"No." She shook her head so hard, her ponytail swished from side to side. "I refuse to accept that he did this, Raphael. He couldn't. Noah wasn't some great criminal mastermind. He can't even figure out who the villain is on an episode of Law & Order-couldn't," she corrected, inhaling a painful, shuddering breath. "Couldn't figure out." She pressed her fists to her eyes. "We're talking about a man who was too squeamish to dissect a frog in biology class. I killed the bugs whenever one came around us, for God's sake. And never-never would he have hit me, much less leave me out cold on an apartment floor and allow me to take the blame for his crime."
He didn't contradict her; he didn't agree with her, either. Instead, he finally did what she'd longed for since she spotted him in the glass. He wrapped his strong arms around her, pulled her into the firm wall of his chest, and held her. She released her hold on the blanket and clung to him. In a world that seemed to hiss and strike with every turn, he was her barrier, her port of safety. Nothing could reach her through him.
"I can't breathe past the pain, Raphael," she confessed on the tail end of a sob. "I swear to God it's eating me alive, and I can't escape it."
"Shh." He squeezed her tighter, then bending a little, swept her in his arms. She was too tired, too cold, too swamped in agony to protest. And when he settled on the couch, cradling her on his lap, she burrowed against him as if she could hide from the images of Noah in her head. "It's why I didn't want you to walk into that room. I didn't want you to have to carry the image of death in your head." He rubbed his chin over the top of her head, sliding his fingers up her nape and into her hair. "I can still remember walking into Chay's kitchen that night he killed Richard Pierce. The smell hit me first. Like a wet penny and rotten garbage. Then I saw Richard. The blood. His eyes wide open and blank. The stain in his pants where his bowels had released. That'd been the rotten garbage odor. Up until that moment, I didn't know the body did that when a person died."
"That's how you knew something was wrong," she murmured. "Why you caught the smell before I did."
He nodded. "I'll never forget it. And I wish you didn't have to try." He tilted her head back, brushed a kiss over her forehead and eyes. "If I could take this pain away from you and put it on myself, I would. I can't, but if you'll let me, I'll hold you tonight, stay with you through the worst of it, wipe your tears, and watch Lord of the Rings with you if you can't fall asleep." She choked on a soggy laugh, more tears burning her eyes at his words. He fulfilled one of his promises by swiping his thumb over her cheek, catching the moisture that had spilled over. "Let me take care of you and the baby. I'll tuck you in and fight the world back for just a little while and do my best to ease you through the grief. Will you allow me to do that for you?"
Forget for just a little while? And if she couldn't-if the grief became too much-let him shoulder some of the burden? She'd struggled to gain independence, to stand on her own, to create a life for herself and her baby where she could provide and support them both. Could she push all that aside and allow him to take care of her?
"Yes."
Chapter Twenty-Four
Greer stepped back from the easel, paintbrush in hand, studying the canvas. And smiled.
It was … beautiful.
Early this morning she'd woken, an idea burning as bright as a lightbulb in her head. Leaving a sleeping Rafe in his bed, she'd rushed to the guest bedroom. She searched for and located the small photo album she'd brought with her, and flipped through until she found the picture. The candid one she'd snapped of Noah a few years ago when they'd spent an afternoon together at the Harborwalk. He'd been leaning on the railing, turned to grin at some lame joke she'd made, and she'd taken the picture. Those had been happier times for them.
And it's how she wanted to remember him-laughing, grinning … alive.
She'd carried the picture to the sunroom where Gabriel had set up her supplies, pulled out her sketchpad, and gotten to work. Hours later, less than half of the canvas portrait was finished, but God … Tears burned her eyes. The painting would end up being one of her best. Oil wasn't really her medium of choice, but this one-it would go in her portfolio for school.
"I can't even miss you yet," she whispered to the canvas. "Because I still can't believe you're gone. It's not possible you're not here."
But it was possible. He was gone. And now she had to learn how to go on without the friend she'd spent more than half her life with. She blinked, batting back the stinging moisture. Turning away, she cleaned her brushes, tidied the room, and set the canvas aside for the moment. After a quick shower, she dressed quickly, glancing at the clock on the bedside dresser. 11:40. She'd been painting for seven hours. Raphael had come in at some point and told her he had to go into the office for an appointment, but she'd been so engrossed in her work, she didn't remember the details.
Although-she smiled, shaking her head-she did catch his, "Don't let anyone in the house, Greer. I mean it." Which, in hindsight, surprised her since he believed the threat to her had ended with Noah's and Adam Morgan's deaths. Noah and Adam Morgan. In police records, in news coverage, in people's minds, their names would be forever linked. She hated it.
The hiss and gurgle of boiling water filled the large kitchen. As she gathered the tea bag, lemon, and cup, she peeked at the kitchen clock, which revealed noon's fast approach. Where was Raphael? He hadn't mentioned any specifics about his appointment-or she just hadn't heard the details-but that had been several hours ago. Maybe he and Chay had another consultation scheduled. Her phone was … somewhere, so if he'd called, she hadn't heard the ring.
Sighing, she poured steaming water into the cup and prepared the tea. Damn, she just needed to admit it-if only to herself. She missed him. The house was too quiet without him. Too empty without his presence there. He could be downstairs in his cave and she could be in front of her canvas and still feel as if everything was okay. There was a settling in her heart, her spirit. A peace she'd never known until him. And not just because he'd tucked her in his home or guarded her. She'd sensed it the night in the bar, sensed that he would let nothing hurt her. That he would not only bring her pleasure but protect her, too. No one had protected her. Her parents definitely hadn't. She'd shielded Ethan from their father, and even Noah had left her uncovered when she'd needed him. But not Raphael. He didn't run, he didn't shrink. He fought and bullied and intimidated. And covered.
And she loved him.
She stopped dipping the tea bag and slammed both of her hands on the counter.
Damn. How had she let this happen? Her number one fear in coming to stay with him had been losing herself, becoming her mother-dependent not on a man's wealth or status but his affection, his attention, his love.
She'd had plans: baby, art school, new beginning, new life. Standing on her own two feet. Being her own woman. Being her own damn self. Finding out who that was.
Instead … instead she was in love with a man who threatened every goal, her every desire. All except one.
To be seen.
He saw her. Not the Boston socialite, solicitous hostess, the obedient daughter, protective sister, or amiable fiancée. He saw the woman-the bruised, sometimes-scared woman struggling with her identity, desperate to be more than she'd settled for, but willing to risk it all in order to become. Rafe saw her and so much more. He looked beyond her "now" to her potential, to the strong, gifted, beautiful survivor. That's who he saw when he looked at her.
And she loved him for it.
He didn't threaten those goals, he helped her realize them.
She. Loved. Him.
Oh, God.
A smile formed in her heart, spreading across her chest, blooming warm and bright. But just as quickly, the clouds reappeared. What happened now? Though she didn't believe Noah had been involved in the harassment and threats against her, Raphael did. Soon, she would leave and … nothing. While he'd held her, made love to her, he still didn't believe their baby was his. He hadn't made any promises. And he didn't love her.
Damn. She rubbed the spot on her chest where her heart beat her rib cage like a bat. That hurt. Grimacing, she reached up and opened the cabinet door where Raphael kept the saucers. Or probably his mother had originally placed the saucers. She'd been in his house a week and had yet to see him use-