Secrets and Sins:Raphael(30)

Or worse.

Come to want to rely on someone who would not be there.

Hell. This day was just getting better and better.

She stepped forward. And walked away.

 …

Raphael swept his thumb over the face of his cell, scrolling through his  emails. He responded to a few, deleted some. Then he played a rousing  game of Angry Birds.

Anything to keep from looking around the waiting room crowded with pregnant women.

Jesus, the memories.

The last time he'd been in a room full of expectant mothers Yolanda had  been at his side. He'd been happy-blissfully so. Naively so. He'd  discovered later she'd alternated inviting him and the guy she'd been  seeing behind his back to her prenatal appointments. Shit, even now he  cringed imagining what those nurses and the doctor thought of him with  his sappy grin, holding Yolanda's hand, delighted about his woman and  child.

His grip tightened around the phone. Apparently his heart wasn't an  atrophied husk in his chest. Because it hurt like a son of a bitch.

Next to him, Greer flipped through a magazine, probably pretending to  read. She appeared relaxed, composed. The icy socialite she was. But he  noted the tension in her shoulders, the punishing grip on the glossy  pages. Not that he could blame her-not after overhearing that fucked-up  conversation in the parking lot. He'd stood behind her unnoticed for  most of the call and had clearly picked up her mother's end of the  exchange. Particularly that part about claiming the baby was Gavin's.  Rage poured through his veins, firing him up as if the heat in the car  was on full blast. What the hell kind of mother did she have? Was forced  to grow up with? Hell, from the revelation about the puppy to what he'd  overheard, Medusa probably had more mothering instincts than that  bitch.

"Greer Addison."

Greer's head jerked up. A nurse stood in an open doorway, a tablet in  hand, waiting expectantly. She nodded and rose from the chair. An  emotion passed over her face. There and gone so fast, if he'd blinked he  would've missed it. But he hadn't. Loneliness. Bleak loneliness. He'd  glanced around the room, noted the other women with their partners.  Noticed she had no one.

But him.

He stood beside her.

Shock widened her eyes, parted her lips. Yeah, join the club.

Recovering quickly, she strode across the room, and he followed. Once  inside the examination room, he plopped into the chair next to the  table, crossed his arms, and waited in stony silence.

She didn't utter a word. Just remained perched on the exam table, quiet,  her ankles crossed, her fingers intertwined. Good. At this point, he  didn't know what would come out of his mouth. Fuck. He didn't want to be  here.

But his ass stayed glued in the seat.

The door opened, and the doctor entered. Raphael crossed his arms, tried  to distance himself from the questions, the whole situation. And he  halfway succeeded until Greer reclined, and the doctor smeared gel over  Greer's still-flat belly and pressed the fetal Doppler to her skin. The  staticky pulse of the baby's heartbeat reverberated in the exam room.  Fast and steady. It filled the air like a bass chord.

Oh, shit.

Of their own volition, his fingers found Greer's. Wrapped around hers.  It wasn't the first time he'd heard the sound, but somehow, it was. Awe  too big for his chest to contain swelled inside him. The rapid thump  pumped adrenaline through his veins, sped up his own thudding heart.

My son. Or my daughter. His eyes connected with Greer's. The same wonder  choking him out was reflected in her wide gaze. A small smile curved  her pretty lips, and he couldn't help but return it. The baby, whether  girl or boy, would have that smile. God, it was such a thing of beauty  that he would be immediately wrapped around the kid's finger …

Damn it. What he'd been afraid of from the moment Greer had announced her pregnancy was happening.

He was hoping … wishing …

The knuckles of the fist in his lap blanched as the truth slapped him in the face.

He, Raphael Marcel of the badass Liberty Security Services … he who hacked  systems for a living and pleasure without fear of reprisal … he who had  buried a body in his friend's backyard and kept the secret for twenty  years without a hint of remorse … yes, that he …

Was afraid.

Fucking terrified of believing this baby was his. Of trusting the  mother. Of falling for both the mother and child. Of the soul-shredding  pain when they walked out of his life, leaving him devastated and  hollow. Again.

Coward that he was, he couldn't face the possibility, couldn't bear the  agony. He'd barely made it through the first time. This time-with  Greer-would rip something out of him that could never be returned or  mended.                       
       
           



       

The smile slowly dropped from his mouth as the gravity of the heartbreak awaiting him kicked him in the nuts.

The light in Greer's eyes dimmed, her lips straightening until they no  longer curved in delight. Part of him wanted to pop off a smart remark,  recover the wonder and happiness that had lit her face. But anger and  fear froze his windpipe.

He'd learned one very important lesson seven years ago.

If you didn't hope, you couldn't be devastated.





Chapter Fifteen

"Wait for me, Greer. I'll be back to pick you up in a couple of hours.  If I'm going to be late, I'll call. But whatever you do, don't leave. We  clear?"

Greer opened the passenger door of his SUV. "Crystal," she drawled, stepping out and shutting it with a decisive bang.

He winced but didn't call her back to apologize for instructing her as  if she was six instead of twenty-six. In spite of her genteel appearance  and quiet manner, the woman had a stubborn streak that made a mule look  like a marshmallow. He waited, his truck parked illegally and idling at  the curb while she entered the popular eatery on Charles Street. Unease  swirled in his gut, but short of sticking to her side like a conjoined  twin, he couldn't forbid her from having an innocent lunch with her  brother and Noah. He frowned. Fucking Noah. Grafting himself to her hip  suddenly didn't seem like such an awful idea. Not if it meant keeping  her best friend from putting his paws on her. A mean grin slid across  his mouth. He'd definitely like to put his paws on Noah.

Irrational?

Hell, yeah.

Especially since he had no claim to Greer. But damn if that didn't keep  him from imagining his fist in the other guy's throat. Shit. He scrubbed  a hand down his face as she disappeared through the frosted door. With  another grumbled curse, he pulled off.

And wondered when he had turned into such a pussy.

He swallowed a growl. He didn't do this, this … comforter shit. That role  in their group belonged to Chay. Gabe was the brooding avenger, Mal the  protector. And him? Well, he was the scary motherfucker. He didn't  inspire warm tingly feelings unless his cock was involved.

Yet-damn it!-he found himself wanting, needing to, park, stalk after  her, and hold her until the joy that had filled her expression in the  doctor's office returned.

But hell, if he surrendered to that longing, he might as well tie the  sling around his balls himself. Because the boys would definitely need  some extra TLC once she … left. She didn't come to you for you, dimwit.  She came to you for protection and help. Keep that front and center, and  we can avoid the castration falling for her "Little Girl Lost" routine  will bring. He'd been here before. Been a sucker for the sweet rich  girl-the sweet, pregnant rich girl.

His inner Rafe could never be accused of sensitivity, but the caustic  reminder was true. Focus. He had to remain focused. Catch the crazy-ass  stalker with a thing for dolls and bombs and send Greer on her way.

And maybe then he could stop comparing every damn female who crossed his path to the pampered debutante.

Yeah. Not likely.

What was it about her, though? She was pretty-okay, freaking gorgeous.  But he'd dated gorgeous women before. Had fucked more. He punted aside  the slick grime that suspiciously resembled shame as it tried to creep  over his conscious. So what if he'd had sex and plenty of it? He'd  enjoyed himself, and the women damn sure had. And none of them had  turned up pregnant trying to pin paternity on him.

Shit. He wanted to hate her; he wanted to resent the hell out of her for  dragging him back to a place when his heart had been pried out of his  chest with a rusty crowbar. He wanted to yell at her to get out and not  come back.

But most of all … he wanted the baby to be his.

Wanted to watch her swell with his son or daughter. Wanted to gaze down  into the face of a child with a perfect mixture of his and Greer's  features. Wanted to be loved.

And he loathed himself for it. Detested himself for panting after her.  Greer, who was so similar to Yolanda it was like Invasion of the Body  Snatchers. Both wealthy. Both upper-crust society. Both beautiful. Both  pregnant. Both claiming he'd done the deed. Both ready, he fucking knew  with every fiber of his being, to walk away from him after they made him  love them and the babies.