Taken by Storm(3)

He forced himself not to stare at her ful , lush mouth.



There was something about her mouth that reminded him of sultry vixen. A pair of loose-fitting sweatpants and an oversized T-shirt made her appear smal and fragile.

Rafe strol ed across the room and extended his hand.

“I’m Deputy Marshal Rafe Madison.”

Simone stared at the large, wel -groomed hand as if it were a venomous reptile. “May I please see some ID?”

“I can assure you that he is who he…” Keven Robbins’s voice trailed off when Simone shot him a warning look.

“I was told by the U.S. attorney at the courthouse that I wasn’t to trust anyone or assume they’re who they say they are,” she said quietly, glaring at the seemingly embarrassed federal officer. Her gaze swung back to the man who’d been assigned to live in her home while monitoring her whereabouts 24/7. Forcing a smile, she held out her hand. “Now, may I see your identification, Marshal Madison?”

Dark eyebrows lifted slightly in Rafe’s lightly tanned face as he reached into the back pocket of his jeans for a smal leather case. He handed it to Simone, who stared at his picture ID and badge for several seconds, then returned it to him. A hint of a smile tilted the corners of his mouth. “Are you convinced now?”

There was something smug about Raphael Madison’s attitude that irked Simone. Her eyes narrowed slightly. “I’l show you where you can put your things.”

Keven cleared his throat. He wanted to tel Rafe that he would have his work cut out for him with Simone Whitfield.

Although he’d found her very pretty, he detected a toughness in her that wasn’t apparent at first glance. And she didn’t scare easily. After al , she’d repel ed Mitchel Fischer’s attacker with pepper spray.

He winked at Rafe. “I’m going back to the courthouse.”

He nodded to Simone. “Miss Whitfield.” Keven slapped Rafe’s shoulder as he made his way to the front door.

“Good luck, my friend,” he said in a quiet voice. “She’s a live one,” he added sotto voce.

Rafe walked with Keven, closed and locked the door, then picked up his luggage. When he returned to the living room, he realized Simone hadn’t moved. When his gaze met hers, he saw uncertainty in the brown-green orbs. Was she in shock? Had the enormity that she could’ve been murdered or seriously wounded final y set in?

But she hadn’t been kil ed or injured because common sense and quick thinking had saved not only her life, but also that of a federal judge.

Simone blinked once, as if coming out of a trance.

“Fol ow me, Mr. Madison.”

Rafe stared at her back as she headed for the staircase.

“We have to settle something straightaway, Simone.” She stopped her retreat and turned to face him. “Since I’m going to be living with you for a while, I believe we can dispense with the formality of Mr. Madison and Miss Whitfield.”

Her natural y arching eyebrows flickered. “How do we address each other?”

“Rafe and Simone wil do. It’d be better for everyone involved if you don’t advertise why I’m here.”



If Simone hadn’t been so traumatized by the day’s events, she would’ve reacted to the tal man with a mane of dirty-blond hair and intense dark-blue eyes. He’d been blessed with the most exquisite bone structure she’d ever seen in a man. His perfectly symmetrical features made him almost a little too pretty. He was what her pastry chef cousin, Faith, would refer to as delicious or yummy. A lightweight black jacket was stretched over his broad shoulders and a pair of wel -washed jeans hugged his lower toned body like a second skin. It didn’t matter if he was easy on the eyes; she’d never been attracted to blond men.

“How do I explain you, Rafe?” There was a hint of facetiousness in her query.

“You can say I’m an old friend from col ege.”

“How do you know that I attended col ege?”

Rafe’s impassive expression didn’t change. “I know everything—wel , almost everything—about you,” he said, correcting himself.

The Bureau had forwarded her biographical information, along with other data needed for the security, health and safety of their government witness. He knew when and where she’d been born, the schools she’d attended, her marital status and how much income she’d reported to the IRS.

“You do know that I don’t want you here.”

A slight frown appeared between his eyes. “What you want is unimportant to me. I’ve been assigned to protect you whether you like it or not. Now, please show me where I can put my bags, then we’l sit down and clear the air about a few things.”