Downright Dangerous

by Beverly Barton

  As she unwrapped her hair from the turban-style towel and ran her fingers through the damp strands, she won­dered if Geoff Monday had been able to get Troy in to see Alyssa. If she were a betting woman, she'd bet her next paycheck that he had. She sure hoped so. Troy was so in love with Alyssa that she wasn't sure what he'd do if he didn't get to see her tonight.

  Wonder what it would feel like to have someone love you that much? she asked herself as she gathered up the towels and dumped them in the hamper inside the linen closet. Right then and there she decided that she was going to do whatever she could to help Troy and Alyssa. As hard as Dr. Alden would try to keep them apart, she intended to try equally hard to help them stay together.

  Elsa sighed. What's with you? she asked herself. You're turning into a romantic idiot. Love won't put food on the table or clothes on your back. Love doesn't assure a per­son of a happily-ever-after life. Just look at her parents. They'd been in love, or so her mother had said. A couple of losers, in love and reproducing like rabbits. Irresponsi­ble rabbits.

  But Troy wasn't their father. He could be a good hus­band and someday a good father, given half a chance. She couldn't judge Troy or all other men by her worthless fa­ther who had deserted his wife and four kids.

  When Elsa opened the bathroom door and entered her bedroom, she stopped abruptly, blinked her eyes and took a second look. A warm, golden blaze flickered in the fire­place. A decorative quilt that she recognized as one from her collection, lay spread out in front of the fireplace and half a dozen pillows nestled around one side. In the center, a silver tray from her kitchen presided, laden with thick sandwiches, two bottles of beer and a plate of fudge brownies from her pantry. Music filled the air, coming from her CD player, which had been moved from the liv­ing room. Cool, soft jazz. Not one of her CDs.

  Rafe Devlin, wearing nothing but his jeans, stood to one side of the fireplace. Their gazes met. Her eyes filled with astonishment; his eyes filled with apprehension.

  "What's all this?" she asked

  "A midnight snack."

  "No, it's more than that. You've put together a very romantic setting."

  "I tried."

  And you succeeded, she thought. As absolutely perfect as the scene before her might be, she couldn't seem to take her eyes off Rafe. Although trim, his belly washboard flat, his hips narrow, he was a big man with broad shoulders and muscular arms and chest. Curling brown hair formed a T from nipple to nipple and down a thin line to below the waistband of his unsnapped jeans. His thick brown hair looked as if he'd just stepped out of the shower and raked his fingers through it.

  "If your aim is to seduce me, then—"

  "My aim is to take care of you," Rafe said, his voice deep and sultry. "I thought you needed some TLC."

  Although her mind warned her that he was already se­ducing her, her heart wept for joy and accepted his offer of tender loving care. No one, not ever, had given her wants and needs a second thought. She'd never been cud­dled or pampered or spoiled. And most of the time she'd felt unloved and unwanted.

  Elsa offered Rafe a timid smile, then walked across the room and sat down on the quilt in front of the fireplace. When he didn't move, she looked up at him and held out her hand.

  "Won't you join me?"

  He grinned. Not a cocky, self-confident grin she'd seen on his face before, but a rather hesitant, hopeful grin. "Thank you for inviting me."

  He sat down beside her, picked up one of the open beer bottles and handed it to her. She accepted his offering. "I know this doesn't compare to the seven-course meal Harry Colburn provided, but it's the best I could put together from what I found in your kitchen."

  Elsa took a sip of the cold beer, then eyed the huge sandwiches. "I'm hungry. I didn't realize I was until just now. Those sandwiches look great. As good as a seven-course meal from The Continental."

  Rafe chuckled. "I see why you're so successful in busi­ness and as the head of the MGS. You, my dear Ms. Le­one, are a diplomat at heart."

  Elsa took another sip of beer, set the bottle down and picked up one of the sandwiches, which Rafe had not cut in two. So like a man, she thought. "What I am at heart is a simple, hardworking girl who came from the wrong side of the tracks and has spent her whole life trying to work her way onto the right side."

  Rafe looked at her as if seeing her for the first time. "I'll bet you're not always that honest, are you?"

  "Never," she admitted. "I usually keep my insecurities to myself. But with you, I don't need to, do I? After all, I'm not out to impress you or convince you that I'm wor­thy of you."

  Rafe reached out and caressed her cheek. She shivered. "You impress the hell out of me, lady. Don't you know that?"

  Emotion lodged in her throat. Don't you dare cry like some silly, weak woman, Elsa warned herself. Just because he paid you a compliment doesn't mean you have to go all soft in the head. . . and mushy in the heart.

  He let his hand drop away, but kept his gaze focused on her face. "And I'm the one who feels totally unwor­thy."

  Elsa giggled nervously. "Hey, we're getting in a little too deep here, don't you think?"

  Rafe picked up the other bottle of beer and took a hefty swig. "Yeah, we probably are. So, how about we eat and get to know each other?"

  "Sounds like a plan." Elsa chomped down on her sand­wich.

  "You remind me of my sister, Cassandra. I called her Sandy."

  "You think of me as a sister?" Elsa teased.

  "No way. What I should have said is that your rela­tionship with Troy reminds me of Sandy and me. I was always in trouble as a teenager and Sandy was always bailing me out. She did everything she could to help me and I fought her every inch of the way."

  "That's the reason you took such an interest in Troy— because he reminds you of yourself as a teenager."

  "With one exception. Troy's already turned his life around, and he can thank you for helping him by giving him more than one second chance."

  Mayonnaise oozed from the sandwich onto Elsa's hand. She placed the sandwich back on the plate, picked up a napkin and wiped her hand clean. "Your sister would be very proud of you now."

  "I'd like to think she would be. Sandy died before I straightened up. She'd had leukemia since she was four and she was one of the unlucky ones who lost the battle with cancer."

  "Oh, Rafe, how awful for you." Elsa reached out and placed her hand over his.

  He turned his hand over and grasped hers tightly. "Yeah, and I sure didn't make things easy for her when she was alive. A couple of months after she died, this Knoxville cop—Roy Dutton—arrested me along with some of my friends for drunk and disorderly conduct. I don't know why, but he took an interest in me and jerked a knot in my tail. I owe that guy everything. He's my best friend, my mentor. . .my savior."

  "I wish I'd had a Roy Dutton in my life," Elsa said. "Until I went to work as Grace Tyree's assistant, I'd never had anyone give me a real break. I suppose, in a way, Grace is my mentor. I owe her a great deal."

  "You've had a pretty hard time of it, haven't you?"

  "Some people have had it a lot worse. But, yeah, it wasn't easy growing up without a father and with a mother who was a drunk. I never really had a childhood because I was too busy being the mother to Troy and Sherrie and Milly. All my life I've had to be the strong, reliable one. The one who took care of every-one else."

  Rafe leaned toward her as he lifted his hand and ran it over her left shoulder, dragging the silk robe down her arm in the process. "Let me take care of you, Elsa. Let me be strong for you."

  Oh, how she longed to succumb to his offer, to give herself over to his promises. But how could she when she knew his place in her life was temporary, that once the danger ended, he would leave her. He's not promising you forever, she reminded herself. He's offering to take care of you now, to be your strength for tonight.

  "I've made a point of never relying on anyone other than myself," she told him. "I'm not sure I know how to relinquish that kind of pow
er."

  "You don't have to relinquish anything." He scooted closer, then tenderly eased her silk robe off so that it pooled around her hips. "Join forces with me. My strength with yours doubles the power. Share everything with me. Share yourself."

  "Rafe, I'm not. . .there hasn't been time in my life to—"

  He laid his index finger over her lips to silence her. "If you want to save your virginity, we can work around it. There are other ways."

  Her body burned. Red hot. "I haven't intentionally been saving myself. It's just that until recently I really haven't had time to date."

  "But now you've got Harry Colburn, and if not him, then you'll want someone like him. I understand. I—"

  "Just shut up, will you? Shut up and kiss me."

  When she reached for him, her hands grasping for his naked shoulders, he grabbed her wrists and held her hands between them. "Before anything happens, we need to set some ground rules. I can kiss you. Right?"

  She nodded.

  "I can strip off your gown and touch you. Your reasts, your hips, your—"

  "Yes."

  "I can use my mouth and my fingers to pleasure you?"

  "Please."

  "What's the cutoff point?" he asked. "Tell me now so I won't—"

  "There is no cutoff point," she told him. "I'm not sav­ing myself for Harry Colburn or someone else like him. I want you to make love to me. Don't hold anything back. Teach me. Show me." I want you, Rafe Devlin. Only you.

  Rafe took charge, his first lesson a masterful one. His lips devoured, his hands possessed. Elsa responded fever­ishly, the fire inside her building, the desire growing steadily as Rafe removed her gown and then his jeans. Passionately, but with great patience, he explored her body. Touching. Kissing. Arousing her unbearably. Her nipples peeked. Her femininity damped.

  His lips became familiar with every inch of her, from forehead to toes, but he lingered over her breasts until they ached and became supersensitive. And when she was wild with need, he parted her legs and kissed her intimately. Her hips lifted to meet his mouth, as her thighs parted in an offering. His tongue worked magic, pleasuring her be­yond all reason. When she thought she couldn't endure another moment, fulfillment shattered her into microscopic pieces. Crying out as her body trembled, she clutched Rafe's shoulders and urged him to move up and over her.

  While the aftershocks rippled through her body, Rafe reached out and jerked his discarded jeans toward him, then pulled a foil packet out of one pocket. Elsa watched, totally fascinated, as he sheathed his impressive erection.

  "Are you sure?" he asked as he came down over her.

  "Very sure." She opened her arms and her legs, inviting him to take her.

  And he did. Totally. Irrevocably. Centering himself be­tween her spread thighs, he lifted her hips and rammed into her. One hard, swift lunge that destroyed her virginity and elicited a cry of pain from her lips.

  Buried deep inside her, he went still and held her. His lips brushed her temple. "Are you all right? I know I hurt you."

  "I'm fine," she whispered. "Don't stop. Please, don't stop."

  Slowly, carefully, he began moving in and out of her and with each repeated plunge, the pain lessened and a powerful tightening took its place at her core. Within minutes his release hit him full force, and he moaned and groaned and growled. Seconds later Elsa climaxed, and the shock of it heightened the sensations spiraling through her. I love you, Rafe. I love you so.

  Words in her heart. A declaration that had to remain unspoken.

  He eased off her and onto the quilt, then pulled her to his side and kissed her, his mouth as ravaging as it had been before they'd made love. She looked up at him, into his eyes.

  "Let's go to bed," Rafe said.

  She nodded, but couldn't speak. If she spoke, she might confess her love for him.

  Rafe scooped her up in his arms and carried her across the room to her bed, then after placing her in the center, he lay down beside her.

  "I want to make love to you all night. Is that what you want, too?" he asked.

  "Yes. Yes, it's what I want."

  Chapter 13

  Rafe did his best to ignore the condescending way Nella Southwell looked down her nose at him. Obviously Mays­ville's grande dame did not approve of his casual attire, his overly long hair, his profession or what she perceived as his lower-class heritage. Wouldn't the old witch be sur­prised to find out that he came from a prestigious Tennes­see family who could not only trace their roots back to John Sevier, the state's first governor, but to royal ances­tors from both Ireland and England. A part of him would've loved blowing the stuck-up old biddy's mind by telling her what his net worth was—in the multimillions, enough to buy the whole freaking town of Maysville. But instead he had settled for puzzling her throughout her elab­orate Sunday lunch by using proper etiquette from the mo­ment he assisted Elsa in sitting and then waiting for their hostess to take her first bite before he began eating, to using the correct piece of silverware for each course. And when he mentioned that their dessert was the best crème brulee he'd ever tasted, she lifted her eyebrows in surprise that he knew the name of the dish he'd just eaten.

  He didn't usually waste his time playing games with people, but God knew he needed something to take the edge off this boring afternoon with Ellison Mays and his aunt. He'd tried his best to dissuade Elsa from keeping her luncheon date and thought that after they'd made love in the shower this morning, he'd brought her around to his way of thinking. But no. Not his stubborn Elsa.

  "We're going to dine with Ellison and Miss Nella as planned," Elsa had insisted.

  "Why? I'd think that you wouldn't want to have any­thing to do with Mays, now that you know he's a slum­lord and possibly the person behind the threats on your life."

  "That's the very reason. Since he tops the list of sus­pects—" she'd eyed Rafe questioningly "—he is at the top of the list, isn't he?" Rafe had nodded. "Then we can't let him know we suspect him, can we? Besides, it won't hurt to stay on Miss Nella's good side, especially if we later have to expose Ellison's shady dealings in Honey Town."

  So here they sat, listening to Ellison drone on and on about Maysville's history, his family's heritage and what a saint his aunt Nella was. Whenever Miss Southwell both­ered to speak directly to Rafe, it was to question him about the investigation into the threats against Elsa, which he answered in general terms.

  "I think it was extremely brave of you, my dear, to have gone on television last night and issued that scoundrel a challenge." Nella Southwell rang for a maid, who showed up promptly. "We'll have coffee in the parlor," she told the middle-aged woman wearing a proper uniform to des­ignate her position in the household.

  Ellison rose to his feet and immediately assisted his aunt, while Rafe did the same for Elsa. While Miss South­well's nephew took her arm in his and led her into the parlor, Rafe simply walked beside Elsa into the large, or­nately decorated room. Twelve foot ceilings. Silk wallpa­per. Rosewood trimmed Victorian sofa and chairs. Marble-topped tables. Tiffany lamps. The room was so elaborately decorated that Rafe felt smothered, the way he often had when he'd visited his grandmother as a young boy.

  Once seated, Miss Nella presided over the room like a queen on her throne. "It must be terribly inconvenient hav­ing Mr. Devlin shadow your every move, especially in your home, when the two of you are alone. I must say that in my day, a young woman's reputation would have been forever ruined by such a situation."

  "Aunt Nella!" Ellison gasped. "Surely you aren't im­plying—"

  "Oh, do hush up, Ellie," Miss Nella scolded. "Of course I was not implying that Elsa would allow anything improper to occur." She eyed Rafe disapprovingly. "Cer­tainly not with someone as totally unsuitable as Mr. Dev­lin." She looked right at him. "Nothing against you per­sonally, young man, but your line of work isn't a profession that a gentleman would pursue."

  "You're quite right, Miss Southwell. Being a gentleman in my line of work could very easily not only e
ndanger a client's life but get me killed. Knowing which fork to use at a dinner party or being able to trace my lineage back to Adam won't help me keep Elsa safe. The more ruthless and ungentlemanly I am, the better I can do my job."

  Miss Nella's cheeks flushed. She cleared her throat. "My point exactly."

  The uniformed maid came into the room, a silver serv­ing tray balanced in her hands.

  "Ah, there is Portia with our coffee," Ellison said, his tone of voice indicating he was relieved to be able to change the subject.

  While Miss Nella was momentarily distracted, Elsa glared at Rafe, silently issuing him a warning. He shrugged and grinned. Elsa frowned disapprovingly. Once they left here, she'd rip into him good. He'd promised her he would be on his best behavior today and apparently she felt he'd broken that promise. Hell, this was his good behavior. Oth­erwise, he'd have told Miss Southwell what he really thought of her, of her slumlord nephew and the whole system of small town snobbery.

  While he had Elsa's attention as Miss Nella oversaw Portia's after-dinner-coffee duties, Rafe leaned over and whispered, "Heck, honey, this is so much more fun than spending the afternoon making mad, passionate love to you."

  Elsa gasped. Her gaze darted from Miss Nella to Ellison. Apparently neither had noticed Rafe's whispers or Elsa's reaction. When she gave him a hard stare, he faked a sheepish, apologetic look, which only made her frown deepen.

  "You know, Elsa, perhaps you should come here to stay with us until all this unpleasantness is over," Nella South­well said. "After all, who would dare harm you here in my home?"

  Rafe rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. Was this woman for real? Did she honestly believe that her social standing in the community protected her from every-thing and every­one?