Bound and Determined (35 page)

She clung to him, hands wandering his back, curving over his ass as he thrust. And her mouth . . . Dear God, that woman trailed kisses over his lips, down his neck, nibbling on his shoulder. He tasted her want. Her desperation and perspiration blended. Golden sunlight revealed the adoration in her red-rimmed eyes. It should have sent warning bells off in his head, but as he stroked into her body again, shoulders bunching, cock on fire, the sensation that he could sink into her forever wouldn’t stop. Her muscles tensed, the clasp of her pussy tightened, her kisses urged him to stay. The bells in his head remained silent.

“Rafe. Oh, yes!”

The flush he knew and loved turned her skin pink. Her nipples swelled.

Suddenly her hazy green eyes connected with his. Her dreamy, tender look punched him in the gut. Even with her eyes dilated, he saw something way beyond lust streaming from her gaze.

Of its own volition, the arousal in his gut ratcheted up another notch, now nearly overwhelming.

“Kerry?” he asked, even as he slid deep into the welcoming depths of her body again.

She moaned throatily, then bit her lip so hard Rafe thought she might draw blood. She closed her eyes, shutting him out.

No!
“Look at me,” he demanded for a reason he couldn’t understand. “Look!”

Her naked lashes fluttered open, giving way to eyes drenched in tears and devotion. It hit him like a knockout punch to the gut. In that single look, Rafe felt fused to her, unwilling to break away, unable to stop thrusting into her body. Powerless to keep his heart untouched.

Her arms tightened around him as her sex fisted his cock so tight, Rafe thought he’d die from the pleasure, from the bond he felt thickening between them.

“Rafe!”

At her cry, he increased the tempo of his strokes. “I’m here.”

Her eyes darkened, softened. She pressed her mouth to his, then tore away.

“I love you!”

Her scream echoed in his ears as she fluttered around his cock, then convulsed, gripping him like nothing he’d ever felt. The last sensations he knew—pleasure, substantial and hot, sliding through his veins and his chest exploding with something he didn’t understand—propelled him into an orgasm that damn near stole his consciousness. The ecstasy went on and on, longing bubbling up with a last shot of lust to make one hell of a potent reaction. He shouted out his satisfaction as he poured himself into Kerry.

When he stopped moving, Rafe all but collapsed. His arms refused to support him anymore. His eyelids wouldn’t even stay open. His chest heaved as if he’d just run a four-minute mile.

But he could think only about Kerry—and the words she’d said.

Suddenly, her breath caught as she lay under him, as if she was . . . Rafe peered down at Kerry’s flushed face and her tightly shut eyes. Tears leaked out of each corner.

I love you
.

She’d said the three forbidden words guaranteed to send him into a panic. The three words he didn’t deserve, since he could never give back a tenth of her devotion. How the hell had this happened?

His own feelings . . . No, he wasn’t looking into that snake pit. No sense fooling himself that just because he wasn’t quite ready to let go of Kerry, this thing between them could last. He just wasn’t the bonding type.

What was he going to do? The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her.

Gut twisting, Rafe backed away from the bed and peeled the condom off. He took the moment needed to throw the prophylactic in the trash and tried to straighten out his stunned brain. He let out a long, shuddering breath, braced his hands on the dresser in front of him.

What an asshole he was. Truly. He’d pushed Kerry to give all, share every bit of her past, her problems, her hopes—and her body. Like a gluttonous jerk, he’d taken everything she’d
so trustingly offered. Okay, he’d helped her some in return; he’d admit that. Rafe glanced over his shoulder at Kerry’s pale face. But not enough. He couldn’t give her the one thing her searching eyes told him she wanted.

His love in return.

Viciously, he swore. How the fuck had he allowed his impulses to override his common sense? Kerry had little way of knowing where all those touching, talking, laughing, and of course, sex-filled hours might lead. She was the novice, and he supposedly the expert in dodging this very thing. If the predicament weren’t so alarming—and didn’t involve him—he’d be rolling on the floor, laughing his ass off at the schmuck who’d been too enthralled with a woman to read the danger signs.

No use in pretending he hadn’t known. Rafe had seen the signs, and ignored them because he didn’t want to let Kerry go.

A huge chunk of him
still
resisted the thought.

He cast another glance over his shoulder. She looked tense, stricken, and he swore.

“I’m not expecting anything in return,” Kerry whispered, tangled in the sheet across the room, sitting cross-legged on the bed.

Sure. And he was Batman.

Rafe tensed. Maybe . . . “Did it just slip out during the heat of things, or did you mean it?”

After a contrite glance, she looked down at the hands she wrung in her lap. “I’d like to be able to tell you it just slipped out, but I’ve been aware of my feelings for a while.”

Shit
.

How was he supposed to respond to that? No denying he’d been thinking about her for a while, too. But Kerry was a white picket fence sort of girl. He could easily picture her in the suburbs with two kids, being PTA president. She’d want to be surrounded by friends and family. She’d want a man who could give her all that, plus friendship, trust, and unconditional love.

Oh, she was so barking up the wrong tree with him. Rafe had never lived outside New York City. The suburbs might as well be Mars. He liked high-rises because the views were great and there was no yard work involved. He’d never given
procreating much thought. What did he know about raising kids? What he’d learned from his father would fill a book on how
not
to be a parent. Even if he could put all that aside, the fundamental question was, could he give Kerry what she needed emotionally? Could he share himself fully, since anything less would break her heart?

Highly doubtful. What he knew about commitment would leave a thimble half-empty.

No matter what he did, he was going to hurt her.
Damn it to hell and back
.

“I lived with a girlfriend once,” he found himself admitting. “Right after college. It only took five weeks for her to move out. According to her, I wasn’t affectionate. I didn’t ‘check in.’ I forgot our anniversary. I rarely came home for dinner. I paid more attention to my computer than her, unless I wanted sex. I never sent flowers. I’m lousy at apologizing. And I have all the emotional warmth of an ice cube at the North Pole.”

Rafe sighed, uncomfortably aware that this wasn’t a situation money and a good dose of logic could fix. “It would never work, Kerry. My ex-girlfriend . . . I won’t even tell you what she called me the last time I bumped into her. Let’s just say it made a crowd turn around and gawk, and on the streets of New York, that’s really something.”

Turning around, Rafe watched Kerry’s blanched expression smooth as she carefully arranged it into . . . nothing.

But she couldn’t hide the hurt simmering in her eyes, hurt that gouged a hunk out of his heart. Damn it, he’d almost rather be castrated with a dull, rusty knife than know he’d caused that look.

But it was either hurt her some now, or rip her heart out of her chest and eat it raw later. Now would hurt less. At least he hoped so.

Rafe frowned. “I’m just no good for you, babe.”

“I didn’t ask to be your girlfriend or move in with you. Really, naïve me in New York City? Since I’ve never seen it, I’d probably turn tail and run back to sunny Florida the first time it snowed.” Her choked laughter twisted at his gut.

“Kerry—”

“Really, no biggie. I’m fine.”

Yeah? If she’d had Pinocchio’s affliction, her nose would be as long as a yardstick.

She reached down for his discarded shirt and, beneath the cover of the sheet, donned it. With forced cheer, she asked, “So how about lunch? I’m starving.”

K
erry had sensed as a girl that Bonnie Raitt could be a wise woman. From Bonnie and her own mother’s car radio, she’d learned that a woman couldn’t make a man love her if he didn’t. That included Rafe. Today, that truth had never seemed wiser.

The song’s maudlin piano melody swirled in her head, telling her it was time to give up this fight, before she humiliated herself any further and discomfited him any more.

That reality choked her throat with tears. Her time with Rafe was definitely over. And she’d likely never see the man she loved again.

Ten minutes ago, she’d convinced him she was desperately starving and
needed
a sandwich from the deli across the street. He’d latched on to the excuse to escape the tense hotel room and left. What she really needed was her brother freed, a pint of Ben & Jerry’s Karamel Sutra, and a good crying jag.

None of that was going to happen anytime soon. Ben and Jerry, two of the few men in her life until Rafe, weren’t conveniently standing by with her sugar fix. The crying would give her a terrible headache and solve nothing, even if it was very tempting. And Mark . . . she’d screwed that up just as bad. The thief might still make a move on the money today and show his hand. But he might not, in which case, she had no backup plan. Rafe had done all he could for her, and she’d repaid him by force-feeding him her love.

Unrequited love. Did you really think a guy with so much going for him was going to fall in love with a crazy, small-town waitress? He deserves a witty woman whose idea of a good time is something beyond drugging and kidnapping, followed by pledges of eternal devotion. Pathetic
.

Cursing the voice in her head, Kerry donned a pair of sweat shorts she found in Rafe’s suitcase. Looked fab with the
oversize dress shirt. She ought to leave them both and buy clothes in the hotel gift shop. But they were Rafe’s—the only things she had of him besides memories—and for now she was clinging to them.

The firefighters had managed to find her flip-flops by her back door, thankfully. So, in an ensemble that would have the fashion police calling out the SWAT team, Kerry penned a note with just one word:
Goodbye
. Tears clogging her throat, she set the note next to his humming laptop, slipped out the door, and darted to the elevator.

Her hands shook, her eyes leaked, and she had no doubt her nose looked as pink as a bunny. Well, she’d never thought she was going to win beauty contests anyway. This just clinched it.

But she hadn’t thought she’d lose the man she’d love forever just days after finding him.

Once inside her car and away from the hotel, Kerry surrendered to the pending waterworks and let the tears flow. She had to find some peace, get some sleep, before her head exploded and her chest caved in from the pain.

Why had she been stupid enough to surrender her heart to a man more interested in computer viruses than happily ever after?

Blindly, she drove, getting on I-275 and crossing the Howard Franklin Bridge with no particular destination in mind. Why hadn’t she thought of the fact her house was in cinders and that one of her best friends wanted to be much, much more before she’d taken off?

Water. That’s what she needed. The water always calmed her, helped her think. But a traffic-laden drive to Clearwater Beach proved the area too crowded for a weeping woman. The lively music and flirting of sun worshipers only made her more miserable.

Where to go? Where to go?

Returning to the Love Shack was tempting. A little jaunt south, and seclusion and beach-front luxury could be hers. But it held too many memories of Rafe, of the great times she’d never have with him again. Besides, if Jason truly was trying to cut her life short, he’d know to look for her there.

She wanted the comforts of home. A real home. Something that soothed her, a place where she felt surrounded by love and happy memories.

Exactly!

Turning the car around, Kerry sighed and drove single-mindedly to her destination.

R
afe felt the emptiness of the room as soon as he walked in. Tossing the sandwiches on the faux mahogany desk, he looked around. Empty bedroom. Empty bathroom. Even though her sugary vanilla scent lingered, Kerry had gone.

Damn it!

Next to his laptop he spotted a white square from the hotel’s notepad. Flowing script—a woman’s handwriting.

Goodbye
.

“That’s it?” He crumpled the note into his fist and tossed it into the trash. “That’s fucking it?”

Of course that was it. She’d poured her heart out to him. He’d panicked and acted like an idiot, humiliating her. Yes, she had run off.

What would you have done in her place, moron?

He should have insisted on room service, should have listened to his instinct that a woman in the midst of heartbreak needed comfort, not a turkey on rye with light mayo. He’d ignored his gut, thinking they both needed a few minutes alone.

Apparently, what he really needed to was to pull his head out of his ass.

But damn it, so did Kerry. He paced the length of the room, raking a hand through his hair. The woman should not have run off when a murderous psycho was after a half-million dollars in electronic deposits, along with her hide.

Rafe returned to the desk and braced his palms on the surface. He stared blankly at his laptop. Where would she go? Not to her house, obviously. Not to Jason’s, though he was probably at the bank. He paused. The bank? Maybe . . . but no. It would be closing soon. A hotel?

Hell, he had no idea.

A flashing on his screen caught his attention. The
keystroke-tracking software he’d installed on the bank’s mainframe popped open on the display.

Rafe clicked the button to open the window, hoping the thief was on and too busy trying to recover the money to snuff Kerry.
Eureka!
His little friend—most likely Jason—realized he’d screwed up with the fire and set Kerry running. He was tapping away at the terminal like a man possessed, trying all sorts of loopholes and back doors to extract the money, to reverse the transaction, to call it back.