She closed her eyes and arched into his hand. Before she opened her eyes again, he removed her glasses. “Keep your eyes closed,” he said softly. He gently ran his fingers through her hair, brushing it away from her face until she felt her muscles relax.
“Scoot back and lie down.” He lay on the bed beside her as she obeyed. He palmed her stomach, slowly stroking her skin. His hand glided up between her breasts then down to her stomach again, and then farther down, caressing her thighs.
He was being so patient. What if she couldn’t— “Rafe?”
“Uh-uh-uh. No talking.” He sighed. “Turn over.” He pushed her hip and she rolled to her stomach and rested her head on her folded arms.
“Keep your eyes closed.” He began massaging her back, her shoulders. “Picture the mighty Mississippi, the water flows, lazily making its way down to the gulf.”
She saw it.
“And there’s a boat, just driftin’ along.” He gripped her behind one knee and bent her leg. At the same time he swept the hair off her nape and she felt his lips kissing there, and then down her spine. “The sun is warm.” A soft kiss. “Birds are chirpin’.” Another soft kiss. “You put your hand out and let your fingers dip into the cool water as you slowly drift down the river.” Warm, sensuous kisses down the rest of her spine.
His breathy Cajun drawl lulled her into a languid state. She let out a sigh.
“Bon,” he whispered. His hand traveled up from her knee to her thigh and slipped between them.
She moaned and raised her knee, giving him more access. His hand accepted the invitation and played with her, rubbing softly at first, then gradually using more pressure.
The pleasurable ache, the throbbing... Mmm, felt so good, and was building up to something more, and then more still. It felt as if she might burst, but she didn’t want it to stop. She wanted even more, harder, faster, deeper, yes, deeper—and then an explosion of sensation unlike anything she’d ever felt before overtook her. She screamed, and her body tensed for what seemed like forever. She gasped for breath.
The throbbing eventually faded. Lazily she opened her eyes, taking in her surroundings. Remembering where she was.
She was on her back, with no memory of getting there. The muscles inside her still contracted like the aftershocks of an earthquake.
And that’s what it had felt like. An earthquake inside her, erupting fiery lava, transforming her world. Transforming her.
And there was Rafe, a blurry shadow, but the white of his teeth flashed. “What does Gregory know, huh?”
Her face heated. “I just assumed it was me.”
“Nothing wrong with you, cher.”
She smiled, cupped his face and rose up to kiss him. And kiss him and kiss him.
Squinting, she studied his muscled chest. A bold, black tattoo covered the top half of his right side. The abstract pattern started at the top of his right shoulder in a series of stark black swirls, or flames, each swirl ending on a fine point like a scythe. One of the scythes curved just under his right nipple. She wanted to lick that nipple.
With a hungry moan she stroked his pecs, and then slid her hands down to his stomach and back up, memorizing everywhere she touched. She licked her lips, pushed him to his back and leaned over him to place her mouth at his throat.
As she did, her breasts brushed his chest.
“I need these off.” Her hands fumbled with his jeans.
He chuckled warm and long. “I’ve created a monster.”
She grinned and palmed his erection through the denim.
“Hey!” He grabbed her trembling hand. “Careful now.” He pushed to his feet and pulled a shiny packet from his wallet. Then he tugged his boots off, his jeans and boxer briefs followed and he lay beside her.
Even without her glasses, she could tell he was large and magnificently erect, the skin slightly darker than the rest of him. She wanted to touch him, to pleasure him the way he’d pleasured her.
She reached down and grasped him, feeling the soft skin covering a rod of steel. Her thumb rubbed the tip and spread moisture around the head. He groaned, pushing into her hand. “Won’t take much more. I’d rather be in you, cher.”
Moving a leg between hers, he rolled on top of her, resting his weight on his elbows. His penis pushed against her stomach. Deliberately, he took her right nipple into his mouth, drawing deeply and flicking his tongue across the peak.
“Rafe!” She cupped the back of his head and arched off the bed.
“I like that. Hearing you call out my name.” He tore open the packet with his teeth, slipped on protection and then pressed into her to the hilt.
She wrapped her arms around his back, holding him tightly, running her fingers up into his hair.
“You feel good, cher, all tight and hot around me.” His voice sounded strained, even muffled as it was against her neck. He started to move.
“You feel good, too.” She arched her hips, matching his rhythm.
He groaned and pulled almost all the way out before thrusting back into her.
“Oooh, that feels good.” She nuzzled into his neck. “Mmm, and you smell good, too.”
He pulled out and pushed in again, powerful and hitting just the right spot. “Oh! Rafe? I should’ve told you at the hotel, thank you f—”
He stilled. “Claire?”
“Hmm?”
“No more talking now.” He kissed her, long and deep as he moved inside her. His kisses trailed down her neck to her breasts where he suckled and his hands cupped, and played. She groaned and closed her eyes and pictured herself floating along the mighty Mississippi, its currents ebbing and flowing, gently tugging and pushing, and the pressure started to build again. Her hands caressed his back and shoulders. She was losing herself in the experience just like she had a few moments ago, and the aching, throbbing release was so close.
His rhythm sped up, and he slid a hand between them to rub and tease her and the next minute she was falling over the edge again. Rafe froze, then thrust once more, shuddering as he came.
Moments later, he moved next to her, his breathing erratic.
For a while there was nothing but colored lights behind her eyes and a thrumming in her veins. Gradually she began to notice the heat of the man beside her. Hear his breathing, feel the soreness between her legs and in her thigh muscles.
So this was passion. This was sex. This was the way it should be.
Sex with a man so purely male, so powerfully masculine he’d patiently brought her to, not one, but two miraculous orgasms.
She lifted up to study him, wishing she had her glasses on. He looked delicious, every broad-shouldered, big-muscled, long-limbed inch of him. Disheveled strands of hair fell across his eyes. She wanted to reach up and brush them away. But she didn’t.
In this relaxed pose, he didn’t look as formidable, but more like a little boy forced to become a tough man. Instead of looking peaceful, he looked tired. Lines of stress were more visible, and dark circles smudged his eyes.
What troubles weighed him down? She knew nothing about him except that he managed a bar, was good with a knife and was an exceptionally patient and determined lover.
How many other women had he brought here? Rafe had undoubtedly had dozens of one-night stands, maybe hundreds. Her nails dug into her palms at the thought.
Wait a minute.
Was she jealous? After having sex with him once?
“Why’d you call me?”
Claire jumped when he spoke. “What?”
He opened his eyes. “When I dropped you off at the hotel you thought I was no better than a thug with a knife. Why’d you call me instead of the police?”
“I did call the police.”
He turned his head to look at her. “Fine.” He sat up and rolled off the bed to his feet. “Hide behind semantics.” Rafe disappeared into the bathroom.
“Wait.” She frantically searched the bed for her glasses, squinting and feeling around with her hands until she found them.<
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As she slipped them on, he came back out, stepped into his underwear and jeans, tugged them up and zipped the fly.
Yanking the comforter up to her chin, she scooted to the edge of the bed, unable to meet his gaze. “I called you first because...because I knew you would make me feel safe. I was so scared, and I—I just...needed you there.” She chewed her lip and waited for him to laugh.
Instead, he stepped close and touched his fingers to her cheek. “Tell me about you and your missing friend.”
Claire blinked. “You want to talk about Julia?”
He shrugged. “Most people wouldn’t go to these lengths for a friend, no matter how close they were.” Striding to his makeshift kitchen—which was a small counter, a portable cooktop and a mini-fridge—he grabbed a can of grounds from the fridge and proceeded to make coffee.
“Are you coworkers?” While the coffeemaker gurgled and dripped, he retrieved his only chair from a tiny table by the window, turned it backward and straddled it.
“No. We go way back.” She smiled, remembering when they were kids. How many scrapes had the two of them gotten into? Julia would suggest some outrageous stunt, Claire would dutifully list all the reasons why it was a bad idea and then Julia would coax Claire into doing it, anyway.
Her smile faded. “If you can believe it, I used to be even more of a geek than I am today. I’m sure you noticed my stutter.”
“I did.” Rafe got up and poured them each a mug of coffee. “Hope you like it black.”
“Black is fine.” She took the mug from him and sipped. “I was taller than most of the other kids, and shy, had the thick glasses.” Wow, she sounded pathetic. She glanced at Rafe, but he looked interested, not disgusted.
“And Julia was gorgeous, blossomed early?” he guessed.
“Oh, no, she was a scrawny little thing.” Always hungry. And frequently dirty. Claire had eventually discovered that Julia’s mother was an undiagnosed bipolar, incapable of caring for her own daughter. “Scrawny, but scrappy.” She smiled. “She was fearless. One day this boy was bullying me during recess when Julia stepped in and bloodied his nose.”
He whistled. “Julia punched some kid in the nose?”
“Yep.” She nodded. “Got suspended from school for it, too.”
His shoulders shook as he chuckled. “How old were you?”
“Third grade.” Julia had become her best friend, her mentor, her sister.
“Gutsy kid.”
“She was. After that we were inseparable until...” Until she’d left for Cambridge. Claire hadn’t thought, until this moment, about how Julia must’ve felt when her best friend went off to an Ivy League university and left her in Missouri attending cosmetology school.
“Until?” Rafe urged.
Snapped back to the present, Claire answered, “Until I went to college. Which I might not have had the courage to do without Julia. I definitely wouldn’t have gone to prom. But she had a way of making me believe in myself.” She met Rafe’s gaze with a determined glint. “And I owe it to her to believe in her now.”
Rafe gulped his coffee. “But if she’s such a daredevil, why are you so sure she hasn’t just taken off on her own?”
“I’ll admit, she sometimes does things on a whim without thinking it through. With Julia, taking risks was a lot of fun. But sometimes it got us into trouble. And Rafe, I know her. If she weren’t in trouble, she’d be on the phone telling me all about her crazy adventure. We tell each other everything.” She frowned into her coffee mug. “At least, we used to....”
Claire hadn’t spent much time with Julia the past few years. Every time her childhood friend called to suggest a road trip, Claire had been too busy to go. Finally, last month, Julia had refused to take “too busy” for an answer.
It was their last year to be twenty-something, Julia had cajoled. She’d promised Claire would only miss two days of work, tops. So, despite being in the middle of a huge project at the lab, Claire had agreed to meet Julia in New Orleans for Mardi Gras.
And look where it had gotten them.
Could Julia be punishing her for the past years of neglect?
Rafe was still watching her intently.
“Did you know an average of three hundred and fifty thousand women are reported missing every year?”
“Uh—”
“That’s nine hundred and fifty-eight a day! Two hundred and thirty-three thousand women in the U.S. are raped or sexually assaulted.”
“You just happen to have all these statistics in your head?”
“I looked them up while I was sitting in the police station the first day.”
“And you remembered them?”
She shrugged. “I have a good memory for numbers.”
He just blinked.
“And also, government research shows that victims of nonfamily abductions and stereotypical kidnappings are most at risk of injury, sexual assault or death.”
Rafe frowned, examining his mug. “That doesn’t mean—”
“I know.” Dwelling on what-ifs wouldn’t do Julia any good. Claire took a sip of her coffee. “This is good coffee,” she said to change the subject.
He grunted. “You want more?” He swung a leg behind the chair and went to the coffeepot.
“No, thanks. I’d never get to sleep.” The sun was gradually lighting the room. Traffic noise was revving up for the day. She could faintly hear the bells of the St. Luis Cathedral ringing in the distance. Claire yawned and her eyelids were heavy, but she didn’t want their conversation to end.
She watched him refill his mug. He performed even this simple chore as deftly and masterfully as he did everything else. “You don’t just manage Once Bitten, do you? You’re the owner.”
Returning to his chair, he raised a brow. “How’d you guess?”
“You don’t seem like the type to take orders well.”
Rafe couldn’t help a chuckle. Claire was astute, he’d give her that. And not just that. She’d surprised him several times with her courage, and her stubbornness, and her loyalty to a friend who probably didn’t deserve it.
And all that passion kept tamped down, like a banked fire just waiting for someone to come along and stoke it up into roaring flames. And she’d set him ablaze, as well. She’d been so tight. So hot. He’d lost himself for a moment.
Was that why he’d been attracted to her? He’d sensed something inside her, a tension, a cord wound tight, ready to snap.
“So, how did you come to own a vampire bar?” As if she was readying herself for a long bedtime story, she scooted back, lay down and pulled a soft fluffy pillow under her head.
A woman. In his bed. He’d never brought a woman up here. It was much easier to go to their place—usually a hotel room—so he could leave whenever he wanted. And never have to talk afterward.
Damn, he shouldn’t have asked about her life. Now she thought she could question him. He could tell her he needed to finish that paperwork downstairs. But...“I grew up in New Orleans.”
He found himself standing, making his way to the bed and leaning against the bedpost. “My first job was in a bar. O’Sullivan’s down on Picayune. Cleaning up, doing whatever.” He didn’t tell her he’d learned to make most drinks before he was fifteen. “Didn’t take me long to realize somebody like me’s not going to get anywhere working for other people.”
Her gaze seemed to penetrate his protective shield. “People like you?”
He gritted his teeth. She could stare with those big brown eyes all day. He sure as hell wasn’t going to spill his guts to this woman. “Let’s just say I’m no doctor.”
“I’m really just a microbiologist.”
“Oh, well. That’s different, then.”
Her lips flattened. “So, why a vampire bar?”
He shrugged and finished his coffee. “It’s a way to stand out. Tourists love it.” Despite the coffee, his body was screaming for rest. His mind must need sleep, also, or he would never have talked so much about himself.
And Claire looked damned sexy lying there all curled up in his satin comforter. He pushed off the bedpost, crawled in beside her, gently removed her glasses and set them on the bedside table.
Claire rolled to face him, reached over and ran her palm down his chest. Her hand felt soft and warm, soothing...
That was the last thing he remembered until he woke from another nightmare about his pappy. The old man was yelling at him again, had the belt out, threatening like always to beat the crap out of him. But this time Pappy was raving about what a sad sack he was for letting Shadow get away.
And Rafe woke up knowing he was right.
7
CLAIRE WOKE FROM A profound sleep, smiled and stretched in the big soft bed with the silky sheets. She hadn’t slept this well since—
Julia! The events of the past three days came slamming back, jolting her fully awake. She twisted and saw the empty space beside her.
Rafe was gone.
From the amount and angle of the light coming through the blinds, it was probably late afternoon. She listened, but heard no shower running. No music blaring from downstairs. Perhaps he was just finishing that paperwork he’d mentioned.
She had things she needed to take care of also. She wanted to call Sergeant Mulroney and see if they’d had any leads on Shadow or the laptop. If Shadow pawned it, hopefully there’d be surveillance tape from the store.
She found her purse, grabbed her cell and called, but the sergeant wasn’t at his desk. As it was Sunday, checking in with her office would have to wait until tomorrow. And she put off calling her parents, knowing she needed to share what information she had, but...she wanted a little while longer to bask in this blissfully sated feeling.
As she stepped into the shower, she contemplated the astounding events of this morning. Aside from the fact that she’d never experienced orgasm before, she’d never—not ever, been told she was beautiful—parents didn’t count. Not in this way. Not in the way Rafe had said it. As if he meant it. As if he actually saw her as a person of beauty. And she’d certainly never felt such white-hot desire. She’d assumed it just wasn’t in her. She’d been blessed with a high I.Q. and that—she’d believed—meant sacrificing other things. Like passion.
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