Illicit Desire Read online

  “So you got the presents.”

  After twelve hours, his voice hits me like a punch to the gut, and I want to rub against him in a dark room. Even annoyed with Paul, it takes very little stimuli from Raphael to turn me on. “Yes. And I appreciate the dress. And the flowers. I think the phone is overkill, don’t you?”

  “The phone is something you need for work. Yours is old and unreliable.”

  I stiffen. “I like my phone.”

  “You’ll like this one, too. You need to be accessible to our partners, bonita. This will ensure that you are.”

  “And the flowers?”

  “Were beautiful and made me think of you.”

  I take a breath. I need to, because otherwise I’ll melt. His voice is soft and warm, something I’m not used to from Raphael. I’m used to bossy, dangerous, sexy, seductive, not sweet and charming.

  “What are you doing?” I murmur, leaning back against the counter. The wrapping paper crinkles slightly and Raphael sighs.

  “I don’t know, Cora. I’m not used to this—but I can’t stop thinking about you, and I don’t want to end this.” He laughs. “I should let you go. I’m not a good guy, bonita. And I know I should walk away. But I can’t.”

  I swallow hard, his words terrifying and exhilarating. “Raphael, you have to give me some space. If you don’t, I will bolt—because that’s who I am. That’s how I am, after Graham.”

  There’s a moment of silence, and then, “I assigned a few of my security to watch your place—make sure you aren’t being followed. I don’t know when Graham gets out and with the seal they put on the whole thing, I can’t find out much. Lou is working on it.”

  Panic claws at me. “You have people watching me?”

  “For your safety, Cora,” he says firmly.

  “I don’t care why they’re following me,” I shout. “I want it to stop.”

  “I’m telling you so you don’t freak out.”

  “That’s not working so well,” I snap. “Get rid of them. Today.”

  I hang up and drop the phone like it’s diseased. As bad as things got with Graham, he never put people on me as a tail.

  Raphael is playing on a whole different level, and I don’t know if it’s because of who he is or what he is.

  “Cora,” Paul says, behind me. I ignore him, and move to the window, flicking the curtains back. There are four cars parked on the street in front of our building, and two down side streets.

  Only one could be his people. I narrow my eyes, staring at it, and see movement.

  But it doesn’t pull away.

  “Cora,” Paul repeats. I turn to my brother as the phone rings again, and any censor I see in his gaze fades. He releases a sigh. “Come on. Let’s get dressed and go shopping like we talked about.”

  I blink at him, and he hugs me. “It’s going to be okay, sweetie.”

  I nod against his chest, even though I don’t believe him.

  We spend the day at a flea market and thrift stores. Paul keeps me distracted with silly hats and shameless flirting with every woman we see, and arguing for the most hideous furniture we come across. After shopping all day, we get comfort food for dinner—greasy pizza and hot wings—and he gives me a smirk. "Movie night?"

  I nod and glance back as we go over a bump, the couch we found wiggling ominously.

  "How are we getting everything upstairs?"

  “Colt is meeting us to help me move it. Why do you think I got so much pizza?"

  I hesitate. Colt is a great guy and one of the only people who knows the whole truth about Graham. But he's also a little too interested and friendly. I swallow my concern and focus on the warmth and comfort of being with my brother.

  That bubble of comfort bursts when we park and a familiar Mercedes pulls in behind our truck. I stare at it in the rear view mirror as Raphael climbs out. Aggression is coming off him in waves and I feel a shiver of fear as he stalks to my door.

  "Who is that?" Paul asks softly. I give him a quick look and then the door is open and Raphael hauls me out. I have a moment to take in his wild eyes before he pins me to the truck, and kisses me. His lips move over mine urgently, desperately, and it triggers my own hunger, until I'm whimpering and anxious under him.

  And then he's gone, jerked away abruptly. I blink stupidly at the empty air and see my brother between us, a wall of muscle and anger. “Back off, man,” Paul snaps.

  Three things happen. Raphael swings at Paul, Lou emerges from the Mercedes, fury written on his face, and Colt pulls up on his motorcycle.

  Colt comes off his bike at a flat sprint, and tackles Raphael from behind, and I see the flash of steel a second before Lou lifts the gun.

  A bad situation just turned really fucking ugly.

  I dart forward, and yank on the bodyguard’s arm. “No,” I snap. His eyes soften a fraction, and I hear a grunt, and the distinct sound of flesh hitting flesh. Raphael is on his back, my brother above him, fury in his eyes, while Colt prowls on the edges of the fight. Paul’s lip is bleeding, and he’s enraged, while Raphael sprawls on the ground, his entire body coiled to strike.

  “Paul, stop,” I yell, and his head snaps up. Bad idea. Raphael hits him, hard, a right hook that has my brother’s eyes rolling back as he goes boneless.

  “Motherfucker,” Colt breathes, and jerks forward.

  I shove him back and snarl, “Enough, for fuck’s sake.”

  All of them go still, watching me, and I point at Raphael. “Get your ass up. We need to talk. Colt, take care of that idiot—I’ll deal with you two when Raphael leaves.”

  “I’m not leaving,” he snaps, and Colt puffs up, stepping toward him.

  “You ever want to touch me again, you’ll listen to what I have to say and then you’ll get in your overpriced car and get the fuck out of my face for the day. That’s not negotiable,” I shoot back, and turn to the apartment. Lou is standing in my way, his eyes wide and amused. “You coming up too?” I demand, pushing past him.

  I feel the bulk of him shake, and I give him a furious look. He goes serious and blank. I stalk inside, and don’t look back. They can follow me, or not.

  “Bonita,” Raphael says, his voice tight and angry. I ignore him. My hands are shaking as I climb the stairs. I hear him mutter something low and Spanish, and then bark an order at Lou. Then he jogs up behind me.

  I’m facing the door, my arms crossed, when he enters my little apartment, and I see his gaze skate over it, ticking off the shoddy furniture, the window open to the breeze. His lips tighten a little, and he refocuses on me. “Your room, bonita.”

  He pushes past me, grabbing my hand and pulling me down the small hall. He moves with unerring accuracy to my room, steps in and slams the door shut behind me before pinning me to it. “Where the fuck were you?” he growls, his voice bathing the side of my neck. I shiver. His lips are soft, silky sweet, as they trace down, linger just below my earlobe before he moves, catching the tender flesh of my ear between his teeth in a warning nip. “Where?”

  I shove him, and he gives ground. Not because he has to, but because I’m demanding it and he’s just as furious as I am.

  “I went out with my brother, jackass. Is that ok with you?”

  “Not when I can’t reach you,” he snarls. “I gave you a phone so this wouldn’t happen.”

  I push my hair back, and stare at him. I expect anger. I expect something threatening—something that will reaffirm that this is a bad idea, and I need to cut my losses.

  I don’t see that. Instead, his eyes are wide and panicked, and his hands, as they come up to touch my face, lightly, not quite believing, have the slightest tremble. I blink. “You were worried.”

  “Of course I was fucking worried, Cora,” he says, his voice hoarse. “You vanished. I had no idea where you were or if you’d come back. I had my people tearing apart the fucking city.”

  I shudder. The raw possessiveness in his voice and gaze scares me. I’ve seen that kind of fierce need in someone’s eyes before
—and Graham nearly killed me.

  I take a step away from Raphael. Even as I want to soothe the worry in his eyes and the tight lines around his face, I put distance between us, and try to ignore the pounding in my chest.

  “I’m here. I’m not vanishing today.”

  His whole body goes rigid at my withdrawal. “Don’t do this, bonita.”

  “You need to go. Cleaning this up is going to be hard enough without Paul finding you in my bedroom.”

  It’s true. Maybe not the only reason I want him gone, but it’s still the truth.

  He steps closer to me, his arms slipping around me. I make a muffled sound of protest and he growls softly against the top of my hair. “Don’t. Don’t fight me, bonita. I need to fuck you, and I won’t. I’ll let you have the space you need. But you gotta give me a little something—you scared the shit out of me. Let me hold you.”

  It’s a request, and despite the strength in his arms around me, if I fight, I know he’ll let me go. It’s what makes him different from Graham—and it’s why I relax into him, resting my head on his chest with a soft sigh. Some of the tension eases out of him, and he presses a kiss to the top of my head. “Please don’t do that again. If you have to disappear, please don’t do it without telling me.”

  His voice is rough and vulnerable, and my eyes sting with tears as I nod. Because as much as I know it’s a bad idea—I can’t help but care about this enigmatic man. His lips brush over my neck, and I know I told him no. I know my brother will be waiting and demanding an explanation. I know why fucking him is a bad idea. But my body ignores that as his lips slip down my neck, tiny kisses trailing fire. His hand is on my hip again, and I shift, covering it and sliding it lower.

  Raphael’s head comes up. “Cora?”

  “Shut up,” I whisper. His hand covers me, and I whimper, bucking into his touch.

  He dips his head down, and whispers against my ear, “What do you want?”

  I twist and unbutton my pants, shoving them down without finesse. I don’t give a fuck that it’s not sexy. Or that Paul is on the other side of the door. “Shut up and fuck me, Raphael.”

  His eyes heat, and he reaches for me, turning to pin me between him and the door. “Undress me,” he murmurs and I do, reaching for his shirt. He helps me and I lean in, catching one flat nipple with my lips and nipping. He grunts, and I feel him fumbling with his pants.

  “Your mouth, bonita,” he orders, and I drop to my knees, and take him deep in one motion. He grips my hair, hard and almost painful as he bucks into me. I lick at his cock, tracing that delicious vein, one hand rolling his balls, and I’m rewarded with a low groan. Then I suck him deep, until the head of his cock bobs against the back of my throat.

  “Fuck,” he hisses, thrusting slightly. “So fucking good.”

  I bob quickly and reach a hand down between my thighs, slipping between my folds and whimpering around him.

  “Jesus, that’s hot, baby.”

  I stare up at him, and see the moment his head falls back. I jerk away from him before he can finish and he growls, quietly. Grabs me and lifts me.

  “Condom?” he pants. I shake my head, anxious, and he goes still. “Cora?”

  “I’m clean. I’m on the pill. Now shut the fuck up and fuck me,” I whisper.

  Heat flares in Raphael’s dark eyes, and his grip on me tightens. He lifts me and I wrap my legs around him as I slide down his cock.

  The groan I can’t swallow down is loud—too loud, and Raphael’s eyes are laughing as he covers my lips and kisses me. He shifts and I whimper at the delicious friction as he carries me to the bed, and lays me down, all without sliding free of me.

  There’s a sharp bang on the door, and I gasp as Paul shouts my name. Raphael’s eyes turn mischievous and he leans down, nipping at my ear.

  “Answer him.”

  I stare at him and he swivels his hips in that maddeningly wonderful way and I gasp. “I’m fine,” I shout. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

  “Get your ass out here.”

  Raphael thrusts into me, hard, and I swallow a scream as he rubs a finger over my clit. “Go away and let us talk,” I yell.

  “Five minutes, Cora,” my brother snarls and I hear him walk away. Raphael is laughing and I glare up at him.

  Until he slides free and I almost groan—and then he thrusts back and I bite my lip to keep from screaming as he props himself above me and fucks me. Each thrust is slow and steady and silent, his eyes hot on mine as he drives me slowly insane. I can hear Paul and Colt outside my bedroom door, and I know they could come in at any time, and it’s driving me crazy, coiling with each thrust Raphael makes, until my hands come up, pinching my nipples and he loses control, bucking into me sharply.

  The bed squeals once in protest, and I shatter into the hardest orgasm of my life. Raphael thrusts twice more and then his lips close over my shoulder, silencing his pleasure as he comes inside me.

  Chapter 14

  Raphael

  STAYING AWAY FROM CORA is harder than I anticipate, and that is plenty difficult. I have meetings that I instruct my staff to reschedule for lunches, meetings in a nearby hotel bar, anywhere but the Spanish Lady. And there are the other deals.

  I’ve avoided dealing with the Rojas because I don’t want to agitate Carlita. But as I stare at the numbers, I know it’s not really an option. I flick a look at Miguel. “This is almost three quarters of a million,” I say, flatly.

  He nods, his gaze steady.

  “Christ, why the hell didn’t you tell me it was this serious?” I snap. “This doesn’t make us look weak—this could cripple us.”

  Miguel rolls his shoulders, and shrugs. “It won’t cripple us. The product is still bringing in almost eight hundred thousand a month. It makes us look weak—which is what Carlita wants.”

  “Do you really think Jorge is letting her have so much say over the operations?” I ask, surprised. I know Jorge Rojas. He grew up the same as I did—cartel royalty, my Columbian mirror. But he grew up harder, in a way I didn’t understand. There was nothing about the man that said he would let his young Mexican wife dabble in operations.

  Of course, Carlita had never been content being the accessory on a man’s arm.

  If she had, maybe she would still be here, instead of in Jorge’s palatial estate in a Columbian jungle.

  “Are you holding back because of her?” Miguel asks, quietly.

  I flash a look at him, furious. His hands go up, a silent surrender. “It’s a question, Rafe. Nothing more.”

  “No,” I snap. “I’m holding back because a war with the Columbians will cover the streets in blood. Do you want that?”

  “None of us want that,” Miguel answers. “But letting Jorge push like this will lead to bloodshed. You know that, when you’re honest with yourself.” He stands. “Lou will be here soon. Are you sure this is a good idea?”

  I nod.

  Miguel mutters a curse and stands. “I’ll see you in the lobby.”

  When the door shuts behind him, I adjust my tie and shove aside my irritation and worry. Tonight is about presenting a clean face to the public, smiling with the Councilwoman for the cameras. Showing the entire city that I’m a nice, safe bachelor, with a new beauty on my arm.

  Ignorant fucks.

  My phone dings quietly and I glance at it.

  Lou: Five minutes.

  I tug my cuffs down, and stride out of the hotel suite. It’s in my name, and I have a distant hope that I’ll bring her back, after. It’s vague and half formed—everything in me is focused on the fact that she is here, that she didn’t run. I thought she would, after fucking me and throwing me out of her apartment. Three days of silence has been excruciating.

  The lobby is almost empty—the Benefit is in full swing, and most of Miami’s wealthy elite are already inside the ball room, spending a fortune on the auction and sipping overpriced bad champagne.

  Miguel is there, with his suit coat on now. He’s talking to a small red-haired
woman, and I study them as I descend. Miguel’s eyes flick to me, briefly, and then he murmurs softly to the woman and she hurries away, out the front door. I slide Miguel a curious look that he ignores.

  The hotel door opens, and I hear the low greeting of the doorman, and a soft feminine voice that brings my head up, and everything else vanishes.

  There is only Cora.

  She gives a slight smile to the doorman, and steps into the lobby, her hand smoothing down the dress she’s wearing.

  The dress I chose for her. Fuck. She looks almost naked in it, her creamy skin blending into the silk of the dress in a mouthwatering display. The sweetheart neckline hints at her gorgeous breasts without showing too much. The skirt comes to the middle of her thighs, the sheer overlay scooped up to her tiny waist.

  Her eyes widen when she sees me, and I’m conscious, suddenly, of my tux and unruly hair. I wonder if she likes what she sees.

  A slow smile curves her lips, and I let out the breath I’m holding. “You came,” I say, and immediately, feel like an idiot.

  Her grin turns mischievous. “Did you think I would stand you up?”

  “It occurred to me,” I admit, and offer her my arm. “I’m not sure I want to take you in there,” I say, and she glances up at me through her eyelashes. “You’re too gorgeous for your own good. Every man who sees you will want to fuck you.”

  She laughs, a self-deprecating noise that tells me she doesn’t believe me.

  “Miguel,” I say and he steps to my side. I don’t look at him—I don’t want to see his eyes trail over her. “Would you fuck her?”

  There’s a pause, and Cora’s eyes go very wide. “Yeah, Jefe. If you wouldn’t shoot me.” There’s a touch of amusement in his voice, and a bit too much appreciation for my liking.

  I can’t shoot my cousin for answering a question I asked. I can entertain the idea, though.

  “Sorry,” Cora says, staring at me. “I’m not available.”

  Miguel laughs softly behind us, and I can’t for the life of me remember why I’m not taking her upstairs right now.