by Karen Foley
“This way,” he said, leading her along a concourse and then down an escalator. He kept an eye on the level above them for anyone who might be following them, but saw only businessmen and routine travelers.
Once they were on the lower level, they exited the airport and Rafe pulled Sara along the sidewalk to the beginning of the taxi queue. An elegantly dressed couple stood at the front of the line, conversing softly in Lebanese. Holding Sara’s hand, he spoke quietly to the couple in their own language and then thanked them when they indicated he should take the next taxi.
Ignoring Sara’s astonished expression, he handed her into the taxi and pushed some money and the key to Lego’s apartment into her hand. “Do you remember the security code?” he asked in a low voice.
“Yes, but Rafe…” Her gaze moved past him to the couple, who stood watching them with interest. “What did you say to those people?”
“I just explained to them that you need this taxi. No, don’t argue. I want you in this taxi, Sara.” Leaning in, he gave the taxi driver the address for Lego’s apartment and an extra tip. “Keep the change. And don’t leave until you make sure she’s inside the building, got it?”
The taxi driver nodded, and Rafe stepped back and closed the door, thumping the roof of the cab and watching Sara’s pale face through the window as they pulled away. He thanked the Lebanese couple once more, and then walked toward the building blending in with the shadows. He scanned the airport road for any sign of being followed. Only when he was sure that Sara’s taxi hadn’t been followed did he grab a separate cab for himself.
SARA PACED LEGO’S APARTMENT with her arms around her middle, waiting for Rafe. The incident at the bistro had left her feeling edgy and close to tears. When she finally heard a soft knock at the door, she hurried to turn off the security alarm and throw back the deadbolt.
Rafe entered, quickly closing the door and resetting the alarm.
“Are you okay?” he asked, turning back to her.
“Yes, are you?” She hovered, wanting to touch him. “Here, let me help you with your coat.”
She helped ease the leather jacket off, suppressing a gasp as she saw his back and side. Beneath the tatters of his shirt, the oozing blood had dried, caking his skin.
“We need to clean your side,” she said, adopting a matter-of-fact tone. “Can you take off your shirt, or should we cut it off?” She put her hands out to help him, but he brushed them aside.
“I can do it myself,” he said. “Let me look at your arm.”
“Rafe, it’s just a scratch. You’re the one who needs to be looked at, not me.”
But she could see from his expression that he wouldn’t be denied, and she reluctantly extended her arm for his inspection. He took it gently in his big hands and examined the scrape. “We should clean this before it gets infected. Lego keeps a first aid kit under the sink. Let me go get it.”
Sara pulled her arm back, aware that her skin tingled where his fingers had touched her. “No. Not until we take care of you.”
“Sara…” His eyes narrowed sternly.
But Sara refused to be intimidated. “I’m not kidding, Rafe. Take off your shirt.”
Rafe laughed softly. “Okay, I surrender. But I have a better idea. Let me take a shower and clean up, and then you can do whatever you like.”
“Mmm, that sounds like an invitation,” she said teasingly, but she didn’t miss how pale he looked beneath his tanned skin, and there were lines of pain etched around his mouth.
She watched as he disappeared into the bathroom, and then opened Lego’s dresser and fished through his clothing for something to wear to bed. She found a pair of boxer shorts and a T-shirt for herself, and a pair of soft flannel pajama bottoms and a shirt for Rafe. She could hear the shower running as she located the first aid kit and quickly cleaned the scrape on her elbow and covered it with a bandage. She turned as the bathroom door opened, and her mouth went dry as Rafe emerged wearing nothing but a towel around his lean hips. His short hair glistened with moisture and she saw he had shaved the stubble from his jaw. Her gaze drifted over his broad shoulders and the muscular planes of his chest. Then she noticed how he held his hand to his ribcage.
“Here,” she said, pulling a chair away from the small kitchen table. “Sit down and I’ll get you some aspirin.”
He did as she asked and Sara watched him furtively as she opened a cupboard and pulled down a glass. She didn’t miss how he winced as he leaned back in the chair. There was a bottle of whiskey in the cupboard, and on impulse, she lifted it down and poured a shot into the glass, handing it to Rafe along with two painkillers.
He slanted her an amused look. “Thanks.”
She watched as he chased the painkillers with whiskey and then took the glass and silently poured him another. He took a swallow, tipping his head back and letting out a grateful sigh. The towel slid open over the hard muscle of his thigh, and Sara had an instant image of herself, naked and straddling his lap. Turning away, she reminded herself that he was injured. What kind of person was she to think about sex at a time like this? But when she glanced back, it was to find him watching her through half-closed eyes. The hunger she glimpsed there caused flickers of heat to lick low through her abdomen and she drew in a steadying breath.
She filled a bowl with warm water and carried it over to the table, laying it beside a clean towel. He watched her closely.
“Lean forward a bit so I can see,” she murmured, placing a hand on his shoulder.
He did as she asked and Sara only barely contained a gasp as she saw his back. He’d managed to clean most of the grit from the wound, but there was still gravel embedded where he hadn’t been able to reach. The entire area was raw and beginning to bloom purple at the edges.
“Does it hurt very much?” she asked softly, dipping the cloth into the water.
He shrugged. “Only when I laugh.”
Carefully, Sara cleaned the abrasion and applied an antiseptic ointment with her fingertips. His skin was hot beneath her touch.
“What about your ribs?” she asked. “Do you think they’re broken?” She traced a gentle finger across the bruised flesh.
Rafe shifted uncomfortably. “Cracked, more likely.”
Sara came to stand in front of him. “Should we bind them? Would that help with the pain?”
To her surprise, Rafe shook his head and reached for her, grasping her lightly by the waist and pulling her forward. “No, it would actually only make it feel worse. I’ll be fine.”
He tipped his head back and looked at her, and something in his expression made her breath catch. With nothing but the towel wound around his hips, he looked as if he’d been made for a woman’s pleasure, and ribbons of desire slowly unfurled low in her abdomen.
“What else can I do for you?” she asked softly, tracing the back of her fingers along the side of his jaw. “There must be something.”
Without breaking eye contact, Rafe slid his fingers into the waistband of her boxers. “There is something,” he acknowledged on a husky note, and slowly tugged the shorts down over her hips until they pooled around her ankles. Then he slid his hands around to cup her bottom and urge her even closer.
Sara stepped out of the shorts, a thrill of awareness shooting through her as she carefully straddled Rafe’s legs. The movement exposed her to his gaze, and his face reflected masculine appreciation as he smoothed his palms along her thighs.
“Jesus, you’re gorgeous,” he muttered, and slid his hands up her body to cup her breasts.
Sara sighed in pleasure and covered his hands with her own, encouraging him as he brushed his thumbs across her nipples until they thrust against the fabric of the T-shirt.
“When I think what could have happened to you tonight,” he murmured, reaching up to frame her jaw in his hands, leaving the rest of the thought unfinished. “I should never have sent you in there alone.”
“You were there when I needed you. You saved my life,” she breathed, turning her fa
ce into his palm.
“Sara,” he groaned, “you’re killing me.”
Sara laughed softly, knowing he wasn’t referring to his injuries. Careful not to put any pressure on his side, she leaned forward and brushed her mouth across his. She felt him smile against her lips and deepened the kiss, sliding her tongue past his teeth to stroke and lick inside his mouth, the way she knew he liked. The wet fusion caused heat to slide through her veins and she squirmed on his lap, acutely aware that only a terrycloth towel separated them.
As if reading her mind, Rafe reached between their bodies and cupped her intimately. Sara shifted to give him better access and he ran a single finger along her cleft, dragging a soft cry of surprised pleasure from her.
“Good?” he rasped against her mouth.
“Yes…yes.”
She could feel him against her thigh, heavy and hot, and looked down to see the towel had separated completely and there were no longer any barriers between them. His erection strained upward, dark and glossy, the blunt head like a smooth, ripe plum.
Sara curled her hand around him and felt him pulse strongly against her palm. Liquid heat rushed to her core, flooding Rafe’s fingers where he still stroked her. She was on fire, throbbing with excitement.
“Ah, babe,” he rasped, leaning forward to rake his mouth over her neck and gently bite her shoulder, “you are so freaking hot. Are you safe if we don’t use a condom? I saw birth control pills in your purse.”
“Yes,” she assured him, the thought of having him inside her causing another rush of moisture. “I’m on the pill.”
“You’re safe with me,” he growled, nibbling on the sensitive skin beneath her ear.
Sara gasped and arched her neck to give him better access, even as she pushed forward to slide herself against his rigid length. Rafe groaned and removed his hand from between her thighs to grasp her by the hips.
“Hold on to me,” he said roughly.
Sara braced one hand on his shoulder and half stood, her breath hitching as she positioned Rafe’s penis at her entrance and then slowly lowered herself onto him, inch by excruciating inch. She let him fill her, stretching her until she was fully seated against his thighs with his hands cupping her buttocks. Her eyes fluttered closed as she realized the position brought her clitoris into perfect alignment with his pelvic bone. Just the exquisite sensation of rubbing against him caused the inner walls of her sex to tighten in anticipation.
“Oh God,” she whispered shakily, meeting Rafe’s eyes. “I’m not sure I can last like this.”
His face was darkly taut, his muscles rigid as he fought to control himself. “I’m not going to move,” he said hoarsely. “Take your time.”
Slowly, pressing her bare feet against the floor, Sara raised herself up and slid her arms around Rafe’s shoulders, threading her fingers through his damp hair. Her breasts flattened against his chest as she levered herself up and down on his rigid shaft. Rafe slid his hands into her hair and kissed her, softly and languidly, his tongue sweeping against hers in long, sensuous strokes that sent bolts of lust to where they were joined. As Sara pushed downward, she realized that at the end of each thrust she could rub herself against him before pulling back again. With Rafe’s tongue in her mouth and his hands squeezing her bottom, she was caught in a vortex of intense pleasure.
“Is this good?” she breathed against Rafe’s lips. “Is this what you want?”
“Oh, yeah. Better than good,” Rafe groaned, and used his hands to help lift her up and down, increasing their rhythm as her breathing quickened.
Pressure built where he entered her, and the friction of his flesh moving against hers was more than she could bear. She raised herself up until he was almost free of her body, and then thrust downward, grinding her pelvis against his until pleasure exploded through her. With a soft cry, she clutched Rafe around his neck, shuddering as spasms wracked her body. He gripped her buttocks, pulling her tightly against him as he reached his own climax, thrusting deeply inside her.
Sara collapsed against his chest, her breathing labored. She pressed her hot face into his neck as he stroked her back and murmured soft words against her ear.
For her, this had become more than just sex, more than just a story. She had fallen for Rafe Delgado, hard. And she was more than a little afraid of what would happen to them when this was all over and they returned to their normal lives.
15
“ARE YOU READY FOR THIS?” Rafe asked Sara quietly.
With his car still at the airport and Sara’s car still in his garage, he’d hired a private limousine to drive them to the Zachary residence for the book-signing party. Since he was attending the event as Sara’s escort and wasn’t in an official military capacity, he’d borrowed Lego’s tuxedo in lieu of his dress blues. His road rash was still sore and his ribs ached, but not nearly as much as they had the night of the near-accident. Sara was luminous in the blue Carolina Herrera dress that perfectly matched the color of her eyes and displayed her white shoulders and stunning cleavage to full advantage.
She looked at him now as the limo pulled up in front of an impressive brick mansion in the exclusive Kalamora Triangle district. She drew in a steadying breath. “Yes, I’m ready.”
“Listen, this place is huge and it shouldn’t be too difficult to avoid any direct meeting with Edwin Zachary. The last thing we want is for him to realize you’re here.”
“But what if he’s looked at the guest list? What if he knows I’m here? I don’t even want to be in the same house with him.”
Rafe shrugged. “Even if he recognizes you, he won’t try anything in his own home.”
“You’re sure?”
“It would be political suicide. Besides,” he said, enclosing her hand in his own, “I’ll be right beside you the entire time.”
“Do you really think he’s behind everything?” she asked.
Rafe thought back to how he’d spent the night of the attempted murder of Sara. After they’d had amazing sex on the kitchen chair, they’d opened the pullout sofa where Sara had fallen into an exhausted sleep.
Rafe had watched her for a long time, unwilling to close his eyes. She’d almost been killed, and as much as he tried, he couldn’t dispel the images of her being run down by the car. He’d come so close to losing her. He’d tried to curl up behind her, to pull her against his body and go to sleep, but he hadn’t been able to get comfortable. His back and ribs ached enough that he’d finally given up.
After ensuring that Sara was sound asleep, he’d logged onto Lego’s computer and inserted the memory stick again. He’d spent hours poring over the names on the client list, trying to determine if anyone besides Edwin Zachary might be behind the attempt on Sara’s life. In the end, he’d made a copy of the file before sending the drive to a Special Ops buddy with explicit instructions on what to do if anything happened to him or Sara.
Now, recalling the names on the list, he acknowledged that Edwin Zachary wasn’t the only one who stood to lose everything if the information became public.
“I don’t know,” he finally acknowledged. “But we’ll figure it out together, okay?”
She looked out the window of the limousine at dozens of other guests climbing the steps to the mansion. They included some of the wealthiest and most influential people in Washington. She swallowed visibly and then nodded.
“Yes, I’m ready.”
They entered the residence and were greeted by Diane Zachary herself. In her early sixties, she was still a beautiful woman and Rafe found himself wondering why Edwin felt the need to solicit call girls when he had such a stunning wife at home. He’d done his research on the Zacharys and he knew that Diane came from old money. A known philanthropist, she sat on over twenty boards and had given away countless millions to the Kennedy Center, to the Lincoln Center, and to Harvard University, to name just a few.
Now she extended her hand to Rafe with a brilliant smile, but Rafe didn’t miss how her gaze swept over him.
“Thank you so much for coming tonight, Mr…?”
“Sergeant Rafael Delgado, and this is Sara Sinclair.”
Her smile never faltered as she took Sara’s hand. “Lovely to meet you, my dear. Thank you so much for coming, and do please enjoy yourselves.”
Then they moved past her as she welcomed the next guest, and Rafe felt Sara relax beside him. “See?” he murmured in her ear. “No problem.”
They moved deeper into the elegant house and, although Rafe had traveled the world and had even operated out of one of Saddam Hussein’s palaces during the Iraq war, he’d never seen such discreet opulence as at the Zachary residence.
“I feel like an interloper,” Sara murmured as they accepted a glass of champagne from a passing waiter.
“Why?” Rafe asked, taking her elbow and steering her through the crowded rooms. “You’re the most beautiful woman here tonight.”
She pulled him to a stop near an ornate fireplace, her expression softening. “Really?”
Rafe raised her hand to his mouth. “Really.”
Not for the first time, he wished they were back at Lego’s place or, even better, his own townhouse. He wanted just twenty-four hours of uninterrupted time with her. Christ, he wanted a lot more than that. He definitely wanted to know her without the fear that haunted her eyes and without the anxiety that caused her to toss restlessly in her sleep. But first he’d need to find out who was trying to harm her, and eliminate them as a threat.
“This is what we’re going to do,” he said quietly, snagging an appetizer from a passing tray. “I want to search Edwin’s private office. If he’s involved, we might find evidence there.”
Sara looked carefully around and then pinioned him with a fierce look. “Are you insane? What if we get caught?”
“We won’t, because you’re going to act as a lookout for me.”
She blanched. “Rafe, I can’t! I’m not some kind of Special Ops soldier like you are.”