of sensation swamped her.
“Rake,” she said, pulling away from him and off to one side of the path along the marina.
“I like hearing you say my name. Say it again,” he said, the tone of his voice low and seductive as he came closer.
She backed up to avoid him, but he kept on walking toward her until her back was against the rough bark of one of the large poinciana trees lining the path.
“Rake,” she said, but it was part protest and part plea.
“Josephine, you can’t imagine what you do to me,” he nearly groaned as he cupped her face and laid his forehead against hers.
“Rake,” she repeated again, unable to find the words to tell him what she wanted. Mostly because she wasn’t sure of what she wanted.
Rake eliminated that uncertainty for her. He pressed her against the trunk of the tree and a magical shower of white petals suddenly rained down, the petals soft against her bare skin. The subtle fragrance mingled with Rake’s very masculine sandalwood scent and was intoxicating.
Before she could protest, he covered her mouth with his, the kiss tentative at first, but quickly growing more demanding.
Her head swam with the kiss and the feel of his hard, lean body against hers. It was the champagne, she told herself. But as he engaged her lips over and over, it occurred to her that maybe it was more about the man than the wine. And once more, she knew that this was absolutely something that she should not be doing, yet found herself powerless to resist.
Resist, Josephine, resist. Think of Martin. Kind, caring, gentle, patient…unfaithful Martin. No, no, remember Martin, Josephine. And the snow falling. Josephine? Josephine, are you listening?
Unaware of anything but the feel of her hand in his, Josephine walked with Rake along the marina path, the stars shimmering above.
Josephine gazed at them, thinking that they had never shone so bright, lighting the way back to the entrance to the hotel. But as they neared, Rake flagged down one of the horse-drawn carriages that sat waiting for guests.
At her questioning gaze, he said, “I won the bet, and we still haven’t had that second bottle of champagne.”
The carriage approached and he helped her up and said to the driver, “I’ll be right back.”
He hurried inside the hotel and minutes later returned with the bottle. Hopping into the carriage beside her, he called to the footman, “To my railcar.”
The driver took off and sent Rake falling onto the seat beside her. He wrapped one arm around her, drawing her close for the short ride to the railroad depot.
What are you doing, Josephine? she asked herself. Visions of Martin with his arms wrapped around another woman provided an answer, but not one she liked. This wasn’t about retribution. And it wasn’t about the champagne giddiness.
It was about a man who intrigued her. A man who dared her to chase her dream: to become a writer. A man who didn’t want to keep her trapped under glass like the figurines in her beloved Viennese snow globe.
As the carriage neared the depot, the driver pulled up to the fenced-off porte cochere that led to a covered breezeway and the tall building that held the waiting room and opened onto the tracks.
Rake stepped from the carriage and held his hand out to her.
It should be explained here that one day, when Josephine Galena Valencia was still a very young girl, her abuela had handed her a pristine white gardenia and instructed her to crumple it up. Despite her utter confusion, Josephine was a good girl and did as her abuela instructed. As she unfurled her fingers around the crushed blossom, Alberta told her to try to make it look new again, but alas, Josephine could not. And her abuela warned her that was exactly what would happen when she lost her virginity. She could never go back.
This important life lesson was one that Josephine would never forget.
However, at this very moment, Josephine was not thinking about that lesson at all.
She slipped her hand into his and walked out into the night. She followed him as he led her into the depot and kept on walking through the breezeway and waiting room to the tracks where, at one far end, a number of railcars were stationed.
This is crazy, Josephine told herself, but she had never ridden on a railway car before. And she wanted to so very desperately all of the sudden.
A security guard stood by the car, but stepped aside as he recognized Rake.
“Mr. Solvino. Miss,” he said in greeting and offered his hand to help her step up onto the stairs for the car.
She held his hand, her step slightly unsteady, but pushed forward onto the stairs and into the railcar. Inside the car, the electric sconces snapped to life, their light casting a golden, intimate glow over the fine leather furniture and mahogany walls and tables.
“Beautiful,” she said and ran her hand across the gleaming wood beneath the windows where the curtains had been drawn against the daytime Miami sun and for privacy at night. Surprisingly, the railcar was neither stuffy nor warm thanks to a cooler night breeze that swept from one open door to the other.
The pop of the champagne bottle reminded her of why they were there at the same time the angel on her shoulder warned that they were there for much, much more.
There’s still time, Josephine. There’s still time. Remember your flower…
She accepted the glass from Rake but vowed to take only a few more sips. It was difficult to do as they sat on the cushioned seat together, Rake at a respectful distance at first as they chatted again, mostly about her and her desires. A rather unique experience since most men tended to want to talk about themselves.
Except Martin, the angel reminded her.
But as the minutes passed and the bottle of champagne grew ever emptier, they inched closer and closer together until Rake’s thigh was tight against hers and his arm rested heavy across her shoulders. The weight and heat of it was comforting, but as he took hold of her empty glass and bent his head to meet her gaze, the moment morphed into something different.
The warning flashed at her in vivid images of her abuela and the crumpled white flower in her hand. She had vowed that day to stay a virgin until marriage. Marriage to Martin, her abuela’s voice warned.
But as soon as those memories appeared, they were replaced with the vision of the fragrant white petals drifting down near the marina a second before Rake’s lips met hers. And just as abuela had warned, there was no turning back.
She kissed Rake over and over, straining toward him until, with a powerful swipe of his muscled arm, he pulled her into his lap.
“Rake,” she murmured against his lips.
“Touch me, Josephine,” he said, and at her hesitation, took hold of her hand and placed it on his own hard body. When he groaned, it roused an incredible sense of power inside her.
She traced the shape of him, and she couldn’t hold back her own little moan as he ran his hand over the curves still hidden beneath her prim white shirt. As she sucked in a breath, he slipped his tongue past the seam of her mouth.
The taste of Rake and champagne was intoxicating and had her straining closer, needing something she had never needed before.
In a flurry, Rake was easing off her shirt and his,
leaving her upper body clothed only in a thin chemise and her corset. He skimmed his hands along the slope of her bare shoulders and up to her bun where, with the release of a few pins, he freed her hair to cascade down.
“You are so very beautiful,” he said, brushing her hair back. He leaned close to drop a kiss along her neck and whisper, “So very, very beautiful and brave.”
She might have been able to resist a more determined seduction, but his gentle touch, so slow and reverent, made her lose her head.
With quick fingers he undid the strings on the corset and tossed it away. Her petticoats and skirt soon followed, as he laid her down onto the wide leather seat.
The heat of his chest teased the bare skin above the line of her chemise a second before his hard muscles pressed against her. He kissed the sensitive skin along the swell of her breasts and she arched up into him, wanting more. He complied, drawing the fabric down to taste her. Skimming his hand down her body to her center, he touched her until she was writhing beneath him.
Oh my. I hope Abuela is not reading this.
Time passed in a blur as waves of pleasure like she had never known coursed through Josephine’s body. When he moved his hand away she protested, but then she felt him working the fastenings on his pants and reached down to help him.
She experienced a moment of hesitation as he poised there, close to the flower her abuela had warned her not to lose, but then he was there, filling all her senses and crowding out every other sensible thought as he pushed past the final barrier, taking the one thing that she could never give to another man again.
The pain was sharp, but it passed quickly as he moved and murmured tender words to her.
“I’ll make it good for you, Josephine. You have nothing to worry about,” he said as he rained light kisses on her cheeks and moved inside her. His pace was slow at first but grew faster and faster as passion rose until that moment when something wonderful crashed over her.
She was suddenly floating high in a field of white flower petals that drifted slowly down, until the feel of the leather against her back and a strong man pressed to her body registered. In that moment, clarity returned swiftly and sharply, and Josephine Galena Valencia asked herself: What have I done?
Snow Falling Page 5