Secrets and Sins:Raphael(14)

Yet here he stood informing her she would once again have to depend on  another man for the roof over her head, the food in her mouth, her  survival.

"I can't," she repeated. Yes, she'd come to him for help, hoping he  would offer his firm's services for protection. But live with him? She  shook her head. No, she couldn't do it.

"You said this baby is mine," he pushed, steel penetrating his voice and  matching the glint in his eyes. "You really think I would put the  safety of my kid and his mother in the hands of a camera?"                       
       
           



       

"You don't even believe the baby is yours," she accused, incredulous.

"I didn't say that," he said. "I said there's a chance it's not mine.  But as long as there is a chance, you and the child are my  responsibility." He dropped his arms and, planting his palms on the  desktop, leaned forward. His eyes narrowed, and that quickly, her pulse  sped up, her mouth drying of all moisture. She recognized that look-had  been the recipient of it before. And an hour later she'd been straddling  his lap, shaking in orgasm.

"You know what I think? You're protesting a little too hard. What's your  real reason for not wanting to stay in the same house as me, Greer?"  His tone deepened, softened with a sensuality that stroked over her skin  and called to mind those hot, stolen moments in the back of his SUV.  "Maybe because I know things you wish I didn't? Like how you prefer  harder, wilder kisses to gentle and slow. Or how soft and sensitive your  breasts are, and how much you enjoy me touching them. Or how wet and so  fucking tight you are. Or how your breath catches in your throat and  you give this low, sexy moan right before you come." A charged,  deafening silence vibrated in the room. "Well? How close am I?"

She couldn't tear her gaze away from him. Heat blazed a path up from her  belly, melting every muscle and organ to a scorching puddle even as a  slide show of erotic images burst in her head. Part of her-the part of  her that had been raised to believe sex occurred behind closed bedroom  doors, not to be gossiped about-wanted to deny his frank, erotic  assessment, to tell him to go to hell. But the other side of her-the  part that had exalted in writhing on a leather seat, had enjoyed digging  her fingers in taut, golden skin-acknowledged the truth in his words.  What they'd shared … it had been raw, wild, cataclysmic. Explosive.

Life-changing.

And as much as she feared becoming a sponge, she was equally terrified  of the responses-the passion-he drew out of her. It unsettled her. She  silently snorted. Unsettled, hell. It scared the shit out of her.

All her life, she'd witnessed her mother cater to her father's every  whim, swallow every criticism or insult, turn a blind eye to every  affair. All because she loved him. Love. The word tasted like ash on her  tongue. Early on she'd vowed to never allow herself to become so  emotionally out of control. To never allow her heart or its  just-as-fickle and traitorous cousin, desire, to exist in a world where  common sense and dignity took a backseat to love. And no man had  threatened that vow. Not even Gavin.

But Raphael could. Did.

With just a blunt, erotically charged word, a sensual hooded look, or,  God, a wicked touch, he flipped the switch on a chain reaction of need,  hunger, and recklessness. She'd never experienced such overwhelming  passion before-had never known it was in her or she was capable of it.  After one conversation, she'd spent hours having sex with a man she'd  barely known. She hadn't cared about propriety, what others would think,  or consequences. He'd inspired that in her.

That had been one night. What would happen after she spent several  nights with him? One morning would she look in the mirror, and her  mother would be staring back out at her?

"Not even in the same ballpark," she replied to his question and curled  her lips in a smile that should've had Frosty the Snowman reaching for a  coat. "Now if you don't mind, I'd like to get back to how we can  protect my baby and save what makes me scream in orgasm for tomorrow's  discussion."

In the past, the cutting words combined with the icy smile had sent men  scurrying away or even earned her a muttered "bitch." Never had she  received the snicker Raphael treated her to. The man wouldn't know an  appropriate response if he had a handbook and PowerPoint.

He rounded the desk and perched on the edge directly in front of her,  crossing his arms. The toes of his shoes nudged the tips of her boots,  and she fought the urge to edge her feet back and away from even that  small contact. She also tried-and failed-not to stare at the stretch of  cotton across his broad chest and shoulders. The first time they'd met  in his office for the private security consultation, he'd been dressed  in a suit. As sexy as he'd been in the dark jacket and slacks, she  preferred him as he was now-as he'd been that December night. Today,  he'd traded casual slacks and shoes for the cargo pants and boots he'd  worn in the bar, but the long-sleeved black knit was so … him. Dark.  Uncompromising. No-nonsense. The piercings in his eyebrow and ears  testified to the wildness inside him, as did the tattoos she knew  covered both arms and shoulders. Tattoos she'd feverishly kissed, traced  with her tongue …                        
       
           



       

Sooo not going there.

"Look, princess, I know the solution isn't ideal."

She smothered the instinctive cringe at his "princess." Unlike their  night together, it wasn't a verbal seduction. This was mocking, not a  playful endearment.

"You don't want to stay with me, and frankly, when I woke up this  morning I wasn't envisioning returning home with a roommate," he said.  "But it's only temporary. This is about more than me, you, and your  aversion to me. It's about your safety. What you came to me for, not the  police, not your brother. So you have to trust me, Greer. Trust me, and  let me do what I'm good at."

Trust me. The last time he'd said those words to her, she'd ended up  with her dress around her waist, her panties on the floor, and him deep  inside her.

"So," he continued, "you have one of two choices. You can come home with  me to a house that's big enough for us to avoid each other all we want.  Or I can go with you back to your brother's house. Probably not as  spacious or comfy. And he might have a problem with an extra guest.  Especially one that knocked up his baby sister. But"-he  shrugged-"wouldn't bother me one bit. So your choice. My house or both  of us become brother Ethan's … roomies."





Chapter Eight

If looks could kill, Raphael would be quartered, drawn, stabbed, and Greer would be looking forward to three hots and a cot.

He held open the door to his office and escorted her through the  entrance. His hand hovered near the small of her back, but he dropped  his arm. Best not to tempt fate. Because if she flinched from his touch  now, he might blow his shit.

Still, eyeing her stiff shoulders, he couldn't help the mental fist pump  over outmaneuvering her. Why he cared that he'd cornered her into  coming home with him he didn't want to analyze. Or why he'd issued the  demand in the first place. Honestly, he could've placed a security  detail on her brother's house along with adding the cameras and alarms.  But the thought of leaving her protection up to anyone else didn't sit  right. Didn't sit right. What a pretty way to describe the itch to go  all Stone Cold Steve Austin on anyone who dared get near her.

Which was insane as hell.

Yeah, they'd had a one-night stand-not his first but not an ordinary  event, either. And yeah, she claimed he was the father of her unborn  child. Which while possible, he refused to believe. Or accept. Believing  and accepting led to stupid-ass things like getting your hopes up and  getting attached. Followed up by the coup de grâce of getting left.

So, yeah, assigning bodyguards would've cleaned his hands of any  responsibility while helping her out at the same time. And he had almost  done just that … but at the last second "you're coming home with me" had  popped out, complete with me-Tarzan-you-Jane chest-thumping bullshit.

Yeah, best not to peer too deeply at his reaction.

"Sara, could you cancel my two o'clock meeting and tell him I'll call to  reschedule?" he called out to his administrative assistant. "And then  could you forward all my calls to my cell? I'm going to be working from  the house for the next few days."

Greer emitted a small gasp. "That's not necess-"

"Sara?" Rafe arched an eyebrow, cutting off Greer's new objection-because God, the woman had so many of them.