Seduced by the Heir(19)

When her father had called an hour after her meeting with the exciting  news, her staff had danced around the conference room, cheering,  shrieking and laughing, but all Paris could muster was a weak smile.  Hours later, she still couldn't shake her melancholy mood.                       
       
           



       

Up to her neck in lavender-scented bubbles, she sat in her bathtub,  sipping wine and listening to music. Jet lag was kicking her butt, and  she had more aches and pains than a boxer. More tired than she could  ever remember being, she rested her head against the rim and allowed the  slow, sensuous love song to soothe her troubled mind. What's the matter  with me? Why do I feel so empty inside?

Because you left Rafael without saying goodbye, her conscience reminded her.

Guilt tormented her. He must think the worst of me. At the time, leaving  Rafael in her suite had seemed like a good idea. He was tired and  sleeping so soundly in her bed. But when she arrived at the airport and  saw all the lovey-dovey couples in the first-class lounge, Paris had  felt like the scum of the earth. And when she arrived in Washington next  Friday she planned to tell him just that.

If she could even muster the courage to face him.

They'd had wild, passionate sex all night long. Just thinking about how  she'd begged and moaned and screamed his name made her cheeks burn with  embarrassment. Paris closed her eyes to stop the explicit images that  flashed in her mind, but to no avail. All day long she'd thought of him  and nothing else. She'd always had a weakness for tall, dark-haired  guys, and her first love was still the sexiest piece of eye candy she'd  ever seen.

And a sensuous lover.

His kisses, caresses and passion were unmatched, unlike anything she'd  ever experienced. He'd explored her body, ravished every curve and  slope, and just when Paris thought she'd had enough he'd given her more.  They'd made love on the couch, in the shower and on the bed-three  earth-shattering times-but Paris still couldn't believe it. If not for  the hickeys on her neck and her sore thighs, she would have sworn she  imagined the whole thing.

"Who is R.M., and why did he send you three-dozen roses?"

Startled, Paris shot up in the tub. Standing in the doorway, holding a  glass vase filled with flowers, was her sister, Kennedy. Though the  mother of three looked stylish in a belted sweater, leggings and ankle  boots, Paris couldn't help but notice the dark circles under her eyes,  and her lifeless brown skin.

"Are you trying to give me a heart attack?" Paris rested a hand on her  chest and exhaled a deep breath. Her pulse pounded in her ears. "Don't  sneak up on me like that. You scared me half to death."

"Sorry, sis. I was so anxious to see you I wasn't thinking."

Paris smiled for the first time all day. It didn't matter how stressful  things were or how glum she felt, her sister always found a way to cheer  her up. She was a petite powerhouse, and one of the strongest, most  fearless women Paris knew. Kennedy had been her rock ever since their  mother died, and she loved her sister more than anything in the world.

"Good thing I stopped by when I did or the delivery guy would have left  with your pretty flowers." Kennedy closed her eyes and buried her nose  in the oversize vase. "They smell divine. Where do you want me to put  them?"

It was the largest flower arrangement Paris had ever seen. The colorful,  long-stemmed roses flooded the room with their fragrant scent. "It  doesn't matter. Anywhere is fine."

Kennedy set the vase down on the counter, plucked the card out of the  plastic holder and read it out loud. "'We'll always have Venice, R.M.'  What does that mean?" Her eyes tripled in size and she cupped a hand  over her mouth. "OMG, you met someone at Cassandra's wedding, didn't  you!"

"Scream louder. I don't think the family across the street heard you."

"Tell me who R.M. is or I'll unfriend you on Facebook."

Paris splashed water at her sister and cracked up when she shrieked like  a kid on a roller coaster. She trusted Kennedy wholeheartedly, and knew  she'd never betray her, but didn't feel comfortable talking about her  one-night stand in Venice.

"I'm waiting," her sister trilled in a singsong voice.

Paris picked up her wineglass, and took a sip. "His name is Rafael Morretti."

"And," she pressed.

"And that's it. You wanted to know who R.M. was and I told you, so let it go."

Kennedy crossed her legs and propped a hand under her chin. "What's he like?"

He's smart, sweet, chivalrous and he has the sexiest eyes I've ever  seen. "That depends on who you ask," she said vaguely, pretending to  inspect her manicure.

"Wow, you're a real wealth of information."

Hoping her sister would move on to something else, Paris rolled her eyes to the ceiling.

"Why did he send you flowers?"                       
       
           



       

"Beats me."

"You're lying, and I'm going to find out why." Kennedy took her cell  phone out of her pocket, slid her index finger across the screen and  typed furiously. "Since you won't answer any of my questions, I'll just  have to do some digging of my own."

"Fine."

Kennedy stuck out her tongue. "Bite me!"

Paris grabbed her towel off the hook, stepped out of the bathtub and  swathed it around her body. "I'm going to get dressed," she said,  picking up the flower arrangement as she exited the bathroom. "When  you're finished playing detective, meet me downstairs."

Paris was in her kitchen, admiring the roses Rafael had sent her, when  she heard Kennedy scream. High heels clacked on the hardwood floor, and  the smell of hair spray tickled her nose.

"OMG! I think I'm in love!"

Holding up her cell phone, her sister marched over to the breakfast bar.  All the blood in Paris's body shot straight to her core. A photograph  of Rafael, dressed to kill in a sleek, charcoal-gray suit, was on the  phone screen. Seeing his handsome face and how dreamy he looked made her  panties instantly wet.

Paris dragged her gaze away from the cell phone, threw open the pantry  door and searched the shelves for something quick to make for dinner.

"This is Rafael Morretti?"

All she could do was nod. Her sister had the discerning nature of a  private investigator. If Paris wanted to survive their conversation, she  had to keep her mouth shut, her emotions in check and her horny body  under control.

That's easier said than done, her conscience pointed out. You're so weak for Rafael your body's still on fire from last night!

"He's a hottie," Kennedy declared, leaning against the granite  countertop. "And you can tell by his relaxed posture and smoldering gaze  that he can work it between the sheets."

Girl, you have no idea.

"I bet he's hiding a gorgeous physique under that suit...."

Broad shoulders, a washboard stomach and eight delicious inches, but who's counting?

"Rafael Morretti deserves to be the Sexiest Man Alive!"

Kennedy licked her lips as if she were about to devour a plate of baby  back ribs, and Paris couldn't resist poking fun at her. "Damn, girl,  sometimes you're worse than a teenager! Have you forgotten that you're a  Sunday school teacher and a PTA president?"

A smirk lit her almond-brown eyes. "I'm married, not dead! Besides, there's nothing wrong with looking."

"Does Anthony get a free pass to drool over beautiful women online, too?"

"Nope, and if I catch him, that's his ass!"

The sisters laughed and exchanged high fives.

"It says here that Rafael lives in Washington," Kennedy said, gesturing to her cell phone. "How did you guys meet?"

Paris thought for a moment, decided it couldn't hurt to tell her sister  the truth, and closed the pantry door. "Rafael and I dated when we were  freshmen at University of Washington, and I ran into him at Cassandra  and Stefano's wedding."

"No way!" Kennedy slanted her head as if deep in thought. "I don't remember you ever dating anyone named Rafael."

"You were too busy hanging out with your friends to care."

"Ouch. That's a low blow."

Feeling contrite, Paris linked arms with her sister. "We weren't close  back then, and whenever I tried to talk to you about school or boys, you  ignored me."

"I was pretty selfish back then, huh?"

"Still are," she quipped, laughing.

"On paper Rafael seems like a great catch, but is he a nice guy?"

"Kennedy, don't be silly. Nice guys don't exist."

"Of course they do, and if Rafael wasn't a good guy he wouldn't have  sent you beautiful flowers." Kennedy squeezed her forearm, and spoke in a  sympathetic tone. "You can't paint all men with the same brush just  because you had one bad experience...."