The Christmas Present

by Tracy Wolff

  Vivian wanted to talk to him more, to spend some time analyzing this Rafael. Here his defenses were down, he was relaxed, calm, centered in a way she never saw when he was fighting for Diego. It was a whole new side of him, one she found exponentially attractive.

  But just as she was leaning in to kiss him, his youngest sister, Michaela, swooped in and spirited her away. “Hey, no fair hogging Vivian,” she called over her shoulder as she pulled her along in her wake. “You get her all the time.”

  “Make sure you bring her back in one piece, brat!”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

  They swept into the kitchen. “Some of the trays are empty—you can help me refill them.”

  “Sure.” Vivian glanced around the kitchen cluelessly. “Where do I start?”

  “See the big baskets over there? Fill them with chips.”

  “Okay.”

  They worked in silence for a couple minutes, then Michaela said, “I love that dress, it’s totally cool.”

  Vivian glanced down at the dress her mother had gotten her for her birthday. “Thanks. I don’t wear it very much.”

  “If I had something couture, I’d wear it every day.”

  “How do you know it’s couture?”

  “I’m going to the Art Institute, majoring in fashion design.” She grinned as she loaded a tray with fresh sopaipillas. “Fashion is my life.”

  “I can see that—your scarf is fabulous.”

  “I made it.”

  “No way.” Vivian stepped closer, ran the fine silk through her hands. “It’s gorgeous.”

  “I know, right? Rafael bought me the material a few months ago, told me he knew I could do something fabulous with it.”

  “Rafael?”

  “Yeah, he’s always doing stuff like that, you know? Material for me, a new kitchen tool for Mama. He’s a great guy.”

  Vivian glanced at her, amused. “Is this the part where you tell me all about Rafael’s virtues?”

  “No,” Michaela snapped. “It’s the part where I tell you I’ll break one of your bones if you hurt him.”

  “Well. All right.” Vivian backed off, started arranging watermelon on a plate. Then, because she couldn’t resist, added, “Can I ask which one?”

  “Whichever one hurts the most. Look, no offense. You seem really nice, but Rafa’s been through the wringer and he can’t take much more disappointment.”

  “I think you’re confused about Rafa’s and my relationship. This is our first date.”

  “I don’t care if it’s your fifty-first. He wouldn’t have brought you here if you didn’t matter to him, and that’s cool. I want him to be happy, believe me. He deserves it. I remember what it was like before, when he wasn’t happy. When he wasn’t here.” She paused. “I much prefer happy.”

  “I’m not planning on hurting him.”

  “Good, then don’t. He’s already had more than his fair share of pain. He doesn’t need one more, especially now. This whole thing with Diego’s killing him.”

  “I know.”

  Michaela’s gaze shot to hers. “Do you?”

  “Yes.” Vivian fought to keep her voice steady. “He told me about his past.”

  “Wow. He never talks about it. Never.” She reached for a sopaipilla and a bottle of honey, then settled on one of the high stools next to the counter. “I was six when it happened, and I didn’t understand. How could Rafael be here one day and gone the next? Mama and Papi, they would visit him, but I was never allowed to go. It was too dangerous, they would say. No place for a little girl. But I missed my brother, missed the young man who would toss me in the air and laugh when he caught me.

  “Miguel and Gabriel aren’t like Rafa. They don’t always take the time to do the little stuff, but it’s the little stuff that makes the difference, you know?” She drenched the sopaipilla in honey, then gave half to Vivian.

  “I do know.”

  “When he came in here today, he was nervous. I mean, really worried about introducing you to us.”

  Her heart beat a little faster. “How could you tell?”

  “He always sticks his left hand in his pocket. And he does that thing with his face.” She did a credible imitation of Rafa’s downturned mouth and furrowed brow. “Like he’s contemplating world peace—or domination.”

  “I’ve seen that look before. Are you sure it means he’s nervous?”

  “I’m positive. He’s been doing it his whole life.” Michaela stuffed the last of the dessert in her mouth, then hopped off the stool. “We need to get back before Mama comes in here and starts yelling.” She grabbed two heavy trays and started out.

  Vivian followed her, then spent the rest of the party being passed between aunts, uncles, cousins and family friends as they filled the colorful restaurant to the breaking point. Everyone seemed to want to meet her.

  When she was sure she couldn’t dance to one more song without a break, she cried “uncle” and made a quick trip to the restroom.

  As she splashed water on her overheated cheeks—her makeup had worn off five or six dances before, so she had nothing to worry about on that front—she couldn’t help glancing in the mirror. And was surprised by how happy she looked. How at peace, despite Michaela’s warnings echoing in her head. Despite her own warnings.

  But how could she have known as she dressed for this party that she was going to end up having such a fabulous time? It was nothing like the get-togethers her parents and work colleagues threw. Those were catered and organized with a precision the military could only hope to emulate. And everything was sedate—from the dresses, to the music, to the dancing and conversation. The goal was to see and be seen, and fun rarely factored into it.

  She hadn’t known what she’d been missing. Oh, she’d hated the parties her parents forced her to attend, and did her best to squeeze out of them when she had the chance. But she’d thought the flaw lay with her—that what had happened to Merry had simply made Vivian herself too uptight, too untrusting, to have a good time.

  Tonight had proved it wasn’t her, though, she thought in triumph as she applied a fresh coat of the nude lip gloss she wore in the hopes of downplaying her annoyingly crooked mouth. Because she didn’t feel dull around these people, didn’t feel uncomfortable or annoyed or like she had to escape.

  Instead, she felt free. Free of all the social conventions her mother worshipped. Free of all the undercurrents it took so much work to keep up with. Free to be herself, and everything that entailed, good or bad.

  Tucking the gloss into her purse, she all but floated to the bathroom door. Maybe she’d be able to snag Rafael for another dance. She had loved the feel of his arms around her earlier, when he’d whirled her about the dance floor to a wild flamenco tune. And she wouldn’t mind another margarita, though she’d already had three. She was thirsty, and never before had a citrusy drink tasted so good.

  Opening the door with a grin, determined to find Rafael in the crush, she was thrilled when she almost ran facefirst into his broad chest.

  “Hey there,” he said, with the slow, lazy grin she’d seen so much of tonight. “Where’s the fire?” he asked, bending down so that his warm breath brushed against her ear.

  “I want to dance with you again. You’re really good at it.”

  “So are you.”

  She grinned in turn. “Eight years of dance lessons. When I was a child I was totally clumsy, always running into things. Mom enrolled me in ballet and ballroom dancing so I could learn to be more graceful.”

  They bobbed and weaved their way through the throngs of people, and when they finally reached the dance floor he pulled her into his arms. A slow song was playing—one of the first of the night—and she melted into Rafael. Reveled in the feel of his long, hard body against hers. Relished the fact that she didn’t tower above him in her high heels, that she could comfortably rest her head on his shoulder and absorb the incredible masculine scent of him.

  He smelled like the ocean, wicked and wild and so
incredibly sexy that she wanted to lick him. To taste him.

  She must have made a sound that tipped him off, because the muscles of his back and neck grew tense beneath her arms even as his thighs tightened so quickly it had to be painful.

  It was a delicious feeling having this incredible man so attuned to her moods that he knew what she wanted before she asked for it. But she didn’t move despite his obvious arousal, afraid that if she did, the rosy glow of contentment that she was using to look at the world would shatter around her.

  “Do you want to go home?” He whispered the words in her ear as if he, too, was afraid of breaking the moment.

  She knew what he was asking, knew that if she left with him now, she’d end up making love with him tonight. She turned the decision over in her head, realized that for once she felt no trepidation, only a sense of rightness she didn’t want to deny.

  Pulling away from Rafael, she looked him straight in the eye and said, “Come home with me.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  THEY DROVE BACK TO HER apartment in silence, the echo of her last words on the dance floor all around them. Her hand was in Rafael’s, her thigh pressed against his.

  Each bump of the road pressed her more firmly against him, had her excitement ratcheting up another notch until being with him was all she could think about.

  She was taking a huge step, putting a lot of trust in him, but after tonight she couldn’t do anything else. He’d let her see him with his family, let her see his vulnerabilities, when he prided himself on being strong.

  How could she do any less?

  By the time they got to her apartment, her blood was pounding through her veins and hunger—raw, out of control, insatiable—was whipping through her. She had no idea what the future, or even the next few days, would bring, but she was determined to have this time with him.

  The slam of the door behind them sounded like a gunshot, and it galvanized Rafael to action. With a groan, he lowered his head and captured her mouth with his own.

  The moment his warm lips touched hers, her tenuous grip on control vanished. Her hands tangled in the cool silk of his hair as his tongue gently parted her lips. But she didn’t want gentleness now, didn’t want him to hold back anything out of concern for her. She wanted Rafael, with his black moods and violent quests, with his analytical mind and furious passions. And she would have him. Tonight. Now. This instant.

  “Rafael.” She whispered his name, clung to him. He was her sanity in a world turned suddenly upside down, the only thing standing between her and her bland, boring past. But she wouldn’t think of her reticence now—refused to think of it. Not when Rafael was in her arms and as hungry and needy for her as she was for him.

  He kissed her again and it was hot. Electric. All-consuming and terribly addicting.

  Self-preservation reared its ugly head, warned her to stop this before it was too late, before she lost everything. But it had been too late the moment he’d first rescued her. Too late from the second he’d kissed her palm and dragged her across his truck and into his lap. Now all she could do was ride the wave and let the collateral damage take care of itself.

  Trembling with the pain and pleasure of her desire for him, Vivian parted her lips and let him in.

  And he took her. Again and again and again he used his tongue and teeth and lips on her, in her. Sucked her lower lip between his teeth and bit. Ran his tongue soothingly over the little hurt before thrusting it inside of her again.

  She moaned low in her throat as their tongues met, dueled, then surrendered. Desire was a burning pain in every part of her, sweeping from her mouth to her breasts to her very core.

  “Rafael,” she gasped against his lips, her body straining against his.

  He laughed then pushed against her with his chest, his legs, his iron-hard thighs. She whimpered, liquid heat rushing through the very heart of her until the only thing keeping her upright was him.

  Still he pushed, backing her across the room. Lifting her. Pressing against her until she was trapped between the wall and his rigid body. He settled between her legs, his hardness cradled by her sex, and she moaned in helpless pleasure.

  “Take me.” She arched against him, her body an open invitation as she circled his waist with her legs. “Take me now.”

  He laughed again, then thrust himself against her.

  She nearly came despite the layers of clothes separating them from the ultimate union.

  “There’s no reason to rush, sweetheart. We’ve got all night.” He ran his tongue down her throat, following a bead of sweat as it ran into the valley between her breasts. “I want to savor you.”

  “There’s every reason to rush,” she answered, clawing at the fine silk of his shirt with her fingers. The material tore beneath her attack and then there was nothing stopping her from exploring the broad expanse of chiseled muscles. “I’m going to die if you don’t come inside me. Now.” She dug her nails into his skin and relished his instantaneous response.

  In that moment, Rafael lost the control he’d been so valiantly struggling to hold on to. Before he could think better of it, before he could even attempt to calm himself down, he tangled his hands in her hair. Her head hit the wall hard, but neither of them noticed as he ground his mouth to hers and plundered.

  She tasted bittersweet, like pain and pleasure and every craving he’d ever had. Breaking away from her lips, he ran his tongue down her throat. Tore at her clothes with his hands and teeth until her dress slipped to the floor.

  He was desperate, completely enthralled by the heat pouring off her in waves. He had to taste her, touch her, push himself inside of her until—

  “Rafael!” He kissed his way down her breasts, then pulled back a little so that he could see her gorgeous nipples. They were the sweetest shade of pink he’d ever seen—the same color as her glorious, topsy-turvy mouth.

  Closing his teeth over one sweet bud, he bit her softly and nearly imploded with his first taste. Her screams of pleasure echoed in his ears.

  He switched to the other nipple, drew it into his mouth and rolled it between his teeth. Vivian was crying, moaning, her soft, seductive body bucking against him with each pull of his mouth on her breast.

  “Now, now, now.” she repeated the word like a litany, her back bowed. He raised his head and looked at her, then stood transfixed for a moment by her incredible beauty.

  She was too far gone to appreciate his restraint, and he felt his last hold on sanity abandon him as she moved against him. “Rafael, please! Please,” she chanted, sobs racking her chest until her entire body shuddered against him.

  And still he continued, taking her further than she’d ever gone before. Taking her outside of herself and into him until she ceased to exist as an entity separate from him. There was no more Vivian, no more court case, no more danger. There was only Rafael and the incredible, terrifying control he exerted over every part of her.

  Rafael laughed as he slid a finger inside of her and found her most sensitive spot. He rubbed against her—once, twice—and just that easily hurtled her into the most intense orgasm of her life.

  As she stood there, afraid to move because she knew her shaky legs wouldn’t support her, he pulled her against his chest with one fluid movement, then carried her through her apartment.

  “Where’s your bedroom?” he murmured, his voice so low that it might have been a growl. His eyes glowed like obsidian in the dim hallway light.

  “To the right.” It was all she could do to get the words out, her body thrumming with need despite the release she had just had. Her feelings for him had welled up inside of her until the ache was as much emotional as physical.

  She needed him. Craved him. Was dying to feel him inside of her. She tried to tell him so, but the connections between her brain and the rest of her body seemed to have short-circuited, and all she could do was moan. So she simply relaxed as he found her bedroom and laid her on the lavender satin comforter she’d bought a few months before. />
  He pulled away and she whimpered, tried to reach for him, but he merely laughed, and she could hear the rustle of clothes in the darkness. Determined to see him, she rolled to her side and extended a lazy, languorous hand toward the base of the lamp on her dresser. A dim light appeared, one that was soft and rosy and oh so inviting.

  Then she settled back on the bed and enjoyed the show as Rafael unbuttoned his pants and slowly stripped them off his long, heavily muscled thighs.

  He was beautiful, so strong, so tender he made her ache. Captivated by him, desperate to feel his hardness between her hands, she managed to get her brain to issue one more intelligible order to the rest of her body. Reaching for him, she murmured, “My turn.”

  He grinned, then settled himself next to her on her big soft bed. “Eventually.”

  “I don’t want to wait that long.” She sighed and began to stroke.

  The breath slammed out of him as every muscle in Rafael’s body tightened to the point of pain. He fought to relax, but that was impossible as her hands and mouth skimmed over his shoulders and chest and stomach. As she moved lower, sparks exploded behind his eyes—clean and bright and almost as beautiful as Vivian’s eyes.

  “Vivian.” Her name was all he could manage to say, a guttural groan, when what he really wanted to do was praise her. To tell her how beautiful she was. How much he wanted and needed her. How he’d do anything for her.

  But she was killing him softly, slowly and without a shred of mercy as her mouth skimmed over his thighs.

  She was as pale as the ocean in the moonlight, as wild as the waves breaking against the sand, and he couldn’t get enough of her. Her long, silky, glorious hair was wrapped around her, wrapped around him, as he brought his hands to her slender, breakable body. It was hard to imagine such strength existed in something so fragile.