Secrets and Sins:Raphael(22)

Her mouth twitched. "You're right, I suppose it does. So since you're in  here with me instead of out there, does that mean you're on babysitting  duty?"

He shrugged. "Something like that."

She set the drink back on the table and ran her palms over her hair,  suddenly too tired to hold up her bowed head. Some of her weariness  could be attributed to the pregnancy-as with the sickness, the plaguing  lethargy hadn't quite passed yet either-but if she were cut-the-bullshit  honest, she was scared. And tired of being scared. It seemed as if fear  had been a permanent bed partner with her since Gavin's death, the  amnesia, and the arrival of the first letter. The unvarnished truth? She  longed to lie down and just sleep. And maybe when she woke, this  nightmare her life had devolved into would have faded away.

But nothing came that easy, and unless one morning she slid the shower  door back and found that the past few months had somehow been a terrible  dream montage, then she had to drag her big-girl panties on and face  the twilight zone her existence had become.

The front door slammed shut, and moments later, Raphael strode into the  living room, his presence wild, vibrant, consuming. His shuttered gaze  swept over her. Hold me, please. Just this once. Tell me everything's  going to be okay. The cry rose up inside her, but she trapped the plea  behind her teeth. But, God, she wanted him to drag her into his strong  arms, press her close where she could inhale his unique scent, and know  that as long as he held her nothing could harm her. But except for  comforting her in the bathroom the night before, he hadn't touched her.  And as he shifted his scrutiny to Chay, she doubted he ever would again.

"You know, between Gabe, Mal, and now you, the police should just give  you a hotline number," Chay advised wryly, rising from the chair.

She recognized the names of Raphael's friends; when she'd Googled his  name after their initial meeting, she'd also come across several  articles regarding his and his friends' involvement in the disappearance  of Richard Pierce. The details regarding the businessman's murder had  been from an anonymous "source" and pretty thorough. Including why  Chayot Grey had stabbed him. The story had sickened her. And all her  sympathy had been for the four boys and not the predatory "upstanding  citizen." Her father was many things-cold, condescending, absent,  unforgiving-but he hadn't preyed on innocent children. As a matter of  fact, that was probably the only praise she could assign him.

"I was thinking the same thing," Raphael said, dragging his hair back  and briefly fisting the thick strands before dropping his arm. "Maybe we  can get a package deal or something." Maybe her confusion showed on her  face, because Rafe tipped his head in the direction of the now empty  driveway. "Our friends Gabe and Malachim have had interactions with the  police lately." A beat of silence passed. "As well as their women, whose  lives were threatened. Seems to be a trend around here," he murmured.

Their women …

The words echoed in her head, and a silly, girly part of her shimmied as  if he'd slipped a letterman's jacket over her shoulders. Damn, her  rational side immediately leaped in to scold. How pathetic can you get?  At best, he considered her a confused one-night stand who refused to go  away-one he felt responsible for and offered to lend help to in solving  her stalker problem. An offer he was probably regretting about now. At  worst, he regarded her as a spoiled princess desperate to pin her dead  fiancé's baby on him. A pampered socialite who was using him for his  particular skill set even as she dragged him into drama that had nothing  to do with him.                       
       
           



       

Either perception made her cringe in humiliation.

It would be so easy to start relying on him. To start depending on him  for her protection and care. To start falling for him and envisioning  happily ever after. Then it would just be a matter of time before she  convinced herself it was okay he didn't believe her about being the  father of her baby. It was okay he didn't see her as anything more than a  pretty, pampered, useless doll. Everything would be okay and "fine,"  because she loved him. Fear that had nothing to do with the packaged  threat crept through her like an insidious invader. No, this fear had  everything to do with the vapid shell of a woman she could become if she  surrendered to her weakness that was Raphael Marcel. Love, as she'd  witnessed so many times, was an excuse to settle and put up with a hell  of a lot of shit. And Raphael was the only man who'd threatened her  resolve to never give in to the humiliation of "love."

"What did the police say?" Chay asked.

Raphael slid his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. "They're  keeping the box and bomb, of course, to examine for fingerprints and to  determine if there's a ‘signature' that may already be in their system.  They'll file a report and have cruisers drive by, but there's really not  much more they can do but continue to gather the evidence so if a  suspect arises, they have something on record."

That sounded familiar, almost verbatim what she'd been told when her car  had been vandalized and the doll left on her seat. Hopelessness washed  over her, adding more weight to her already-burdened shoulders. Whoever  was behind this seemed to be winning this war of terror.

"But," Raphael continued, eyes narrowing, "depending on where the  asshole with the box parked, I might've been able to catch him on video.  Come on." He headed down the hallway, Chay on his heels. "Shit. I  could've looked at the feed. I was so wrapped up with waiting on the  bomb squad, it completely slipped my mind."

She didn't wait for an invitation to follow … or an order to remain behind.

They disappeared through a doorway at the opposite end of the house from  her bedroom, and she didn't hesitate to follow. A steep flight of  stairs descended into a lower level of the house, and she emerged into  the man cave of man caves. Part playroom with the enormous mounted  flat-screen television, complex surround-sound system, video game  console, pool table, and wet bar. And part control center with a bank of  computer monitors, drives, and technological equipment she couldn't  begin to name.

The entire basement stretched the length of the house, and it was … impressive.

And intimidating as hell.

With a confidence that shouldn't have been sexy-but so was-Raphael slid  behind the wide, curved desk, and his fingers danced over the keys, the  tap-tap echoing in her ears. Obviously as comfortable down here as he'd  been upstairs, Chay circled the desk and stood behind his friend's  chair, resting his folded forearms on the back of the seat. She hovered  to the side, not as sure of her welcome into Raphael's private lair.

As she waited, she took in the spacious area that seemed to mirror the  two sides of her protector's personality. Laid back, flippant, blithe.  And then there was the other half. Brilliant, intense, focused. Hard.  She'd been the recipient of both men's attention. The devil-may-care  seducer melted her, invited and persuaded her to indulge in every erotic  fantasy she possessed, and some she didn't know she had. The  take-no-bullshit security specialist set every feminine alarm inside her  clanging even as he inspired a warm-and dangerously deceptive-sense of  safety.

She shifted a step back from him. And another.

Her halting movement must have snagged his attention, because his head jerked up, and he pinned her with an inscrutable stare.

What was he thinking? She didn't belong down there in his personal cave?  She'd brought a shitstorm right to his doorstep? She wasn't worth all  this trouble?

Her breath caught as his eyes heated, the blue darkening to nearly black  as his perusal moved from her eyes, slipped over her lips, and skimmed  down to her shoulders, breasts, and lower still. The air stalled in her  lungs, the visual survey like a physical caress. She shivered as if his  fingertips actually brushed her mouth, molded her breasts, and smoothed  over her stomach, teasing her with a sensual touch that left her aching  and damp.

Did he hear the catch in her throat? Did he notice the hardening of her  nipples under her thin sweater? Maybe. Because he snapped his scrutiny  upward toward her eyes before quickly returning to the computer monitor.                       
       
           



       

Just as her knees turned to Jell-O, she sank against the back of the sofa.

The one look had been like a shot of pure sex.

Her common sense must have gone the way of butterfly collars and fanny  packs. Because if she had one ounce of intelligence left, she would be  sprinting up those stairs to pack her clothes and leave.