Secrets and Sins:Raphael(17)

Yes, maybe she couldn't exactly define the something. But whatever the  elusive thing was, it allowed her to sleep like the baby tucked under  her breast. Until the nightmares, that is.

Gingerly, she scooted back, sitting against the headboard. And groaned  again. But not out of fear. Oh, God. She pressed her palms to her  stomach as it pitched and rolled in a sickening wave. Greer remained  still for several moments, hoping against hope that tonight would be the  magic night the sickness disappeared. That if she didn't move, the  churning would calm, and she could go back to sleep. Oh, God. Not  happening. She moaned, rolling to the end of the bed as her belly gave a  hard lurch. She left the bedroom and swayed down the hallway to the  bathroom Rafe had pointed out earlier.

As soon as she flicked the light switch, her stomach rebelled. She  rushed across the white tile and had barely managed to flip the lid  before the grilled chicken and salad she'd eaten for lunch made a guest  appearance. She shook, flushed and aching. Her stomach wrenched hard as  irrational fear for the baby's safety spiraled through her. No way can  this be healthy-

A cold cloth was pressed to her forehead. She groaned, unable to hold in  the grateful moan as blessed coldness combated her heated skin and won.  Curling her fingers around the edge of the toilet, she emitted a little  sob as another wave hit her, and once more she bent over the bowl.

"Shh. Easy. Try to relax. Don't fight it," a sleep-roughened voice  murmured. Rafe rubbed slow, wide circles over her back, continuing to  soothe her with his gentle touch and low assurances.

She'd been so preoccupied with purging everything she'd ever eaten-as  well as an internal organ or two-she hadn't heard him enter the room. In  a far corner of her mind, it occurred to her she should be embarrassed.  But hell, she was too sick to be humiliated. Too weak to ask him to  leave. And besides, she welcomed his presence. For the first time she  wasn't going through this by herself. Ethan had been concerned about  her, had empathized, but he'd never breached the bathroom door to  comfort or hold her. But Rafe had. Even with how he felt about the  situation-her, the pregnancy, being in his home. Her eyes burned with  the threat of tears. Until this moment, she hadn't realized she'd wanted  someone there. Someone to assure her that she would be okay, that she  could get through this. That she was strong enough.

She sagged to the edge of the tub, exhausted but finally finished.  Throat raw, stomach as tight as a vise grip, and legs like noodles, but  she was finished. Rafe flushed the toilet, and seconds later nudged a  squat glass of water into her hand.

"Rinse, don't swallow. I'll be right back."

She followed his instructions, and when he returned to the bathroom with  a robe from her unpacked suitcase, she'd just swished the last bit of  water in her mouth, washing away the acrid, nasty aftertaste of bile.  Silently, he helped ease her to her feet and into the robe. She shivered  as the warmth from the terry cloth embraced her, and chased away the  clammy chill left behind by sweat drying on her skin.                       
       
           



       

He guided her to the living room, slowing his stride to match her slower  hobble. Carefully, he lowered her to the couch, and she curled her legs  up under her. He tugged a throw from the back of the sofa and tucked it  around her knees.

"Be right back," he said before leaving the room.

She stared after him, the "okay" stuck in her throat. A few minutes ago  she'd been too busy waving a not-too-fond farewell to her lunch to pay  attention to what Raphael wore-or wasn't wearing. But as he leaned over  her, wrapping the cover around her thighs, every sense, thought, and  nerve was solely focused on him. The soft swish of long dark hair as it  swept forward, brushing his high cheekbone and hard jaw, barely grazing  the slope of his shoulder. The dark, heavy scrollwork accented with  punches of blue and red that covered his arms and shoulders. The sexy  contract and release of muscle under golden skin-skin that stretched  tautly over his bare shoulders, chest, and abdomen. The silky trail of  hair that started under his six-pack, forked around his navel, and  disappeared beneath the waistband of the black sweatpants that rode low  on his narrow hips.

She remembered the strength in those arms and chest. Remembered how he  could so effortlessly hold her up as he plunged inside her, stroking,  taking her to a place where nothing existed but devastating pleasure and  beautiful freedom. Remembered the wide, comforting plane of his chest  as he held her close. Remembered how he whispered soothing words of  assurance and comfort even as she splintered apart in so many pieces she  feared never being whole again.

The quiver in her belly had nothing to do with morning sickness and  everything to do with the man who'd introduced her to a side of herself  she hadn't known existed. A side that kicked propriety's ass out the  door and enjoyed sweaty skin twisting against skin, raunchy erotic  murmurs, and straining, grasping, fighting for the rapture found in a  man's arms. No, not just any man. Him. Raphael.

And staring after his naked wide shoulders and back also inked in dark  tribal swirls, his slim hips, and tight ass, that sleeping side of her  stretched, awakening from the hibernation it'd fallen into four months  earlier. The last time Raphael had touched her.

Shit. She dropped her head against the back of the couch and stared  unblinking up at the ceiling. I'm in so much trouble. For the next few  days, she would be cooped up in this house with him, hearing his deep  rumble of a voice, inhaling his special sun-and-sand scent, ogling his  made-for-sin body. Torture. Pure, unadulterated torture considering she  couldn't-wouldn't-do a damn thing about it.

He was like an ice cream binge. Enjoy for one night, but not a smart  move to indulge in on a daily basis. Not because of their different  backgrounds, social circles, or appearance. She didn't give a damn about  those. His background was probably more honest, trustworthy, and loving  than hers, and after Gavin's death and her almost-arrest, he might have  more social clout than her. And as far as appearance …  Well, the way she  couldn't keep her eyes off his ass pretty much said it all.

None of those sanctioned him as off-limits. It was her-her uninhibited,  primal response to him. He was … too much. Too gorgeous, too intense, too  passionate, too overwhelming. She'd never lost her head with Gavin. In  the months since his death, she'd done some serious soul-searching, and  she knew that before his betrayal, her ex-fiancé had claimed her  loyalty, affection, and respect. But not her heart. And that had been  his main appeal. Nothing he could've done or said would've ever  persuaded her to have sex in the backseat of a truck on a public street.  She'd never be emotionally out of control with him.

But Raphael …

The passion, the hunger he stirred in her, was a slippery slope to  reckless, rash behavior. To emotional devastation. Hell, she was already  pregnant. And if the pain of his initial rejection and disbelief hurt  her now, how much worse would it be if she allowed herself to fall in  love with him?

An image of her mother flashed in front of her mind's eye.

No. She cringed. As soon as this whole mess was over with, she would  leave, start over living the life she wanted, and raise her baby. Once  Raphael accepted that the child was his, they could co-parent, but her  focus was a new career in illustration and her son or daughter. And  staying alive.

"Here." A mug with vapor curling from the top appeared in front of her face. "This should help with the nausea."

She accepted the steaming drink from Raphael and cautiously sipped. The  tangy and slightly sweet flavor that flowed over her tongue possessed no  resemblance at all to the bland, tasteless tea she'd been drinking. She  waited. Usually after a bout of sickness she didn't eat or drink  anything, afraid it would quickly make the return trip back up. But the  spicy tea swept a warm path down her throat until peacefully settling in  her stomach. Humming in pleasure, she savored another taste of the tea.                       
       
           



       

He sank onto the chair next to the couch, his long legs sprawled out in  front of him and his long-fingered hands intertwined over his flat  belly. Dragging her hungry gaze off the expanse of smooth skin and toned  muscle, she peered down into the cup.

"What kind of tea is this?"

"Ginger." He yawned, wide and hard. "It's supposed to help with morning sickness."

She froze in the middle of lifting the mug to her lips. "How did you know I suffered from it?"