Illicit Desire Page 8

  I bite my lip, and he flashes me a smile. “Don’t do that unless you want me to fuck you again.”

  He comes to me, and something damp and warm runs between my legs. He’s cleaning me, quickly and thoroughly. He leans in and kisses me. When he pulls back he says, “Get dressed, bonita. I’m having lunch brought up—it’ll be here in a few minutes.”

  I nod, and he grabs a pair of jeans from the end of the bed, pulling them on as he walks, bare-chested, from the room.

  Chapter 11

  Raphael

  THERE IS TOO MUCH shit waiting for me, outside my bedroom and the bliss of Cora in my bed. Too many issues with the cartel, all the secrets, my overprotective bodyguard, and the fact that she’s supposed to be easy—fuck and forget. Except now that I’ve had her, I don’t think I can. If I’m honest, I don’t think I ever could.

  Being inside her—I groan and shake my head. Can’t think about that right now. Not when there are still so many secrets between us.

  There is a quiet rap on the door, before Lou enters with takeout.

  This¸ however, is one problem I can deal with.

  I stride toward him, and his gaze tracks me, taking in the change of clothes—and the lack of them. “You fucked her.”

  “You threatened her,” I respond, my voice deadly soft. Lou’s eyes widen just a little, before his expression goes blank. “What the fuck were you thinking?” I demand, furiously.

  “That she’s a loose cannon. That with things as shaky as they are with Rojas, we don’t need that. She put someone in jail, Jefe. No fuck is so good you can afford to forget that.”

  I wait, and his eyes flick away, to the picture on the mantle. “Carlita will hear about her. What will you do then?”

  I want to draw on him, want to beat the shit out of him—tossing her into the conversation was low and inappropriate. I grit my teeth and step closer to him. “She’s under my protection, Lou. You do anything to make her nervous, I’ll have you in Columbia by the end of the day, and you can figure out what to tell that crazy bitch. Until then, keep your hands and your threats to yourself and let me worry about the Rojas.”

  A soft noise behind me, and Lou’s eyes skate to her briefly before dropping. “Si, Jefe.”

  “Get out. Tell Miguel I’ll check in tonight—I don’t want to be disturbed. By anyone.”

  Lou’s eyes flash rebelliously, and my hand moves, instinctively looking for the gun that I’m not carrying. He catches the motion, and the desire behind it, and shock fills his gaze.

  “Si, Jefe,” he says again, and turns, slipping out silently. I let out the breath I’m holding and turn to face Cora.

  She’s pulled her hair into a messy knot, and tugged on her skirt and silk top—but she still looks freshly fucked and very satisfied. I lift the bag slightly. “Lunch is here.”

  “So was Lou,” she says mildly, coming over and taking the bag from my hand.

  I trail her into the kitchen, where she pokes around my cabinets for a few minutes before I take pity on her and open the right door, revealing plates. She gives me an annoyed look. “I would have found them.”

  “But the longer you take, the longer it is until I can take you back to bed,” I say, coming behind her. She is resistant for a moment, and then melts against me, nestling her ass to my cock. I go hard, instantly, and groan. I lean down, raking my teeth against her neck before I let her go.

  While she dishes out pasta, I pour two glasses of water and then lead her to the balcony.

  She whistles when she steps out with me, and I grin, inordinately pleased that she has taken such a liking to the view provided by the Spanish Lady. It’s part of me, and I want her to like every part of me.

  Which is ridiculous. I shove that thought aside, and let her pick her seat. She settles in my favorite chaise, a long, deep chair with a slanted back that Rosa had loved for sunning. I’ve never once wanted to fuck someone in that chair, but seeing her in it changes that. I laugh, and her eyes flick to me, questioning.

  “You have no idea how incredibly sexy you are, do you?”

  She flushes, looking at her plate, then flashing me a shy smile. It amuses me that she can be shy, after everything that’s happened. But I relent, and look away. Some of the tension in her shoulders melts away, and she eats, quick neat bites.

  When she’s finished, I take our plates inside, and return with the chocolate cake I had ordered, and sit down in my chair.

  “Tell me,” I say, quietly.

  She runs a trembling hand through her hair. “What do you know?”

  “He was your professor, and has been in jail for three years.”

  Her lips twist, her smile bitter and cold—closed off. “It doesn’t talk about why, does it? That was part of the deal—nothing got leaked.”

  I stare, and she sighs. “Graham was one of my professors—philosophy was supposed to be an easy A, and rack up some of my elective credits. And a few friends told me he was hot, so it seemed like a good choice. He noticed me, pretty early on in the class. He wasn’t inappropriate—just, occasionally on papers, his notes were a little more personal than academic, and he would debate with me to the exclusion of the class. I was flattered, but he was a professor, you know? It didn’t mean anything.”

  She take a quick look at me, and hurries on. “When the semester ended, he found me at work. And because he was hot, and older, and so different from anything I’d ever experienced, it happened. I fell for him—hard. We had an intense, summer long affair.”

  My hands clench. Even if I had suspected, I don’t like hearing her talk about being anyone’s lover. I don’t want her to remember anyone but me.

  “When Paul came home from deployment, I brought Graham home. By then I was practically living with him, but I wanted my brother to meet him. The thing was, I didn’t realize when I was alone with Graham how possessive he was. How intense. He hated being around my family—especially Paul—and after that first visit, he didn’t like when I went over to see them. Paul tried to tell me, point out what I was too fucking stupid to see, but I was convinced I was in love.”

  She sounds so bitter—so angry—and I want to move to her, take her into my arms. I want to send Lou back to Alabama to kill Graham. Instead, I force myself to sit still and listen as she spins out her story.

  “He hit me the first time on Labor Day. I wanted to go out with some friends and he went crazy. I spent a few days at my parents’ house, and he apologized, and it was forgotten because that wasn’t Graham. He wasn’t the kind of guy who beat his girlfriend.”

  “Except he was.”

  She stares at the ground, and now I do move, picking her up and putting her in my lap. “How long did it go on?” I ask, smoothing her hair down.

  “Six months. Then Paul came home and saw what was happening. He beat the hell out of Graham, and I moved home. Paul had two months before he deployed again. He kept me safe, and Graham stayed away. I thought it was over.”

  She shivers, and I make a soft noise, hugging her tight. “He started stalking me online. Texting and calling at all hours. He followed me almost every time I left the house, and the longer I ignored it, the angrier he became. I went to the police, but they couldn’t do anything because he wasn’t physically hurting me. I knew a restraining order would just piss him off, so I decided to ignore it.”

  Cora takes a deep breath, and forces the words out. “Six months after I left him, Graham sent me the pictures of two girls who had been missing. He had them in a cabin a few hours away from Keyton and refused to let them go. All he wanted was to talk to me, so I agreed to work with the FBI to get them out alive.”

  “They let you go in there alone, didn’t they?” She’s quiet and I let out a string of Spanish. “They had no fucking right—you were his victim as much as those girls were. And it’s their fucking job to get them out alive. Not yours.”

  “I wanted to go,” she says. “He took them to get to me. I couldn’t walk away from that.”

  She’s
stiff in my arms. “The thing about Graham is he was smart. And when he had me, he did let the girls go. They were mostly unharmed—they needed therapy, but there was no lasting damage. And while the feds were busy with the girls, he grabbed me and bolted us in.”

  I feel queasy. “How long did he have you?”

  “A week,” she says shortly. “And I have no desire to talk about it. Afterwards, he made a plea bargain. The girls’ parents wanted it out of the news, and I just wanted it over. They put a media blackout over the whole thing and he went to jail. I put up with the comments from people who had no idea what really happened, and it was over.”

  Cora twitches in my arms, and I reluctantly let her go. “Graham started emailing and sending me letters the first week he was in prison. I knew what would happen—that no one would take it seriously or do anything. So I kept my head down, and we started to make plans.”

  “We?” I say, quietly.

  “Paul and I.” She stands at the rail of the balcony, staring out into nothing. “He knew I’d have to disappear to get away from Graham. There was no way he’d let me go. Originally, we just planned on vanishing into a big city, staying off the internet—that kind of shit—until he finally gave up.”

  “And now?”

  “Paul was deployed longer than we thought. Graham gets out in six months—and that isn’t long enough to disappear. We have a backup in, place, if he finds me.”

  There’s something very cold and final about her voice, and I stand, turning her to stare into her eyes. She’s got all of her defensive walls in place, as remote as the moon as she stands in the circle of my arms. “What is your plan?” I murmur.

  “Disappear for good. New name. New identity. Cut ties completely.”

  My grip on her tightens, and I see regret flicker in her eyes. I step away and study her. “That’s why you keep hinting about leaving.”

  She hesitates, and then nods. “This is a wonderful job, Raphael. You are wonderful. But I can’t stay when he comes back.”

  “What if I can’t let you go?”

  Fear flashes in her eyes, and she goes very still in my arms. I consider what I said, and let out a frustrated noise. “I would never hurt you, bonita. But I want to explore what this is between us. I don’t want you to run before we can find that out.”

  Her expression goes soft, and she smiles at me, a little sadly. “That isn’t what this is about.”

  She goes up on tiptoes to kiss me softly, and I want to curse. I can taste her, even as I feel her pulling away from me. I pick her up, and her legs come around my waist, clinging to me as her hands delve into my hair, holding me close as I kiss her.

  I carry her to my bedroom silently, strip her bare and fuck her. And as she clenches around me and cries out in pleasure, I decide: whatever it takes. I’m not giving her up to the ghost of her past.

  Chapter 12

  Cora

  I WAKE UP ALONE. It’s dark in Raphael’s room, and I feel a bolt of panic. Paul must be out of his mind with worry. I tug on one of Raphael’s shirts, and pad barefoot into the living room. It’s six, and the sun is setting over the water, painting the world twilight and golden. My phone is blinking furiously, and I grab it, flipping it open and scrolling through the text messages.

  I was right. Paul is frantic and pissed.

  A quick glance doesn’t reveal Raphael, but I want a little bit of space—here I can feel him pressing against me, his scent clinging to the air, and his shirt and the room. I need distance from that, to think properly.

  Under the blissed out warmth of sex, there is the familiar panic. Raphael is dangerous. Possessive—it’s a familiar song set to a different tune. I don’t think Raphael would hurt me—not the way that Graham did—but his possessive and controlling behavior are waving all my red flags.

  I swallow hard, shoving my concerns aside, and dial my brother’s number.

  “Where the fuck are you?” Paul demands. The phone had barely rung, and that tells me a lot about what kind of mental state my brother is in.

  “I’m with Raphael. We had a business meeting, and he wanted to talk about some upcoming projects we’re considering.”

  I don’t know why I’m lying to him about what we’re doing—I just don’t want to face his judgment—my brother is a great guy, but he can be judgmental, and he doesn’t have all the trust in the world when it comes to my choice in men.

  Not that his concern is completely unwarranted.

  “When will you be home?”

  “Another hour or so. I’ll be fine—go to work,” I say, soothingly. “Raphael’s people are giving me a ride.”

  “I still think it’s messed up that he wants you taking his car services.”

  I do too—and it’s something I need to talk to him about. The level of control Raphael has exerted in just a week of working for him is a little disturbing. “I agree. I’m taking care of it.”

  There’s a moment of silence, and then, “Be careful, Cora. I can’t do this if you keep looking back.”

  I know he can’t—and I know how much Paul is giving up for a sister who isn’t even blood. Tears sting in my eyes, and I swallow hard to keep him from hearing them. Hearing how fucking torn I am. “I’m fine. I’ll be ready when it’s time to leave.”

  “Hang out this weekend? I thought we could buy a little bit of furniture for the apartment.”

  I nod. “Sounds good. Antique?”

  “God, no. Mom inflicted enough of that shit on us growing up,” he says, sounding appropriately horrified. I laugh, and he sighs. “Text me when you get in, so I’m not worried?”

  “Of course.”

  He hangs up a few minutes later, and I stare at the city, coming to life far below. The sunset has faded, leaving behind a deepening darkness that is comforting and menacing. Light flares behind me and I turn, watching Raphael as he moves through the penthouse. He’s redressed in a scarlet t-shirt and black jeans that hug his ass perfectly. There’s a slight bulge on one hip—his gun.

  His smile falters when he pushes open his bedroom door, and I’m not where he left me, and I see something—panic?—on his face, before I move onto the balcony, and he comes toward it.

  I meet him at the door as he slides it open. “You were sleeping.”

  “I woke up alone,” I say simply.

  He leans in for a quick kiss. “Sorry, bonita. An issue came up that had to be dealt with. But I thought we could have dinner together?”

  I glance behind me, at where the water is. “I haven’t been to the beach yet. Do you wanna take me?”

  A smile turns his lips. “You have a suit?”

  “Do I need one?” I ask, a hand coming up to rest on the collar of his t-shirt. I let my fingers dust over the skin ofhis neck, and he shivers, his hands closing roughly over my hips.

  “I want more than just fucking you in the ocean, Cora,” he says, his voice husky.

  I grin. “Would that be so bad?”

  He groans, laughing as he kisses me. “Get dressed and we’ll go. Are you hungry?”

  I shake my head as I step past him and sashay toward the bedroom. “Not for food.”

  The more time I spend with Raphael, the more I realize how complex he is. There is something undeniably relaxed and sexy about him as we walk the dark beach, not quite touching. I’ve kicked off my shoes and the sand is warm under my toes.

  “I grew up on these beaches. My Abuela used to bring Rosa and me down every day, during the summer.”

  I glance at him. It’s the second time he’s mentioned Rosa. “She’s your sister?”

  Something shadows his face, for a moment. “Yes. She was. She died, a few years ago.”

  I gasp, and he turns to me, remote and chilling in his pain.

  We’ve moved closer, so I can feel the warmth of him at my front while the ocean laps at my ankles. But I feel as if we’re miles apart, separated by an ocean of things unsaid.

  It hasn’t escaped me that I have told him about my past, about Graham, an
d he’s told me nothing.

  “I don’t talk about Rosa,” Raphael says softly.

  It stings a little. That he won’t share this with me when it is so clearly important to him. I nod, and step back, deeper into the ocean, shrugging it off like it doesn’t matter.

  Raphael catches my hand, turning me back to him. “Cora,” he murmurs.

  “You don’t owe me anything,” I say lightly. “This is just fun—we don’t have to do serious.”

  “I don’t want fun, Cora,” he says, his grip on me tightening. “I want this. I want to give us a chance.”

  I take a step away from him, deeper into the surf. Because his words are tantalizing, and I can’t afford to think about them. “Nothing’s changed, Raphael,” I murmur. “Graham is still out there.”

  Raphael drags me close, banding his arms around me as we stand calf-deep in the warm water. He’s quiet, not arguing with me, and I feel some of my tension ease. Maybe this can be easy.

  “Go with me to dinner next week.”

  I laugh, and crane my head back to look at him. “You aren’t listening.”

  “I am,” he says, softly. “Graham isn’t even out yet, and you’re ready to run. Give us time, while we have it. Let the future figure itself out.”

  “And if I have to run?”

  He shrugs. “We’ll figure it out. Go to dinner with me.”

  I bite down on my sigh and he leans down, running his nose along my skin and breathing in the scent of my hair. I shiver, and he shifts, pressing his erection against me. “Don’t make me beg, Cora.”

  “When?” I gasp, and Raphael makes a pleased noise, his hand slipping down to curl over my ass and draw me more firmly against his dick. I shift, rubbing, and he almost purrs.

  “Next Wednesday. I’ll check my calendar and text you the details.”

  I nod as he thrusts against me, his fingers digging into my backside, flirting over the crease of my ass, and shudder from the sensations. Despite having sex earlier—twice—I want him again. Here.