by Francis Ray
Trying to keep her hands from shaking, she took out two plates. “We can eat while we talk.”
Placing the plates on the small table, she glanced up. Whatever she had been about to say faded from her mind. He looked so lost and alone. And he’d never admit to it, never admit he needed someone. Needed her.
Taking her heart and her courage in her hand, she went to him, so close she felt the heat from his body, saw her reflection in his tortured eyes. “Maybe if you kissed me we’d both feel better.”
His breath hitched. His gaze heated, narrowed. “Go ho—”
“No.” Kristen threw her arms around his neck. She had just enough time to see his startled expression before she pressed her lips to his. They were firm and hot.
Rafe lost the battle between one breath and the next. His large, calloused hands clamped around her small waist, jerking her closer to his hard length. Her high breasts firmed and heated against him. His body throbbed.
“Kristen. Kristen,” he moaned. He wanted to kiss every sweet inch of her, then start again. He wanted to bury himself in her silken heat until there was no beginning and no end, just each other. He couldn’t. He had never gone in for casual sex and hadn’t purchased condoms in months. Even if he had, he wouldn’t risk her getting pregnant.
“Rafe. I need you.”
The breathless rush of her voice excited him as nothing else ever had. He’d stop in a moment. He just needed one more second. She was so sweet. She was everything.
She groaned deep in her throat. He felt her breasts against his chest, cupped her hips to hold her closer … and lost it.
He didn’t recall taking her to his bed or undressing them, but if he lived to be a thousand he’d never forget the incredible heat of her—or the unexpected barrier.
His eyes widened. He stilled, staring down at her, wanting so much, yet knowing he couldn’t have it. Groaning as if in pain, he started to pull back, but she twisted beneath him, her mouth finding his, her legs anchoring her to him.
“Rafe.”
He could no more deny their need than he could deny his next breath. His mouth locked on hers: then he slid his hands beneath her hips and made them one. She closed around him like a tight, silken glove.
Guided by love, he kissed the side of her neck, her mouth, comforting her, drawing her back to passion with softly murmured words he had never used before, hadn’t known he knew until this woman gave what could be given only once. Soon he felt her relax and he began to move, his body calling hers to follow. She did without hesitation, matching his in a rhythm as old as time.
He felt his body spinning, tried to stop. He had to stop, but it was too late. With a will of his own, his body sought completion, determined to bring her along.
Pleasure mounted as he surged into her, each stroke bringing him closer and closer until, with a hoarse shout, he exploded. She was there with him. Their mingled cries of satisfaction filled the room.
* * *
Something was wrong. Kristen felt tears sting the back of her eyes.
Lying beside Rafe in his bed, she might as well have tried to snuggle up to a rock. His hard body was stiff and unyielding. The beautiful emotions she’d felt earlier while they were making love evaporated.
Her arms tightened around the sheet covering her bare breasts. She hadn’t been able to give him the peace he so desperately needed. Her love wasn’t enough.
The bed shifted as he rolled away. She bit her lip and shut her eyes. She wouldn’t cry. She’d be mature about this, even if she felt as if her heart were being wrenched from her body.
She opened her eyes to make some casual remark and gaped instead when she saw his back crisscrossed with scars. Nausea rose in her throat. She sprang upright. “Rafe!”
He whirled around, his face contorted in pain as if he were feeling each lash that marked his back anew. He shoved his arms back into the shirt he’d just taken off.
Kristen knew with chilling certainty who had done this. How could a father do that to his child? She stared in mounting horror. No wonder he hated his father so deeply.
“Not very pretty, is it?” A muscle in his bronzed jaw leaped.
Tears welled up in her eyes. “Rafe.”
Her tears seemed to anger him. “I don’t need your pity.”
“You don’t want anything from me, but you have my love just the same,” she told him quietly.
He seemed to sway. The hard expression left his face, to be replaced with what was almost panic. “No, you can’t love me.”
Rafe needed her love, even if he didn’t want it. “Too late.”
The brackets at the corners of his mouth deepened. “You don’t understand. I come from men who inflict pain as easily as another parent offers love. One of my earliest memories is of my father whipping me with an extension cord because I forgot to put a toy away and he’d almost tripped over it.” His chest heaved with the force of his indrawn breath. “My mother believed a man should discipline his children, so there was no one except my grandmother two streets over until Lilly came, and even then there was nothing she could do.”
His face became as hard as granite. “My grandfather abused my father and he continued the tradition. It stops here.” He turned toward her. “I’d rather chop off my hand than harm my child. We shouldn’t have made love.”
Kristen swallowed her hurt. “You’re nothing like your father.”
Rafe didn’t appear to be listening. His hands were clenched. He stared at her as if he didn’t see her. “I shouldn’t have let this happen. I should have stopped.”
“We made love together, Rafe. I didn’t want you to stop,” she said. “It was beautiful.”
“This shouldn’t have happened,” he repeated, his voice rough with strain and self-loathing. “You can’t get pregnant. I won’t risk harming my child.”
For the first time in her life, Kristen knew what it would be like to be needed. No one else needed her the way Rafe did. “You could never be cruel or heartless. I’ve watched you with Adam Jr. and the students. You’re kind, patient, and generous.”
His laughter sent chills down her spine. “My father was the best-loved man in the church. The other boys thought I had the coolest old man around. He was the head deacon. Everybody loved him.”
After he’d lived with shame and humiliation for so long, she wasn’t going to change his mind easily. She’d have to show him. “Come back to bed. We’ll be more careful next time.”
He didn’t move. “There’s no future with me.”
She had no future without him. “Come to bed, Rafe.”
Slowly he walked to the bed and sat down. He made no move to take her into his arms. She placed her head on his chest, circled his neck with her arms, careful to keep her hands high on his back. Slowly his arms came around her, squeezing her tightly. This time she was unable to stop the flow of tears.
* * *
Kristen knew the exact second Rafe eased her away from him and left the bed Saturday morning. She had to clench her hands to keep from reaching for him. Neither one of them had slept much. Nor had they talked or made love again.
She heard the shower come on and opened her eyes. Weak light shone through the sheer blue curtains. A quick glance at her watch told her why: 6:15 a.m. She wished she knew if Rafe usually got up this early or if she had run him from his bed.
Throwing back the covers, she slid her feet over the side and got up. She found her clothes and quickly dressed. She was writing a note on the back of a bank deposit slip when he came back.
He looked tired. She searched and thankfully found a smile. “Good morning—I was leaving you a note. I have to be at work by ten.”
“Do you want breakfast?”
A normal conversation when things were anything but. “I’ll grab a bite later. Good-bye.” Not giving herself time to falter, to beg him to hold her before she left, she hurried out of the room.
Watching her practically run from him, Rafe felt like a bastard. She didn’t deserve
this, but it was better if it ended quickly. Prolonging it would only make it more difficult. Deciding he’d make coffee later, he started for his office.
He was too keyed up to concentrate on finishing the keyhole desk. Paperwork wasn’t much better, but at least he could erase those mistakes with a few swipes of an eraser.
At his desk, he stared at the ledger. He’d been working on it with little success when Kristen arrived last night. He flipped it closed and took it to his file cabinet to put away. That was out, too. It was too much of a reminder of Kristen.
Putting it away, he flipped through his files and pulled out the folder of a prospective client who wanted a pair of walnut display cabinets for her Fabergé collection. The price could easily run to twenty thousand dollars. Money was no object. She wanted style, elegance, and superior workmanship. That’s what Rafe would give her. At least in this he knew what he was doing.
Flipping through the folder to look at a few pictures the client had given him, he turned to start back to his desk and happened to glance out the window. The folder slid from his hand. He was out the door in three long strides.
He heard Kristen’s heartbroken sobs the instant he opened the office door. He couldn’t get to her fast enough. She leaned weakly against the hood of her car, one arm curved around her waist.
“Baby, don’t.” He wrapped her in his arms, holding her tightly. “Please. Shhh.” When her tears showed no sign of abating, he picked her up and took her to his office and sat down in his chair.
He felt helpless and guilty. He stroked her back with a hand that trembled, kissed the wetness from her cheeks. He had hurt her. She should never have gotten involved with him. He could have prevented this. “I’m not worth your tears.”
That brought her head up. He saw the anger burning in her watery eyes and didn’t blame her. He deserved her scorn.
“Do I look stupid to you?” she asked tightly.
Rafe couldn’t follow the flow of conversation, but had no difficulty realizing he was tiptoeing through dangerous territory. “Of course not,” he said cautiously.
“Then why would I wait all this time for a worthless man to be my lover?”
The word lover dried the spit in his mouth. She wasn’t finished with him. “If you say anything so idiotic again, I’ll get a blowtorch and weld all your hand tools into one big blob.”
Staring down into her angry, tear-stained face, he didn’t doubt her. She’d fight for him even if she had to fight against him to do it. “I made you cry.”
She sniffed and swiped an unsteady hand across her face. “That’s because you’re a man. Men aren’t always the most sensitive. I wanted to be held this morning and you acted as if we were strangers. You were pushing me out of your life after what we shared last night, and that hurt.”
He had no defense except the one he’d kept telling himself all night as he lay awake with her in his arms. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”
“Loving you could never hurt. Pushing me away will,” she said, her gaze locked on his. “I don’t want to give up your friendship because we’re lovers.”
He almost winced. There was that word again, and, since Kristen had been a virgin before last night, she wasn’t using the word casually. “For us there is no tomorrow, only yesterday.”
Her gaze never wavered. “It can be, if you let it.”
He wanted to believe it was possible, but he couldn’t gamble with her happiness or the possibility of fathering a child. “We’re not going to make love again until we’re sure you’re not pregnant. When will you know?”
She dropped her head. His thumb and finger lifted it back up. She blushed and said, “Three weeks.”
Rafe breathed a little easier. She wouldn’t be at her most fertile until next week. He might not have ruined her life. His hand left her chin to stroke her hair. “Just promise me one thing. Promise me you won’t cry if it doesn’t work out between us.”
Her smile was tremulous. “I promise to try.”
Despite the aching loneliness she eased within him, he set her away from him. “How about breakfast? I make a pretty good omelet.”
She came off his lap and sent him a watery smile. “Thank you, but I’d better get back. Angelique is coming over for breakfast. She’ll be worried if I’m not there.”
“All right.” He pushed to his feet, feeling the awkwardness descend between them once again. “I’ll walk you to your car.”
“Unnecessary. I’ll see you later.” Waving her fingers, she was out the door.
Wanting to see for himself that she made it this time, he ignored her wishes and followed her outside. As he watched her drive away, he was very much aware that she could have cancelled with Angelique and stayed for breakfast. The thought made him feel guiltier.
twenty-seven
The weatherman had predicted rain for New Orleans and the thick, gray clouds overhead showed every indication that they were going to prove him right. The overcast day matched Kristen’s mood exactly as she made her way from the parking lot to St. Clair’s. She had made a complete and utter mess of everything. Rafe’s father had a much stronger hold on him than she ever could. How had she been so naïve as to think all it would take to heal Rafe was for him to let go and admit he cared about her?
The blast of a car horn pulled her up short and she stepped back on the sidewalk. When the car passed, she continued down Royal Street, busy even at nine-thirty. Passing a coffee shop, the aroma of freshly baked beignets and strong chicory coffee filled her nostrils. Her lips pursed. She hadn’t eaten and she wasn’t hungry. There had been no appointment with Angelique for breakfast. It had been a pitiful excuse that a child could have seen through.
Her hand clenched on the shoulder strap of her handbag. Obviously, Rafe hadn’t wanted her to stay. She’d been afraid that if she had, she’d start crying again and that time she wouldn’t have been able to stop.
We won’t make love again until we’re sure.
She walked around a slow-moving couple and continued down the street. She’d lied about her menstrual cycle. It was due in two weeks, not three, and she was like clockwork. The thought of pregnancy hadn’t entered her mind when she’d decided to go to Rafe. She hadn’t thought it would go so far so fast. But when she’d kissed him, her body had spiraled out of control.
Now they both might have to pay the consequences. What if she was pregnant? Her stomach did a back flip. She wasn’t sure if it was from dread or excitement.
Arriving at St. Clair’s, she saw that Jacques was already there and had opened the shop a few minutes early. She hated to admit it, but she hoped that meant he might close a bit early. She wasn’t sure she could cope with an endless stream of people today.
Entering, she immediately saw Jacques hanging a new picture in place of the Arthello Beck painting he’d sold the day before. “Good morning, Jacques.”
“Good morning,” he greeted, glancing over his shoulder. He frowned.
Kristen turned her head. She should have taken the time to find her shades. Make-up was no help for red, puffy eyes.
“You feel all right?” Jacques asked, coming to stand by her desk.
She busied herself putting away her purse. “I’m fine.”
“Kristen, I was married for twenty-seven years. I know when a woman’s been crying.”
She blinked rapidly. Her mouth opened, but nothing came out. She reached for her purse and pulled out a tissue.
“I’d send you home if I thought you’d go.” He put his hand gently on her trembling shoulder. “Let’s change desks today. You can work on the inventory that just came in. You’ll be closer to the storage area.”
She had to swallow before she could say, “Thank you.”
“Rafe impressed me as an intelligent young man,” Jacques said as she rose to her feet. “Give it time.”
“That’s the one thing we don’t have,” Kristen said as she walked away.
* * *
Damien knew when he was being given t
he runaround. He’d handed it out enough, but this was the first time he was on the receiving end. Angelique was acquiring the annoying habit of becoming the first in a long list of unpleasant firsts.
And he was the one supposed to give her things first. What a joke!
Standing in front of her door, he jabbed her bell, and then paced. There was little assurance that she’d answer it quickly. For the past three days, she had been putting him off when he called. She was always about to see a client or go into a meeting. If he called her at home, she was busy on her dissertation.
He whirled back to the door and jabbed the bell repeatedly. “I know you’re in there, Angelique.”
Unfortunately, an elderly woman happened to be passing with her silky terrier. Eyeing him warily, she picked up the little dog and hugged the wall until she was well past him. Damien shoved his hand over his hair.
Another first. Scaring old ladies.
“This isn’t over, Angelique.” Spinning on his heels, he stalked to the elevator.
Inside, Angelique leaned her head against the door. There was a lump in her throat, a pain in her heart. This was for the best.
Damien was just angry because she’d thwarted him. A self-assured man like him wouldn’t easily accept a woman gaining the upper hand or dumping him. Probably a first. That was the reason he was so persistent. There was nothing special about his interest in her. He only wanted her for sex.
He’d get tired and move on to someone else. And just the thought of it made the pain in her chest deepen.
Scrubbing her hand over her face, Angelique went back to the papers scattered on the floor and picked up the laptop. Damien was her past. This was her future.
* * *
Claudette took the phone call in her father’s study. She sat in his favorite chair, where he’d wielded so much power and authority and taught her to do the same … no matter how distasteful. She felt closer to him here than any other place. After a rough day at work or on Sunday afternoon they’d spent long hours here, planning or just sharing the quiet comfort of the elegantly appointed, high-ceilinged room.