Seduced by the Heir(25)

Her mouth boldly claimed his lips, and her hands stroked his chest. He  tasted sweet, like chocolate, and the rich, intoxicating flavor turned  her on. She wanted more, needed more, and had plans to get it, too. The  kiss roused her passion, filled her with an insatiable, mind-blowing  hunger. His tongue made love to her mouth. Rafael was saying and doing  all the things she liked, and Paris loved every sensuous minute of it.

Kissing passionately, they stroked and caressed each other like two  people desperately in love. Paris lost all reason, and all sense of time  and place. When her cell phone rang, she blocked out the intrusive  noise. She was with Rafael, a man she'd loved and adored since she was  nineteen years old, and she didn't want anything to ruin their time  together.

She slid a hand under Rafael's shirt, but froze when he broke off the  kiss. "What's the matter?" she asked, tenderly caressing his face. Paris  loved touching him, liked stroking the hard contours of his cheekbones  and jaw. Admiring his thick eyelashes and creamy brown skin, she  marveled at what a handsome man he'd become over the years.

"I can't do this. It wouldn't be right." Rafael shook his head and  dropped his hands to his sides. He looked troubled, as if his mind and  body were at odds, and he avoided meeting her gaze. "I want you more  than I've ever wanted anyone, but I can't sleep with you."

"Come again?" she blurted out, convinced she'd misheard him.

"I promised myself I'd keep my hands off you this weekend, and I'll feel defeated if I go back on my word."

Paris was confused by his mind-blowing confession, but she didn't let  her true feelings show. "Good thing I packed my vibrator in my suitcase,  or I'd be really disappointed right now." She had spoken those words to  lighten the mood, and earned a hearty chuckle from Rafael. He drew her  back into the comfort of his arms and kissed her forehead. "I want more  than one night with you, Paris. I love being with you and I want us to  be exclusive."

"Five minutes ago you said you wanted to be a lifelong bachelor."

"If I can't have you, I don't want anyone."

Paris shook off his words, not daring to believe that they were true. "I live in Atlanta."

"We discussed this already, remember? That's not a deal breaker."

"Long-distance relationships never work."

"Are you always this optimistic?" Rafael cupped her chin and wore a  stern, no-nonsense expression. "You can trust me with your heart, Paris.  I won't hurt you, and you'll never have to worry about me betraying  you. I'm fiercely loyal and dedicated to the people I love."

Realization dawned, and Paris felt her eyes widen and tear up. Holy heavens! He's serious.

"I don't know if I'm ready to be in another relationship," she murmured.

"We'll take things slow. As slow as you want. I want something real with  you, something lasting, and I don't want our relationship clouded by  lust," he told her. "I think we should hold off on making love for the  time being."

"Where was all that self-control and level-headed thinking in Venice?"

"I couldn't help myself." Rafael brushed his nose against hers, and she  laughed. "You looked so beautiful on New Year's Eve I fell hopelessly  under your spell."

"And tonight?"

"I'm going to be a perfect gentleman."

"Don't be. I like when you're mischievous in bed."

His eyes darkened a shade and his grip tightened around her waist. "I'm  warning you," he growled, his words a deep, sexy command. "Don't start  something you can't finish."

Wearing a coy smirk, Paris seized his hands and slid them under her  blouse. Excitement danced inside her, warmed and pricked her flesh as  their bodies came together. She used his fingers to massage her breasts,  to cup and knead her erect nipples, and then moaned in his ear, "I want  to make you come with my mouth...."                       
       
           



       

The devilish gleam that lit his eyes said it all.

"Damn it to hell!" Rafael scooped Paris up, tossed her over his shoulder  and playfully smacked her on the ass. She shrieked in laughter as he  did it again, then jogged up the stairs.





Chapter 13

"This is for the game. The next point wins the match," Rafael announced,  bouncing the tennis ball on the indoor court at the Washington Golf and  Country Club. "I'm going to enjoy bragging about my come-from-behind  win, especially after all the gloating you did yesterday when you beat  me at Scrabble."

Narrowing her eyes with determination, Paris gripped her tennis racket  and rocked eagerly from side to side. "Bring it on, pretty boy. Let's do  this!"

As the ball left Rafael's hand, Paris knew it was going to be a soft  serve down the middle and raced toward the net like a bat out of hell.  The ball sailed in the air, and she hit it with an explosive forehand.  It whizzed past Rafael, clipped the solid white line and hit the back of  the wall. "Yahoo! I won!" Raising her hands in victory, she danced  around the court. "You owe me a home-cooked meal, and a foot massage!"

"You cheated," Rafael said, wiping his forehead with a blue face towel.

"No, I didn't. I won fair and square, and you know it."

Rafael stepped over the net and swept Paris up in his arms. "How do you  expect me to concentrate on my game when you're running around the court  in this sexy, pink dress?"

"But you bought it for me!" she argued, playfully swatting his shoulder.

"I did, didn't I?"

His teasing smile made her laugh. Since arriving in Washington two weeks  earlier they'd explored Chinatown, the open-air markets and the  designer stores in union      Station. In his favorite used book store,  they sat in comfy arm chairs, reading eighteenth-century poetry and  feeding each other chocolate. On weekends, they hiked Great Falls Park,  strolled hand-in-hand through Georgetown and cooked in his gourmet  kitchen. Yesterday, after shopping at Mazza Gallerie, they'd returned to  his brownstone and spent the rest of the night in each other's arms.  They had great talks about their hopes and dreams and Paris wasn't  afraid to open up to him about her fear and insecurities.

"Are you going to model the lingerie I bought you at Discreet  Boutiques?" he asked, stroking her hips. "I'm dying to see you in that  French maid costume."

"Only if you're a very good boy."

"Then I'll be on my best behavior for the rest of the day."

Rafael grabbed her butt, and Paris giggled. He was putting on a show,  deliberately trying to make her laugh, and it worked. He made her forget  everything-the pain of her past, her insecurities, her strained  relationship with her father-and when he cupped her chin and kissed her  tenderly on the lips, she felt more desirable than ever.

"We better stop before they kick us out," he joked, clasping her hand.  Rafael looked dreamy in his white polo shirt and shorts, and as they  exited the tennis court Paris noticed country club members-some old  enough to be his mother-checking him out. To make it clear he was taken,  she snuggled against him. "Do you still want to go to the Smithsonian  today?"

Rafael nodded. "Yes, and after our private tour I'm taking you to my favorite Greek restaurant for lunch. Sound good?"

I don't care where we go or what we do as long as we're together. Paris  felt safe, at home in his arms, and marvelled at how close they'd  become since he'd "kidnapped her" two weeks earlier. The past fifteen  years hadn't changed anything; Rafael was still the only man she wanted,  the only man who knew her inside and out. He found unique, unexpected  ways to make her feel special, and Paris loved him for it. More than  she'd ever loved anyone. Is this our chance to finally get it right? Can  we have the relationship I've always dreamed of?

They strode through the country club, hand-in-hand, and stopped in front  of the fitness center to speak to one of Rafael's golf buddies. Paris  was surprised when he introduced her as his girlfriend, but smiled  politely at the cardiologist and made small talk. When the conversation  turned to business, Paris gazed out the window and admired the  breathtaking view of the Potomac River. Once known as the "Playground of  Presidents," the Washington Golf and Country Club was one of the most  exclusive clubs in the state. Built on 120 acres of lush, green grass,  the property had everything a rich man could want: an 18-hole golf  course, a heated swimming pool, a tap room and a five-star restaurant.  The antique furnishings, ivory walls and muted color scheme evoked  feelings of calm. Members spoke in refined voices, children were seen,  not heard, and the faint scent of cigar smoke wafted through the air.