Devil in Dress Blues (8 page)

“But how would anyone know that?”

She was so naive that Rafe couldn’t help but give her a quizzical smile. “Sara, you
called
her. You gave her your name. If the Feds really were tapping her phone, it wouldn’t take long for them to figure out who you are. Within five minutes of you revealing your identity, there wouldn’t be an aspect of your life that the Feds didn’t know about.”

Sara waved her hand for him to stop. “Yes, I get all that. But why would the Feds want to kill me? I have nothing to do with the Glass Slipper Club.”

“I’m not saying it’s the Feds, but if anyone has the means to kill you, someone in Zachary’s position would. You’re a journalist, Sara, and he knows that. There’s no telling what he might be willing to do to keep you from exposing his involvement with this club.”

Slowly, Sara leaned forward and covered her face with her hands. “I don’t believe this,” she breathed. “I felt someone watching me while I was waiting for you back at the café. But the man I thought was staring at me turned out to be a father waiting for his wife and child.”

Rafe’s lips compressed in sympathy. “These men didn’t want you to notice them. From the way they moved and communicated, I’d say they have some military background.”

“But why do they feel they have to kill me? Why don’t they just warn me off?”

“At a guess, I’d say they want to keep you from sharing whatever information you have.”

Her gaze shot to him in alarm. “What do you mean? What information? Why would they think I have any information beyond what they might have overheard during my telephone conversation with Juliet?”

Rafe sharpened his gaze on her, instinct telling him that she was hiding something.

“You write for a popular magazine,” he said, carefully. “You have Colette’s date book. Even if you can’t prove who her clients were, you happened to see something the other night that could incriminate Edwin Zachary and perhaps even cost him his bid for the presidency. At the very least, if you decide to share your story with the world, people will begin asking questions and his reputation would undoubtedly suffer. Perhaps he wants to avoid that. At any cost.”

Dropping her hands, Sara stared at him in disbelief. “I don’t stand a chance, then. I mean, what do I know about evading someone with that kind of experience?” She gave a bitter laugh. “They probably know where I am right now. I’ll be dead by morning.”

She was so obviously freaked out, that Rafe decided not to tell her about the shorn bolts on her balcony. Sometimes, ignorance really was bliss. He would just need to be extra vigilant and make sure that she didn’t do anything or go anywhere without him. But first he needed to gain her trust and make her feel safe.

“That’s why I brought you here,” he said, returning to sit beside her on the sofa, although he was careful to keep some distance between them. “Nobody is going to harm you, Sara.”

Sara looked at him, and, although her face was pale, a ghost of a smile touched her lips. “You’re just one man. Even with your background, what can you do if someone as powerful as Edwin Zachary wants to get rid of me?”

He allowed himself a smug smile. “You’d be surprised.” Seeing her uncertainty, he sobered. “You’ll have to trust me. I will protect you, even with my body if necessary.”

“Why?” she asked. “Why are you doing this for me? You don’t even know me. I’m pretty sure you don’t even like me very much.”

Rafe couldn’t tell her why he viewed journalists with suspicion without admitting to his role in the rescue of the aid workers. “Let’s just say I have a mistrust of journalists.” He let his gaze drift deliberately over her features. “Especially pretty ones. As long as you’re not trying to interview me, I like you just fine.”

He watched as color seeped back into her face and she reached blindly for her beer, taking a hefty swig before setting the bottle back down with a thump.

“Well, don’t forget those men saw you, too. They saw you sitting with me at the café and they saw you kiss me. They probably already know who you are. Maybe they think we’re romantically involved.” She cast a wild look around his townhouse. “What if they’ve already surrounded the place, and are just waiting to make their move?”

Rafe frowned, realizing she was teetering on the edge of a full-blown panic attack. Moving quickly, he crouched in front of her and took her hands in his. Her fingers were cold, and he rubbed them between his hands. “Hey,” he said quietly. “Look at me.”

She did, her eyes dark with whatever imagined horrors were going through her head.

“Nothing is going to happen. If they’ve figured out who I am, then they know better than to come after me. Especially in my own home.”

“What if we go to the police?” she asked hopefully, ignoring his words. “They could help us.”

“If their intent really is to kill you, then you’d be dead before you reached the station,” Rafe replied flatly. “And our only proof is initials in a book. Our best bet right now is to stick together and figure out a way to make you more valuable to them alive. But nothing is going to happen to you while I’m here. Okay?”

Sara nodded and dropped her gaze to where he still held her hands. She’d relaxed fractionally and when she spoke, her voice had lost some of its tight anxiety.

“Okay. But I still don’t understand why you’re doing this. I’m not your responsibility and I’m sure you have better things to do than act as my bodyguard, especially considering you’re supposed to be on leave right now. You know, rest and relaxation?”

Up close, he could see her eyes weren’t a pure blue, but a mixture of blues and grays, ringed in black and startlingly vivid in her pale face. Aside from her mouth, they had been the first thing he’d noticed about her. Rafe thought he could easily spend hours staring at her eyes, and wondered how many other men had fallen under their spell. Sara seemed to have little idea of just how stunning she was. She wore almost no cosmetics and did nothing to draw attention to her unusual features, or her curvy figure. In fact, she seemed out of place in a city as sophisticated as Washington, D.C..

Then Rafe remembered Ann Lonquist had been sweet and pretty, too. Or so he’d thought. She’d completely duped him with her damsel-in-distress act, and, while Sara Sinclair might not bear a strong physical resemblance to Ann, there was no denying the similarities between the two women. Dragging his gaze from her, he stood up and turned away, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. He’d made a mistake in getting involved with Sara, but he’d never been able to walk away from an unfair fight, and there was no way Sara could handle this particular battle on her own. Whether he liked it or not, he was committed to seeing this through to the end.

“I’m not doing this for you,” he finally responded, knowing he was lying through his teeth. “Let’s just say this is what I consider rest and relaxation.”

8

L
ONG AFTER
S
ARA HAD SAID
good-night to Rafe, she lay awake in his guest room, unable to stop thinking about the events of the day. She still had a difficult time believing that anyone would want to harm her because of what she had witnessed, but deep inside, she knew it was true. There had been something in Rafe’s eyes when he’d told her about the men who had followed her that had left her in no doubt as to the sincerity of his words. Even if Rafe hadn’t told her about his suspicions, her own gut instinct had told her the same thing.

Curling on her side, she bunched the pillow beneath her head and listened to the unfamiliar sounds of Rafe’s townhouse. A clock ticked very quietly in the guest-room, and she could hear the soft whir of his dishwasher downstairs. She’d left her bedroom door open just a crack and a bar of light from the hallway fell across the floor. She knew that Rafe was just across the hall; she’d lain motionless as he’d come up the stairs and gone into his own room. Part of her had wondered if he would stop by her door or maybe come into her bedroom, and how she would react if he did. But his footsteps hadn’t paused or even slowed in front of her room.

Just remembering the heated intensity of his kiss and the scrape of his callused hands across her bare skin and she was aroused all over again. She knew now that Rafe was attracted to her, but he probably had some innate sense of honor that would prevent him from acting on his desires. He was probably old-fashioned enough to believe that would be taking unfair advantage of her, when he’d claimed that she would be safe with him.

She should be grateful that he had enough respect for her not to expect her to sleep with him in return for saving her life. Of course, he was gorgeous enough that he probably had women throwing themselves at him without having to do a thing. With a groan, Sara rolled onto her back, feeling tight and uncomfortable in her own skin. The truth was, if she was even a little more assertive or confident, she’d be one of those women.

How would he react if she walked across the hallway to his room, and asked if she could stay with him? If she stepped out of her own comfort zone and became the aggressor? Would he turn her around and gently send her back to her own bed, or would his eyes flare with hunger as he drew her into his arms?

Just the thought of having sex with Rafe—of having his hard, male body inside her own—caused heat to swamp her limbs. Her breasts ached and she shifted restlessly beneath the sheet. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d experienced such intense
need
. Everything about him turned her on, from the expression in his coffee-dark eyes when he looked at her to the strength and grace of his body. She recalled the few times he’d actually smiled and how that brief flash of humor had transformed his face. Even his voice was sexy, with its low, rasping quality. Most of all, she liked how he made her feel—fragile and feminine.

Safe.

Sexy.

Turning onto her stomach, she bent her arms under the pillow and stared at the small clock on the bedside table. Almost midnight. She’d come to bed more than two hours ago, and yet sleep eluded her. She tried closing her eyes, but even through her closed lids she imagined she could see the light slanting in from the hallway.

Pushing the blankets back, Sara sat up and swung her legs to the floor. Maybe if she turned the hallway light off, she could finally fall asleep. Her usual night-wear consisted of a camisole top and her underwear, but in deference to Rafe, she’d also packed flannel lounge pants. They rode low on her hips as she made her way cautiously to her door and peeked out.

Rafe’s bedroom was diagonally across the hall from her own and she could see he’d left his door open just a crack. His room was dark. There was a light switch directly next to Rafe’s door. If she was very quiet, she could hit the switch and be back in bed without him even knowing.

Slowly, she pushed her door open and stepped into the hall, wincing as a floorboard creaked ever so slightly beneath her weight. With careful deliberation, her arms outstretched for balance, she made her way across the hallway and actually had her fingers on the light switch, when Rafe’s door swung open, startling a scream from her.

“Ohmigod,” she gasped, doubling over in relief. “You scared me!”

“What are you doing?” He frowned at her from the open doorway, one arm braced on the door frame as he swept his midnight gaze over her, missing nothing.

Sara straightened and pushed her hair back from her face. “I couldn’t sleep,” she explained in a rush, “and the light was shining into my room, so I thought if I turned it off…”

Her voice trailed away as she realized that Rafe wore nothing but a pair of stretchy boxer briefs. She couldn’t help but stare at him. He had powerful shoulders and a chest that could have been chiseled out of rock. His stomach was ridged with muscle, and the cotton briefs hugged his lean hips and emphasized his strong thighs. Everywhere she looked, his smooth skin was the color of warm honey, and she had to curl her fingers into her palms to keep from touching him.

“Sorry,” he said, seemingly unaware that her mouth had gone dry and that she couldn’t breathe or even form a single coherent thought. “I thought you’d be more comfortable if I kept the hall light on.”

“I…I don’t like the lights on,” she finally managed, her voice coming out as a breathless croak.

His mouth lifted in a lazy smile. “In my experience, not many women do.”

Sara blinked at him. Did he mean…? Oh, Lord, he did. And suddenly, vivid images of herself, stretched naked across his bed with the lights on while he looked his fill, swamped her imagination. Immediately, her earlier hunger returned, uncoiling and stretching until even her fingertips ached for him. As she stood immobile, his gaze drifted downward, stopping briefly at her mouth before descending to her breasts, and then lower to where she knew her navel and hipbones were exposed by the low-riding flannel pants.

Her breathing hitched when she saw the heat that flared in his eyes. He went very still and a muscle worked in his lean jaw, and, even as Sara watched, his body stirred beneath the stretchy boxers.

“Go to bed, Sara,” he said, his voice a low rasp. “It’s late.”

“Almost midnight,” she agreed. Her heart rate accelerated and her breathing quickened, as if she’d run up a flight of stairs. What was it she’d said to herself about stepping out of her comfort zone? Did she dare do it? More importantly, could she live with the consequences, whatever those might be? He might reject her. Then again, he might not. She took a steadying breath. “My mother always said nothing good ever happens after midnight.”

“Your mother would be right.”

Hardly aware of moving, Sara took a step toward him. He stood back and opened the door fractionally wider. It was all the invitation Sara needed. She’d never done anything so bold in her entire life as reaching out and laying her palm against the firm muscles of his chest. Beneath her fingers, she could feel the hard thump of his heart. Sara raised her gaze to his.

“I think she was wrong,” she murmured.

R
AFE HAD BEEN A GONER
the moment he’d opened his door and seen Sara standing there. She was wearing a stretchy camisole top that emphasized the lush fullness of her breasts and exposed her midriff. More than anything, he wanted to explore that smooth stretch of pale skin, to feel again the silken texture of her stomach and explore her feminine curves.

He’d tried to do the right thing and send her back to her room. But the moment she’d taken a step toward him, he’d lost any ability to resist her. Her coppery hair was tousled around her face and her eyes had turned dark, the pupils dilated so that they nearly consumed her irises. Her mouth was soft and lush and when she touched him, he found himself stepping back and silently inviting her in.

She came willingly into his arms, her hands sliding over his bare shoulders to curl around the nape of his neck and draw his head down to hers. Everywhere she touched him, his skin burned. Rafe wasn’t shy around women, but her directness momentarily stunned him. He hadn’t been able to get her out of his head, but one of the reasons he hadn’t pushed her for more downstairs, on the couch, was because he’d truly believed she didn’t have that much experience with men. He hadn’t wanted to scare her off, so he’d pulled back. But it seemed he’d been wrong about her.

Her mouth touched his and for a fraction of an instant, he stood frozen. He shouldn’t get involved with her; he knew that. She was too tempting. Too irresistible. And that made her dangerous. Especially to a man whose career guaranteed that he wouldn’t be around much.

But then she began to move her soft lips against his, and the sensation was so luxurious that he gave a groan of surrender and brought his arms around her, crushing her against his chest. She made a sound of pleasure in her throat and pressed closer, spearing her fingers through his hair and using her tongue to press past his lips and tentatively touch his. Pure lust jackknifed through Rafe, and without breaking the kiss, he bent and scooped her fully into his arms, kicking the door shut before carrying her over to his bed.

Bending one knee on the mattress, he laid her down and then followed her with the length of his body. She clung to him, her arms wound around his neck as she stretched sensuously beneath him. The street lamps cast muted light through the bedroom windows, bathing her in silver.

“God,” he muttered against her mouth, “you drive me crazy.”

He felt her smile, and took the opportunity to deepen the kiss and explore the damp silk of her mouth. He captured her soft moan, fusing their lips together as she held his head in her hands.

With supreme effort, he dragged his mouth from hers and bit a tender path along her jaw to where her heart pulsed erratically against the base of her throat. She gasped and arched upward, and slid one hand to the small of his back to urge him closer. Bracing his weight on one forearm, he lifted himself away from her enough to grasp the hem of her camisole and drag it upward. She helped him, pulling it over her head until she was gloriously bare beneath him.

“Jesus,” he muttered, cupping his hand around one breast. “You’re the prettiest thing I’ve seen in a long time.”

He bent his head and flicked the dusky nipple with his tongue. Her breathing hitched and her hips shifted restlessly beneath him. Skating his hand along her ribs, he stroked the curve of her hip until he encountered the waistband of her soft flannel pants and slid his fingers beneath the fabric.

“Take these off,” he demanded, his voice low and rough with need.

“Yes,” she breathed, and lifted her hips to help him as he pushed the material down and then kicked them free.

She wore nothing beneath the soft pants, and Rafe sucked in his breath at the sight of her pale skin and the shadow of soft curls at the juncture of her thighs. Her breasts rose and fell rapidly, and when he stroked the back of his knuckles across her stomach, her muscles contracted.

“Are you sure about this?” he growled softly.

For a moment, she didn’t respond and he had an instant of panic. Once they slept together, everything would change. He knew enough about himself to know that keeping her safe would become personal. She wasn’t like the usual women that he hooked up with during his brief periods at home. Those women were only looking for physical pleasure; they weren’t interested in a relationship and they definitely weren’t interested in waiting for him while he deployed. But instinct told him that Sara was altogether different, and that scared the hell out of him.

But right now, with her sprawled sweetly beneath him, his own arousal was such that he pushed his misgivings aside. He wanted her. Badly. He’d just have to hope that she didn’t get attached to him. Maybe he was wrong—maybe she only wanted the pleasure he could give her. Maybe she wouldn’t want more than he could give. He’d been wrong about her on other things; why not on this, too?

“I’m sure,” she finally said, and she reached down and cupped him through his briefs.

The sensation of her hand on his rigid cock caused him to groan, and he bent his head once more and caught her mouth with his own. She was incredibly responsive, arching against him and sliding her lips against his so that pleasure lashed through him. She stroked him through the fabric of his boxers, before easing her hand beneath the waistband to grasp him in her fingers. Her touch was like an electric shock, and he jerked reflexively in her hand.

“You’re so hard,” she murmured against his mouth, rubbing one finger across the head of his erection, “and hot.”

Oh, yeah.

He eased himself to his side to give her better access to his body, holding her in the curve of his arm as he used his free hand to explore her more fully. She turned in to him, and he ran his hand along the curve of her waist and over her hip before cupping her buttock, enjoying the satiny softness of her skin. But when he dipped his fingers between her cheeks and teased her intimately from behind, she gave a cry of surprise and jerked against him.

“Shh,” he soothed, stroking her softness. “Let me.”

She made an incoherent sound and buried her face against his neck, pressing damp kisses against his throat, even as her hand continued to explore him. He was stiff and aching and wanted nothing more than to turn her on her back, spread her thighs and thrust himself into her, but he forced himself to slow down. He separated her feminine folds with his fingers, finding her slick with moisture.

“Ah, sweetheart,” he groaned, “you’re already wet.” Slowly, he eased one finger into her, feeling her inner muscles contract around him even as she closed her hand around his cock. She was incredibly tight, and his balls ached with the need for release.

She withdrew her hand from his body and wordlessly pushed his boxers down until he could shimmy them free. Then there was nothing between them.

Rafe hooked a hand behind her knee and drew her leg across his hip, opening her for him as he resumed stroking her, swirling moisture over the small rise of flesh until she made an inarticulate sound of pleasure and shivered in his arms.