by Sharon Wray
“Waking you from a nightmare.”
“Why are you really here?”
“Protecting you.”
How was she supposed to bear this sadness all over again? “I don’t understand.”
“All I want is to save the life you’ve built.”
She frowned. “You’ll want something in return.”
“There is one thing.” When she arched her eyebrow, he shrugged. “To keep you safe, I need to find something. To do that, I need your help. There are bad people out there. Men who’ll hurt you if I don’t return with what I’m looking for.”
“You know that sounds insane?”
“All of the vandalism, the loan being sold, the cathedral are related to one thing. You.”
“If I trust you, and we find this thing and fix my problems, you’ll leave?”
“I’ll do what’s best for you.”
So many emotions, so many thoughts driving garden stakes through her mind. But she wasn’t stupid. Someone was tormenting her, and she had no idea how to stop it. Rafe might be the last person she’d ever turn to for help, but he might be the only one who could help her.
Her hands fisted against his chest. She’d always assumed this confrontation between them would be cold and bitter and ragged. She’d never expected to have this conversation in solemn, quiet darkness. “Rafe?” The word hurt coming out. Like knives carving each letter along the way.
“I’m here.” He spoke with a soft drawl she used to love.
She rested her forehead against his shoulder. Now she knew the source of the heat. His body threw off enough warmth to reset the thermostat. Why was she such a coward? “That letter you sent me—”
“Things aren’t what they seem. Just please trust that everything I’ve ever done has been for your safety.” He paused. “We have one week to find what I’m looking for.”
She raised her head to meet his gaze. Before he left, she’d been able to read his eyes. His secrets and dreams. His unspoken desires. Now there were shadows tinged with sadness and regret. The blazing fire she’d loved had turned to gray ash. And for some reason she didn’t want to examine, it mattered. She blinked, determined to keep herself together and him separate. “Then we start tomorrow—I mean later today.”
He held her head with one hand while his other arm wrapped around her waist. Her breasts flattened against hard chest muscles. His breath tickled her nose, warm and forceful. How could she consider being this close to him? Working with him? He brushed a kiss against her cheek. The sensation hit her system like the bottle rockets he used to shoot for her to see from her balcony, and she closed her eyes. His lips traced hers, and the tingle curled her toes.
How, after all these years, could she still be so susceptible to him? Because he’d once been her husband. The one man she’d loved beyond reason. Forever and always. She tilted her head, and the brush became a demand. The demand became an ache. And the ache became a need so great she threw her arms around his neck. Her world tilted, his arms tightened, and his lips explored hers as if he’d never kissed anyone else ever. The air around them vibrated, matching the motion of the kiss.
He broke away, leaving her a disoriented mess.
“Juliet.” The word rolled like a wave break. Forward, then retreating. His body heaved, and he ran his hands over his prison-shorn hair. “I’m sorry.”
Those words stung more than his rejection. He was sorry. Hadn’t he said so in his letter eight years ago? “You should leave.” She glanced at her clock. “It’s almost three a.m. We both need to sleep.”
And she needed to be alone. Because when he touched her, she melted. When he whispered, she caved. And when he kissed her, she begged for more. It’d always been like that. All he had to do was walk into a room, and she wanted him. When he looked at her, like she was the only woman he’d ever need, she dreamed of lying beneath him, his heavy body possessing hers. Her reaction to him was sad, pathetic, and wrong. She wasn’t sure who she hated more: him or herself for her reaction to him.
Without warning, he swung her up and laid her on the bed. “I’m asking you to help me fix what I’ve ruined. Then your life can go on as it was.”
Her eyes drifted closed. The nightmare’s adrenaline rush left as swiftly as it came in, leaving her depleted. She heard the words, but his face blinked in and out of time and space. The bed sagged, and she scooted over so he could adjust his body. Then, just before sleep hit, she reached to feel his warmth.
No, she wasn’t happy he’d been released from prison. She wasn’t happy he’d come home. She wasn’t happy he’d kissed her and she’d kissed him back. But she didn’t want to be alone. And that was going to be a problem.
* * *
Rafe’s heart ached for both of them. He’d arrived at her apartment to find her asleep and had grabbed a blanket to sleep on the floor—until her nightmare. Now she was curled up beneath the light quilt, trembling from the aftereffects of the dream. He had no doubt the dreams were back because of him. They always appeared when she was stressed. Which proved, in spite of her cold-shouldering, that she was as affected by him as he was by her.
Still, despite their kiss having the power to blot out stars, he’d stopped it. Not because he wanted to. Not because he had that much self-control. He’d stopped it because he’d neither the right nor privilege to touch her. Instead, he placed his gun on the bedside, near her Glock, and lay next to her. When her hand found his chest, he covered her fingers, holding them against his heart.
His body burned for her. Sweat coated his forehead, and his arousal fought against the zipper. He needed her, wanted her, dreamed of driving into her with an intensity that almost made him reach for himself. Instead, he embraced the painful rubbing with the fervor of a penitent. Although he despaired of finding sleep, his mind closed the shutters. Days without proper rest, dozing on benches and bus seats, forced his body to shut down. Rolling to his side, he listened for her heartbeat, counting his, then hers, until they matched.
* * *
Nate opened his eyes, testing every muscle group, tasting blood. Despite his body screaming Don’t move, he had no broken bones or fractured ribs. It took a minute to pull himself up and find his knife. Wobbly and achy, he checked his phone. Three a.m. Awesome.
Pete answered on the first ring. “Where are you?”
“Balthasar attacked me.” And for some reason left me alive.
“Did he mention Deke?”
Nate hadn’t expected sympathy, but an Are you okay? would’ve been nice. “No.”
“What are we going to do?”
Nate didn’t know. From his jittery hands and the flashing stars, he had to down as many ibuprofens as his stomach could handle ASAP. “Meet me at the motel.”
“I’m here. I shut the club half an hour ago. You want me to come get you? Can you bike?”
“I’m fine.” He took two steps and grunted.
“Samantha and I are coming. She’s, uh, here with me.”
“Stay put. I’ll be there soon.” He shoved the phone in his pocket and felt something. A baggie with three pills. One day’s worth of Z-pam. Balthasar obviously expected something in return.
Nate walked his bike toward the river. Where was Deke? How did Balthasar know about the Z-pam? And why had Balthasar been talking about a vial? That’s when Nate remembered Balthasar mentioning two people who knew about the vial. Torridan, who’d obviously withheld intel. And a man named Romeo. A man Nate could only assume was Rafe.
Chapter 18
At seven a.m., Juliet stood in her workroom, staring at her floral refrigerators. She’d slept with Rafe. Not in the marital sense. They’d fallen asleep in her bed, when she’d been in that void between dreams and reality. But she remembered her hand on his chest. The warmth had burned through his T-shirt, to her heart, down to her toes.
They might be divorced, yet he still c
laimed her heart. And while she wasn’t happy about that, she wasn’t angry either. Maybe she was just tired.
Bob came in through the back door with a smile and a “Good morning, Miss Juliet,” followed by Philip carrying a tray with two coffees and a bakery bag.
“Good morning.” She opened her notebook on the worktable. “Bob, I spoke with Pearson’s Nursery. They have enough lilies and can ship them this morning. Can you send someone to the cathedral to accept delivery?”
“I’ll do it, Miss Juliet. I just left the planting crew at Liberty Square. As long as the city water workers get the fountain working and the electric system passes inspection, the square will be done by Sunday.”
Thank God something was going right. Then she remembered that the workers had to be paid.
Philip handed her a coffee. “I heard about the church. Any idea who was responsible?”
Although he smiled, his voice sounded accusatory, like he was hurt she hadn’t called.
She took a sip before answering. “No. I haven’t spoken to Detective Garza yet.”
Bob went through the new work orders, muttering, “I don’t get what the world’s coming to, Miss Juliet.”
“I don’t either, Bob.”
“I’m glad no one was hurt.” Philip squinted at her. “Is that a bruise on your face?”
“I didn’t sleep well.” She took money from her purse—her tips from last night. “Bob, here’s three hundred dollars for the lilies. Please get a receipt.”
“Will do, Miss Juliet.” Bob pocketed the money and the work order.
She followed Bob to the lot behind her store where he’d parked the truck. “I have to take some personal time later. Samantha will be here, and I’ll have my cell. If you need—”
Bob held up his hand, and a grin broke up his sun-darkened face. “All will be well, Miss Juliet.”
She hoped so.
Inside the front room, she found Philip on his cell. She put down her coffee to eat her donut without dropping sugar on her dress.
Philip winked at her. “Thank you, Mr. Delacroix.”
“What was that about?” she asked once he’d hung up.
“I’m working on a new architectural proposal worth a lot of money. Maybe enough so I can become a partner in the firm.”
“That’s wonderful.” She popped the last bit of donut into her mouth. “What’s the project?”
“Mr. Delacroix wants to restore Prideaux House. Once he buys it from the Habersham sisters. It looks like we’ll be working together when you get the garden job.”
“Great.” She headed around her counter to find a tissue for her sticky hands. She was happy for him, but she didn’t want the time they spent together to encourage his attentions. They were good friends, but just friends.
“Juliet? Have you told Calum about Carina not paying you?”
“No. Calum hates it when I bring up my problems with Carina.” She wiped her hands and found her coffee again. “I need solutions.”
“We’ll do it together, if you let me.” Philip took a gardenia out of the vase on the counter and tucked it behind her ear. She reached for it until he took her hand. “You love gardenias.”
“That’s why she wore them on her wedding day.”
Rafe. Heat flashed up her arms to her face. She yanked her hand free and took out the flower, loosening strands along the way.
Rafe’s gaze found hers, claiming something he didn’t deserve, and she was grateful for the counter between them.
Philip crossed his arms.
Rafe picked up the flower she’d tossed on the counter. “You wore gardenias in your hair with your bridal veil.”
“I remember.” It’d been a simple event. Short dress for her. Dress blue uniform for him. Besides the priest, the only witnesses had been Pops; Rafe’s mother, Tess; Philip; and Calum. The flowers had been a last-minute addition from Tess while they’d waited outside the church for Juliet’s daddy to show up. Which never happened.
Rafe smiled. “Every time I smell gardenias, I think of our wedding night.”
Philip snorted.
She forced herself to look at Rafe’s tattoos. Except he’d traded his leather coat for a black field jacket over his black T-shirt. Instead of jeans, he wore black combat pants and boots. The blue ribbon around his wrist was visible when he moved his arms. Then she made the mistake of looking at his hands. Those hands that held her head at the perfect angle for his kisses.
Every breath stuttered. Why do I feel this way?
“What are you doing here?” Philip sounded like he was choking on his donut.
Rafe held out his hand. “Nice to see you too, Brother.”
Philip took his hand but dropped it quickly.
Rafe shifted his attention to her. “Didn’t Juliet tell you? We’re working together.”
“On what?” Philip spat out the question.
“For a way to sell her land,” Rafe said before she could answer. “My name is on her deeds.”
Calum entered in a gray linen suit, white starched shirt, and pink silk tie. “I didn’t know we were having breakfast.” He took a donut out of the bag on the counter and bit into it. Then he blew Juliet a kiss and licked sugar off his fingers.
She wanted to slap him but handed him a tissue instead. “What are you doing here?”
Calum smiled. “Reintroducing brothers to each other. And eating donuts.”
Philip stared at Rafe. “Shouldn’t you be standing trial for treason somewhere?”
Rafe smiled. Yet, despite the upward turn of his mouth, his lips were shut tight.
“Rafe is here at my request,” Calum said. “He’s also living in my apartment above Dessie’s dress shop. Which, by the way, is closed for another week.”
Juliet nodded. Lara, the owner, had called Juliet a few days ago to let her know. “Lara is staying in Paris for some more fashion shows.”
“Rafe is living across the courtyard from Juliet?” Philip said. “Why?”
“Rafe needed a place. And you should know, Juliet, that I asked Rafe to convince you not to sell your land.”
“We need to talk.” She took Calum’s arm and dragged him into the back room. Once near her floral refrigerators, she turned on him. “What games are you playing?”
He finished his donut and grinned. “No games. I think selling your land is a monumentally bad idea.”
“You have no idea of the pressure I’m under—”
“Actually, I do.” He found a towel near the flower sink and wiped his hands. “I know about your loan. I know Carina is a bitch. And I know what you were doing last night.”
“Are you going to tell anyone?”
“Not if we strike a deal.”
“What kind of deal?”
Calum took out his phone to start texting. “You work with Rafe to help him in his endeavor, and I won’t say a word to anyone about your other job. Either last night or the past seven years.”
“Six and a half years.”
He glanced at her with a hooded gaze. “Six years, seven months, and three days.”
She pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes. She couldn’t have a headache yet. It wasn’t even eight a.m. “If I asked you for money, would you lend it to me?”
“Nope.”
She dropped her arms. “Would you ask Carina to pay her bill?”
“Wouldn’t help.” He stopped texting and held up his phone. “I’ve arranged dinner for you two to talk. Tonight. 700 Drayton. Eight o’clock. Bring your renditions and your best argument. Remember, Carina can smell insecurity and fear.”
Juliet leaned against the table and sighed.
Calum squeezed her shoulder. “Don’t worry. You have everything you need to succeed. If you help Rafe, he’ll sign your deeds. Although I’ll contest the sale any way I know how.�
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“I hate you,” she said as her cell phone rang in her pocket.
Calum kissed her forehead. “You should get that. It’s probably Detective Garza.”
She pressed her ringing phone against her stomach and asked one more question. “Did you get Rafe out of prison?”
Calum shrugged and started texting again. Then he left the room, whistling the theme to Star Wars.
Once alone, she answered, “Juliet’s Lily.”
“Miss Capel. It’s Detective Garza.”
She sighed. “Good morning, Detective. Do you have any news?”
“Not yet. I’ve been researching Rafe’s release. And I’d like to meet. In private. How about I swing by the store later. Around four?”
“Okay. Should I be worried?”
“Yes, Miss Capel. Very.”
* * *
Rafe had had enough of his brother’s glares. Considering Philip was, after all these years, still pining after Juliet, this second meeting of theirs could’ve been worse. There could’ve been blood. But right now Rafe’s goal was to work with Juliet to find that vial. When Calum had shown up at the apartment where Rafe should’ve slept, half an hour after he’d left Juliet, he’d been glad. It meant it was time to get to work.
Ignoring Philip, Rafe checked out the security situation. Anything to keep his mind focused on things other than lying in bed next to his wife. High-end cameras. Double-bolt locks. Steel door leading to the back alley. Not great. But suitable.
He pulled in more scented air, her presence evident in every detail. The silver filigree floral bowls. The dainty halogen ceiling lights. The drawings of single blooms, outlined in gold, hanging on the wall. Tingles ran up his back, as if someone watched him.
When Calum came back into the room, typing on his phone, Rafe asked, “Why is Gabriel here?”
Calum talked and texted at the same time. “After Gerald’s death, I hired men to bring back the only things of value left in the manor. Including Gabriel.” When Calum put his phone away, he added, “I set up dinner tonight for Juliet and Carina to work out their financial differences. I expect both of you to be there.”