Power and Possession(29)
“I don’t know about that, but he seemed very nice. Friendly.”
Rafe chuckled. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone say that about Henny. Other than his wife, who looks after him like a mother hen. His family background was traumatic, although none of us grew up in ideal conditions. Money aside, of course.”
“So I should be kind to him.”
He flicked her a startled glance, the word kind a rarity in his world. But he replied in a casual tone. “I’m sure Henny would appreciate it.”
“Not a problem. As the oldest of six kids, I’ve done my share of mothering.”
He was caught off guard again, the concept of mothering with regard to the hot, sexy woman at his side surprising. “I see.”
Recognizing the faint bewilderment in his tone, Nicole glanced up. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to introduce so outré a subject as motherhood. Relax.”
He laughed. “Gladly. My image of you is quite different.”
“That works out then. Because I can’t see you as a father under any circumstances.”
He frowned. “What the hell does that mean?”
This time she laughed. “Seriously—you don’t really want to go there, do you?”
He had the grace to look rueful. “No.”
“So to change the subject, what’s first on the agenda? Although I warn you, my G-spot requires a whole lot of loving.”
He grinned. “G-spot? What’s that?”
“I’m leaving.” She playfully pulled away.
He pulled her back. “No worries, pussycat. I’ll make sure your precious little G-spot is petted all night long.”
“Ohmygod,” she whispered, his softly uttered words spiraling downward between her legs in a wild seething tremor. “I felt that. Say it again.”
He came to a stop, turned her slightly, dipped his head so their eyes met, and said, very softly, “By morning your G-spot will begin to throb just at the sound of my voice. Because I’m going to give it some real special attention, make an unforgettable impression, see that that little bundle of nerves is so hair-trigger jazzed you’ll come the instant I touch you there. Clear?”
She’d shut her eyes halfway through his graphic description.
“You have to open your eyes, Nicole, or I might decide to neglect your G-spot. There’s a good girl. And you really shouldn’t scowl. I could be sensitive. Now that’s better. You look much nicer when you’re not scowling.”
“Fuck you,” she said with a smile.
“Soon,” he said with an answering smile. “Very soon.” Then he swept her up in his arms and started to run.
Chapter 9
At the same time Rafe and Nicole were swiftly covering the distance to the carriage house, Rafe’s mother and stepfather were having dinner on the terrace of a villa overlooking the Adriatic at Trieste.
“Carlos told me that Rafe went into town. He neglected to say that he’d turned off his phone.” Rafe’s stepfather raised one brow. “Unusual.”
Rafe’s mother smiled at the man she’d loved since she was fifteen. “Surely whatever you have to say can wait until morning? I could call Rafail then if you like.”
Anton smiled wryly. “Because he always answers your calls.”
“It was only us for all those years,” she said gently. “You know that.”
“I do.” He’d watched over them as best he could from a distance, but the measure of his influence had been limited when she was married to someone else. Mother and son had faced the trials of life with Maso Contini largely alone. “I’m glad it’s finally over.”
Camelia glanced at Anton’s young son sitting back in his chair intent on his video game, then smiled at her new husband and switched from French to their native language. “There were times when I regretted the decision you made for us.”
“I wanted a better life for you. You deserved it.”
She gave a little shrug. “I’m not so sure it was better.” She smiled. “You always came to me when I needed you though.”
“You were my heart. I would have come from the ends of the earth for you,” he said softly, reaching out to touch her hand. “But in my line of work, you would have been at risk. You know that. I couldn’t allow it.”
Anton and Camelia had both come from a poverty-stricken village in Romania controlled by the Mafia. Anton had joined the organization in order to survive and when Camelia had finished school, he’d persuaded her to go to London and enter the Miss World contest. It would be their ticket out, he told her.
She’d won. He’d never doubted it. She was the most beautiful woman in the world. He’d sent ten dozen white roses in congratulations, along with a note telling her that he’d married the daughter of the Mafia chief.