by CC MacKenzie
At the first opportunity he would tell her that her father was absolutely fine and in no danger. The trick would be to get the timing just right.
“Rafe?”
He turned to look at her.
For a moment he thought he recognised a flash of heat, of molten fury, in those violet eyes.
“Yes?”
But her smile for him now was warm and sweet, and innocent.
Too innocent he realised and narrowed his eyes.
“I’ll cook tonight. Will seafood linguine in a light sauce do?”
Surprised, he studied her bright smile.
“Sure.”
She passed him as they walked through the house and told him she was going to have a shower. He watched her hips swing down the hall thinking about the flash in her eye, perhaps he’d imagined it?
He still held her backpack.
An idea occurred to him. Did she have a satellite phone? Was there any way she could have found out? Perhaps from Louise? But then Ethan had told him that Louise wanted news of Coco.
Without a moment’s hesitation he opened her bag, pawed through it.
No phone.
And he’d thoroughly checked her room too this morning.
He breathed a sigh of relief, then wondered why he had a horrible sinking feeling in his gut.
Chapter Twenty Eight
“That was delicious.”
Eyes the colour of bitter chocolate stared into hers and Coco felt the familiar flutter of a dark attraction roll through her system.
She sipped on mineral water, observing Rafe over the rim of her glass.
His hair was tousled from the shower and he had that I-need-a-shave look.
Leaning elbows on the table, he held his wine glass as he watched her.
Skin glowing from the sun he smiled, and his teeth looked even whiter.
Tonight he wore soft black jeans, a white cotton button-down shirt rolled up at the sleeves. And he looked brutally sexy and dangerous.
Why couldn’t he develop a paunch, or a squint or start losing his hair? Something, anything, to break up the picture of absolute male perfection. And he had that glint in his eye again.
“I like that colour on you,” he said and sipped his wine. “It’s the exact shade of your eyes.”
Since she’d burned her shoulders the dress was strapless, silk and boned.
He rose, went to the fridge and plucked an open bottle of white wine.
Poured her a glass and handed it to her.
“Why don’t you relax in the sitting room?” he suggested. “The fire’s lit. You cooked, so I’ll clean up.”
Why not?
She made her way through.
Snuggling into the corner of a sofa Coco curled up her legs, gave a cushion a hug.
Resting her head on the armrest, she stared unseeing into the fire. The hiss and spit of the logs, the gentle heartbeat of soft music lulled her into a totally relaxed state.
The aroma of wood burning along with the torrent of fresh lilies spilling out vases of clear glass mingled with the unique scent of Rafe as he made himself comfortable on the opposite sofa.
He appeared relaxed as he held a bulbous Cognac glass.
Stretching out long legs, he sipped and kept his eyes on her.
Her muscles ached from unaccustomed exercise and carrying a pack for miles.
Testing, she rolled her shoulders and stretched out on the couch.
“I need to talk to you,” he said in a determined tone.
I bet you do, Rafael.
Trust him to spoil the moment.
They would talk when she wanted to talk, in her time and on her terms.
“I’m not in the mood for a scene this evening,” she told him in a quiet voice as she stared into the fire.
He gave a deep sigh of male frustration.
“Coco, I’m not your brother.” His deep voice rumbled in his chest.
“I know,” she said, slid her eyes to his. “But it doesn’t change how I feel. It is what it is and you need to accept it. At least now we can be friends.”
He placed his glass on the coffee table and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. For a moment she was certain she saw a flash of vulnerability in those dark eyes.
Then she decided she’d dreamt it.
The day Rafael Cavendish was vulnerable would be the day hell froze over.
“I have things I need to say to you.”
Oh no you don’t.
She wasn’t ready to hear his excuses why he’d lied and manipulated her.
He was too good at turning things around and making them her fault.
She’d rather feel the anger. It was safer.
Rolling to stand on her feet, she stretched to ease out the kinks in her neck.
“I’m too tired and tomorrow is another day.”
He opened his mouth to argue, frowned and snapped it shut.
“Goodnight, Coco.”
“Goodnight.”
The evening was pleasantly cool after the humid heat of the day.
Yawning, she strolled past Rafe’s bedroom, spotted the door was ajar and a bedside lamp was lit.
Pushing the door open she stopped and struggled for two seconds with the little voice of her conscience telling her she was invading his privacy.
The room was large, the walls painted a matt white with a pitched roof and a ceiling fan leisurely displacing the air.
A huge four poster made of thick oak took centre stage. She approved of the bedding in stunning white Egyptian cotton.
A photo next to the bed caught her attention. Her brother Ethan, her mother and... Rafe. The boys must have been about eight years old and her beaming mother had her arms around them. The expression on Rafe’s face squeezed Coco’s heart.
He looked so happy and content.
No, no, no, she admonished herself.
He was the enemy.
Her sympathy for a lonely little boy meant nothing.
And it was time to get out of his room.
There would be nothing worse than being caught snooping.
She spun and sped to her own bedroom.
But as she got ready for bed a dastardly idea entered her brain and made her heart race.
Could she do it?
Or would it be a wicked step too far?
An hour later and she was ready.
Hair still damp from her shower, Coco shrugged on a robe of white silk, rolled up the sleeves and tied it loosely at the waist. She slicked Vaseline on her lips and listened for Rafe settling down for the night.
The click of his bedroom door being closed alerted her that she’d got her timing right.
She gave him fifteen minutes, picked up a bottle of oil and left her room.
Rafe lay on his back staring at the ceiling.
What the hell was he going to do with her?
The knock at his door brought him up to sitting. For a moment he thought about covering up his thin cotton pyjama bottoms, but it was too late.
Wearing a thin robe with one slim shoulder peeking out, Coco stood at the bottom of the bed staring at him with big eyes.
“Could you help me with this?”
She handed him the bottle and turned her back. Untying the robe she sat on the edge of his bed and shrugged it off. Her back was bare to the waist as she clutched the robe with one hand covering her breasts. The expanse of clear skin made his throat dry and blood pool below his waist.
With a quick look over her shoulder, she gave him a shy smile.
“I can’t reach and my back’s burned. Please?”
She scooted further into the bed. Her arms hugging her knees as she bent forward.
He couldn’t help it, his cock tented his pyjama bottoms and he thanked God she was totally unaware of his arousal.
Jesus, the atmosphere in the room became too hot, too tense.
Heart thundering in his ears, Rafe poured oil onto his palm, placed the bottle on the table, warming the liquid between his hands.
Kneeling on the bed, with care he touched her shoulders.
She jerked.
They felt as hot as they looked.
“Does it hurt?” His voice was hoarse and he cleared his throat.
Coco placed her forehead on her knees.
Her response was a muffled, “No.”
Taking great care he smoothed the oil on burning flesh paying particular attention to her shoulders and neck.
The scent of her shampoo, of warm woman made him bite down hard on his bottom lip.
Her skin was so soft and silky.
His cock jolted and he took a shaky breath. “What are you wearing?”
Her head lifted as she rolled her shoulders under his gentle fingers.
“It’s a robe daddy bought me. It makes me feel closer to him somehow.” Her voice cracked.
Then those slim shoulders shook as she bent her forehead to her knees.
“Christ,” he muttered under his breath.
And guilt clawed an acid path into his throat.
Perspiration beaded on his top lip as he finished, screwed the top on the bottle, placed it on his bedside table.
He tugged the robe up and carefully patted her shoulder.
“All done.”
She whirled around and he got a great view of fabulous breasts with their rosy tips as she pressed a quick kiss to his bare chest.
Caught off-guard he jumped and so did his cock.
“Thank you for looking after me, Raphael.”
Then her gaze dropped, grew huge as she noticed his erection.
For the first time in his adult life Rafe Cavendish blushed.
It burned up his throat and into his face.
Coco scooted backwards off the bed, stumbled towards the door and pointed to his achingly hard arousal.
“I’m... so... sorry, Raphael. I never meant to...”
Liquid distress poured into her eyes as she slapped her hand over her mouth, turned and fled.
The door banged behind her.
For an endless moment his mind went completely blank.
He blinked.
There was something not quite right about the expression in her eyes.
They weren’t upset or shocked in fact they looked...
And she’d only called him...
Raphael?
The truth hit him hard.
The events of the day roared through his mind.
She loved him like a brother did she?
And he was absolutely certain she’d been laughing at him before she slammed out of his room.
She’d played him.
Oh boy, had she played him.
The little witch.
He leapt up and raced after her.
Chapter Twenty Nine
Coco threw herself face down on her bed, howling with laughter into her pillow.
The look on his face had her feet dancing frantically on the mattress.
Oh. My. God.
She’d never seen such a hard-on in her life.
The man looked as if he was about to explode.
Sympathy for him elbowed her in the conscience, but she thrust it aside.
He deserved it.
Turning on her back she tried to catch her breath.
Tears poured down her cheeks and she pressed her hand to her mouth to stifle more hilarity.
Then she caught a movement out the corner of her eye.
She turned and saw him.
Arms folded, Rafe leaned against her closed bedroom door.
His mouth was a hard tight white line.
And fisted in his hand was her bottle of oil.
That jaw was clenched and those dark eyes blazed hot with fury.
Her heart stuttered, tripped and took off.
It roared in her ears as sweat beaded on her forehead.
As Coco saw it she had two choices, try to brazen it out or keep silent.
The second option won.
He pushed away from the door and stalked like a big black cat to the bottom of her bed.
A heady mix of excitement and sheer terror whirled in Coco’s mind as she leaned up on her elbows to watch him.
He spread his legs.
Without shame or embarrassment that impressive arousal tented his cotton bottoms.
She couldn’t help the whine that escaped from her throat.
In all the years she’d known him, she’d never seen him so angry.
Why she found it absolutely thrilling she’d no idea.
“Lose the robe.” His voice was too soft, too silky.
Using her heels, she propelled herself up the bed until her back hit the wooden headboard.
Keep calm she told herself.
He was a reasonable man – usually.
“Get out of my room, Rafael,” she said in a nice, sensible tone.
The flash in his eye alerted her.
“Wrong answer.”
She shrieked as hard hands grabbed her ankles, yanked her down the bed.
The robe slid up around her waist exposing white lacy panties.
She tried to kick, but those powerful hands held her firm.
“You’ve been enjoying yourself, haven’t you?”
He flipped her over onto her stomach.
Seriously alarmed now she tried to turn around, but strong hands held her firm.
Those eyes were jet black with a mix of arousal and fury as they narrowed studying her bottom.
Saliva dried in her mouth.
“You wouldn’t dare. Let me go.” Her voice sounded too breathless, too high and too panicky.
Humiliation and fear mixed with a deep dark curl of arousal.
His hand raised and she screwed her eyes tight, bracing herself for impact.
But nothing happened, instead his big hand caressed the top of her thigh then slid over a buttock cheek and squeezed.
She shivered as liquid heat detonated between her legs.
Then he released her.
“You really believe I would spank you?”
He no longer looked angry she saw with relief.
Instead, he appeared quizzical, thoughtful.
“I wouldn’t put anything past you,” she spat, seriously annoyed with herself that she was disappointed he’d backed-off.
What on earth was the matter with her?
His eyes went wide and his tongue rolled over his top teeth.
“Okay.”
He bent down, picked her up, tossed her over his shoulder and marched out.
Once she got her breath, Coco screamed loud and long.
What the hell did he think he was doing?
Her fists ineffectually battered his rock solid back as strolled down the stairs holding her knees tight to his chest.
“Put me down you low life, sneaky, son-of-a-bitch!”
Ignoring her, Rafe strode through the house, out through the French windows through the up-lit gardens and over the deck.
A horrible thought occurred to her.
He wouldn’t dare, would he?
“What’s the matter, Coco? You want me as your brother? Fine, here’s what your brother would do.”
He heaved her through the air, and her scream pierced the still silence of the dark evening.
She landed in the swimming pool with huge splash.
And sank to the bottom like a rock.
Grinning, Rafe waited for Coco to come up spluttering and gasping.
He gave her three seconds before he sat on a lounger.
Two could play at this game.
He counted another five then stood at the edge of the pool peering in.
The underwater lighting showed him she was face down on the bottom, legs spread, and arms spread.
And she wasn’t moving.
Each second that ticked by seemed like an hour.
With an expletive, he dived in and caught her around the waist.
She was a dead weight as he pushed her out onto the edge of the deck.
Heart pounding, anxiety c
lawed a greasy a path into his throat.
He turned her on her back, checking her head for lumps and bumps, running trembling hands over her body.
“Coco! Christ!”
He patted her cheeks, put an ear to her mouth.
And spout of water hit his cheek.
Her eyes flew open.
“Gotcha.”
Chapter Thirty
Coco’s laugh hitched in her throat at the frozen expression on his face.
She caught the mix of sheer panic and something else before his lids fell.
He got to his feet as if he was an old man and she realised he was trembling.
Sinking slowly to sit on a sun lounger, Rafe held his head in his hands and took a few deep breaths.
She’d scared him.
Guilt gave her a hard slap.
The wet robe clung to her, dripping pools of water around her feet as she padded over and stood before him.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to give you a heart attack. Ethan and I played chicken in the pool when I was little. It was childish and stupid and thoughtless.”
He didn’t move, didn’t speak.
His dripping hair appeared inky blue in the poolside lights.
Rivulets of water ran down his shoulders and back.
“Who won?” His voice sounded hoarse and he cleared his throat.
“Me.”
His head came up.
Dark eyes scanned her face. “Every time?”
She shrugged and frowned.
Why was he looking at her as if he’d never seen her before?
“Yes.”
Those eyes narrowed now. “You don’t like to lose, do you?”
Nope.
She gave another little jerk of her shoulder.
“I try not to.”
He nodded.
Dark eyes never left her face. “How long have you known your father wasn’t shot?”
Denial had Coco open her mouth, but those eyes bored into hers and her mouth closed with an audible snap.
All deception left her.
The memory of the satellite call and what he’d done reinforced her spine.
She permitted ice to enter her voice, her eyes.
The gloves were most definitely off.