Secrets and Sins:Raphael(25)

She didn't reply. What could she say? Logically, he was right. But  emotionally … emotionally she was weak. Wide-open like a fresh wound.

His heat warmed her shoulder and back. She stiffened, shock racing  through her, punching the breath from her lungs. She hadn't heard him  move, hadn't heard him approach. Now he stood so close behind her, only  negligible inches separated them. Need dipped and rolled in her stomach,  pulsed between her legs, and he hadn't even touched her. Common sense  yelled at her to shift forward, plant space and breathing room between  them. But she ignored it. Right here, now, all she desired more than  distance was his heat. His arms. His strength. His comfort.                       
       
           



       

She huffed out an abrupt chuckle. "It seems silly and naive, doesn't it?  I would prefer that the person behind this ends up being some strange  fanatic who is obsessed rather than someone I know. Someone close to me.  Especially since said strange fanatic would be harder to identify and  catch."

"Yes," he replied bluntly. "It's naive."

She sighed and allowed her shoulders to slump just a little bit. As if  his abrupt agreement had pricked a hole in her, creating a slow leak.  Jesus, did he ever give?

"In the past four months," she said, suddenly very tired, "I've  discovered a man I respected and trusted-a man who was not just my  fiancé but a good friend-betrayed me. A woman I also called a friend was  screwing that fiancé behind my back. And when I was accused of his  murder, my parents abandoned me. They were never affectionate, but  still … they were my mother and father. I expected them to at least stand  by me even if it was to maintain the image of a loving family. Instead  they threw me to the wolves. People I knew, loved, relied on … believed  in. And they deceived me, hurt me, threw me away. Raphael, if one more  person I trust turns out to be … " She didn't finish the thought, but  inhaled a shuddering breath, shaking her head. "I think it would break  me. So yes, I was happy when I didn't recognize the man on the video.  Because it means one more person I love doesn't resent or despise me."

Silence permeated the room, her last words reverberating in the room  like an echo in a cave. Closing her eyes, she dropped her chin. Why did  she think he'd understand-?

His chest pressed to her back. His thighs braced hers. His arms-his  strong, tattooed arms-closed around her. His sun-and-sand scent  enveloped her, soothing her. She could almost believe his lips brushed  her hair and ear.

He covered her-sheltered her.

Tears stung her eyes, and she shivered in his embrace as he chased back the cold …

Then he was gone, taking the warmth with him. She stood, motionless and stunned by the abrupt departure.

"We'll finish going over the list later," he stated, voice flat.

She didn't reply, didn't acknowledge him. She couldn't.

Only when she heard him retreat from the room did she turn around.

And face the fact that once again she was alone.





Chapter Thirteen

Blood. So much blood.

No. Gavin, no.

The blood. Hot, wet. Crawling up her nose, gagging her.

Oh, Jesus.

Greer jerked awake. With a harsh gasp she clapped her hands to her head.  As if her palms could contain the agony stabbing into her skull and the  bloodstained memories trying to gush out.

She tried not to move, to remain as still as a statue. Maybe the  sickening throbbing would ebb. Maybe it would go away just as the  terror-filled images she'd woken to dissipated like smoke up a chimney.  She tried to grab them, tried to retain something from the nightmare,  but they evaporated, leaving behind clammy horror on her skin like a  souvenir. Finally, she gave up trying to remember; it only amplified the  pounding in her head.

A whimper escaped her, followed by another.

"Greer?" The door to her room creaked open, and she pried her lids apart to find Raphael in the doorway. "Are you okay?"

She parted her lips to answer-or tried to. A low moan emerged instead.

One moment he hovered in the entrance to the bedroom, and in the next he  crouched beside the mattress, fingers smoothing across her forehead,  his big palm settling over her belly.

"What's wrong?" he asked, and she grasped a hold of the soothing calm in  his voice as if he were a lifeboat in a storm-ridden sea. "Is it the  baby?"

"No," she breathed, squeezing her eyes shut as another vicious knife of pain speared her brain. "My head."

His touch disappeared, but moments later the click of the wall switch in  the en suite bathroom and the rush of running water reached her ears.  Absurd relief coursed through her as strong and loud as the water  streaming from the sink faucet. For a brief moment she thought he'd left  her as he'd done in the living room earlier. Stupid-so stupid to be  thankful he'd stayed with her. Or worse. Stupid to become dependent on  his presence and comfort. First the bout of morning sickness. Now the  headache. Soon she would yearn for him to be there through the entire  pregnancy when he'd made it clear that wasn't going to happen.

She groaned, crushed her palms harder against her head.

"Sit up for a second." The order accompanied a gentle nudge under her  shoulders, and she rose, careful as if her head would tumble off if she  moved too fast. The bed dipped behind her, and when Raphael eased her  back, his strong chest cushioned her head and cheek instead of the soft  give of the pillow. She stiffened as several sensations slammed into her  at once. The warmth from his naked skin penetrating the cold left  behind by night sweats. The unique scent she associated with him  wrapping around her like a pair of embracing arms. The press of his hard  thigh against her hip like an anchor in a sea of pain, fear, and  sickness.                       
       
           



       

Silently, he draped a cold cloth over her forehead, and she groaned with  pleasure. And when he removed her hands and replaced them with his,  rolling his fingertips over her temples, she went limp. He continued  applying the light pressure, and the combination of his gentle  ministrations and the cooling relief of the cloth started to force the  pounding ache into a slow retreat. "Can you take anything?" he murmured.

"The doctor gave me a prescription, but I didn't get it filled," she mumbled. "Don't want to chance it with the baby."

"Is the headache because of the baby?"

A heaviness settled in her limbs, and she shifted a little on her hip,  snuggling closer to his heat, his scent. Just for a moment, she promised  herself as she curled her fingers over his thigh, the gray cloth of his  sweatpants soft against her palm. I'll allow myself just a moment to  lie here before I move and he leaves.

"Greer?"

"Hmm."

"Is the headache due to the baby?"

She yawned. "No." The world drifted behind her closed lids, swayed, then settled. "The murder."

 …

This time when Greer woke, nothing greeted her.

No dreams. No pain. No sickness.

Blessed nothingness.

She sighed, curled onto her side, and burrowed deeper into her  pillow … and encountered rock-hard abs instead of downy softness. She  jerked up, heart pounding in her chest like a runaway train seconds from  derailment.

Shock sucker punched her as she stared down at a sleeping Raphael.

What the hell?

As if the question twisted the key in the lock in her head, memories  flooded back. The god-awful headache. Raphael rushing to her rescue.  Again. Comforting her, soothing her. Holding her.

Her belly flip-flopped and the somersault had nothing to do with morning  sickness. And everything to do with the man lying in her bed.

With his back propped against the wooden headboard, his  ridiculously-long-for-a-man lashes hiding his too-razor-sharp gaze, his  full lips slightly parted, and his big body relaxed, he appeared  younger, that hard edge somewhat dulled by sleep. Like a slumbering  giant.

"How's your head?" The question came seconds before the thick fan of  lashes lifted, revealing the piercing stare that never seemed to rest.

"Better." She cleared her throat. "Much better. How long have I been asleep?"

He sat up and stretched, yawning loudly and widely. Underneath all that  golden skin, his muscles did a sexy slow dance. She dragged her  too-fascinated eyes away.

"I'm not sure. An hour maybe? After that last orgasm, you kind of crashed."

Her gaze whipped back to him as her jaw dropped. "What?" she gasped.

"You don't remember?" He pressed a hand to his chest, his eyebrows arrowed down over his wounded gaze. "I'm crushed."

"You're-you're-" she sputtered.

"A wishful thinker," he supplied, a corner of his mouth quirked in a  smirk. "Don't worry, princess, I didn't storm the battlements while you  were sleeping." His voice lowered as he leaned forward until their  foreheads almost brushed, and the tip of his nose bumped hers. "I'm  guilty of a lot of things, but molesting unconscious women isn't one of  them."