Power and Possession(26)

She stood and watched him as he made his call. He wore only shorts, so his big, powerful body was on display—tall, tanned, and virile—his dark beauty so absolute, she felt as though she’d won every roll of the dice in the universe. There was no mistake, in terms of the world’s gene pool, Rafe Contini had walked off with the prize. Not to mention, he could be really sweet, like considerate and charming. She almost said, Pinch me, because where he preferred emotionless objectivity, she was a sucker for the mystical hand of fate.

But then she was from northern California. If it wasn’t yoga and crystals, it was surfing and powerpunk music, the psychic mysteries of the mind or the transcendent wonder of fine weed. The word emotionless wasn’t in her vocabulary.

“Done,” Rafe said. “Simon’s picking up one of the doctors.” Shoving his phone back in his pocket, he smiled and twined his fingers through hers. “It might be an hour or so before they get here. Let’s see what we can find at the house.”





Chapter 8


They walked past an infinity pool overlooking the Mediterranean, entered the house through a terrace door, and stepped into an enormous sunlit room with an Olympic-size indoor pool.

“You swim a lot?” Nicole asked, admiring the colorful Moorish mosaic lining the pool as they passed by.

“A fair amount, but the pools were here long before me. Actually, I prefer the sea. You said you swim every day. Where?”

“A small private beach down the coast. My uncle’s.”

“An American, I assume.” A statement rather than a question apparently, because he opened one of two glass doors on the opposite wall and waved her through into a light-filled, arcaded hallway. “Up those stairs. We’ll check the bedrooms first.”

All the interior walls and floors were faced with marble—a golden hue on the ground floor, pale green on the main floor, the wide marble stairway a neutral white and richly carpeted. As they ascended the stairs and continued past the dramatic entrance hall illuminated by a fifty-foot-high, stained-glass cupola and filled with enough art nouveau marble nymph sculptures for a museum, she murmured, “Very impressive, Contini. I think I’m underdressed.”

He shot her a glance and grinned. “With any luck you’ll soon be overdressed. But you can see why I prefer the carriage house.”

“This is definitely nice if you like palaces. Or a sense of history.”

“Actually, Eiffel built this place in the 1870s shortly before his major achievement in Paris. There’s a certain amount of interest in the house, so we open it for tours one weekend a month.”

“Which means no parties for you and your friends then.”

“Or just small ones. My private quarters are closed to tours. Here we are,” he said as they reached the third floor, the hallway on this level a muted pink marble.

“Why is no one around?” She smiled at Rafe as he began to move down the corridor. “Ashamed of me?”

He turned to her, his gaze amused. “You want a compliment?”

“I was just asking why we’re alone, but I’ll take a compliment too,” she finished with a grin. “Something over the top.”

“How about we take turns being on top? Is that what you meant?” He feigned surprise when she gave him a jaundiced look. “Would you prefer: Thou art more lovely and temperate than a summer’s day? And may I add way, way more tantalizing than Shakespeare,” he murmured, a sudden heat invading his eyes. “So watch out.”

She smiled. “Maybe you should watch out too. I’m not the passive type.”

One eyebrow lifted. “You don’t fucking say. But be a good girl and tone it down for now. We need a condom or no one is going to do anything to anyone. Don’t say it,” he muttered, as she opened her mouth to speak. “I’m not in the mood for alternatives. Not after waiting this long.” Rafe glanced at his watch. “And to answer your question, everyone’s in the kitchen. It’s dinnertime.”

“How many everyones?”

“Fifteen, twenty, maybe more. The chef is temperamental. He’s always hiring and firing people on his team. Here, let’s look in this room first,” he said as they reached the end of the corridor. “It’s smaller so it’s not used as much.” Opening the door, he waved her into an opulent room decorated in the belle epoque style, with floor-to-ceiling windows, a bed large enough for a crowd, gilded furniture, and plush carpets soft as silk. “Find somewhere to sit. I’ll do the search.”

She didn’t say, Wow, although she was thinking it. “I can help if you like,” she said instead, scanning the sumptuous room. “Although you’d hardly expect to find condoms in a room like this.”