I Run to You (21 page)

Along the walls up the hall were pails,
crates, and tools. Doorknobs in a box, with handles. A chandelier
to be repaired. She had noticed pipes and wiring on the porch, so
he was obviously doing that too.

The stairs were raw wood. She climbed them,
peeking in several rooms. One with a pail full of water and stains
on the ceiling, lovely old wallpaper that would not be salvageable.
There were dust covers over furniture in the other; some had the
auction tags on them. A bath, another she saw when she opened
Rafael’s room.

She only glanced around at his bed and
wardrobe, a chair, noting the vibrant colors of the fabrics. She
would never guess he would pick a Victorian. Nevertheless, he had
eclectic taste in music and everything else, so.

Downstairs, she found the kitchen in the
back. He’d put the food he had brought on plates and poured them a
soda. The table was covered in drop cloth, to protect it.

She took the seat he offered, across from
him.

“It’s going to be beautiful.”

His dark eyes shone above his smile.
“Someday.”

“I can see why you fell in love with it.”

“Some days I hate it. “ He laughed and then
ate a bit. “When I have plans to get a lot done, and something
tedious eats up all my time. Or I can’t find the right piece, to
replace something.”

“You’ll not regret it though.”

For a while, they talked about the house, the
band, the Tavern, her trip to Doc Taylor’s, the usual. She told him
about suspecting Karla was putting someone to call her. He insisted
she tell Sunny. She explained, as she had to Madeline, what Sunny
had told her. They couldn’t prove it.

By the time they had coffee, Rafael drew her
out to the side porch. It faced the woods and was clear of clutter.
An old iron glider with a quilt thrown over it became their
seat.

Brook, wearing jeans and sweatshirt, her
sneakers, eyed the woodland view and then glanced at Rafael. He
looked relaxed, still in the dress slacks and red shirt he had worn
to work. He was seated against the side of the glider, slightly
facing, a mug propped on his thigh, and that lush black hair
falling slightly over his brow.

Having been looking outward too, his head
turned slowly now. His gaze found hers, holding it awhile, each in
their own thoughts.

“Where were you born?’ she asked quietly.

“Peru. On the coast.”

He took a sip from his mug and turned his
head again, looking inward; Brook thought, as he revealed, “My
mother was young. Probably, just over thirteen. Do not ask me about
her, or her life, because I do not know. By the time I was five,
she had vanished. On the streets, I ran with other kids, hustling,
whatever it took to survive.”

“Is that where you met Sunny, Peru?”

“No,” his voice became more flavored with his
native accent. “Younger kids on the street end up being run by the
older ones. They teach you, and you end up hustling for them,
stealing, drugs, whatever they tell you to do. It goes on and on.
Unless you can find a better game to play. You are constantly in
trouble with the police. So you move around a lot.

I got old enough to resent giving my take to
someone else.” He paused a moment, then said, “I managed to get
myself to Brazil. There the finest hotels were filled with rich
Americano's, I had heard about it from others. How they were all
wealthy and how easy it was to rob them.”

Brook swallowed a sip of coffee, watching his
face, fascinated by the story but knowing he was telling it fast,
leaving out the worst details.

“I had seen Sunny arrive. He was my target
that day. I slipped into his hotel room using the balcony one
night. He’d left the doors open. The shower was running. So. I
thought I would have time. I was excited. I had scored big. Laptop,
camera, cell, gadgets, all kinds of shit. I’d stripped the pillow
and was stuffing the case with everything else I could find—when he
stepped out of the shower and caught me.”

Brook winced. “What happened?”

“I tried to run. He knocked the fuck out of
me.”

Rafael grinned at her laugh, and then sobered
again. “We wrestled around. But he’s a big man, and besides, he
threatened to kill me or call the authorities.”

Rafael shrugged. “I don’t know what it was,
but sometime over the confronting—he offered me a thousand dollars
to tell him me my life story. No bullshit. He actually laid that
much cash out on the nightstand. I started to bullshit him. I
didn’t. Afterwards, he made a deal with me. He’d take me out of the
country, to start over, teach me, and put me in school, if I
promised to make something of myself. I was skeptical.
Cynical.”

“But you believed him?”

He looked at Brook. “No. Not even after he
didn’t turn me in, and he bought me food, some clothing. We were on
the plane. I did not believe he was doing it for nothing. I kept
waiting for him to ask for sex or I figured he was taking me some
place to service his rich friends. Maybe he wanted me to hustle for
him.”

Brook added silently, because that had been
his experience. “What was he doing over there?”

“He was on vacation.” Rafael snorted. “Some
vacation.”

“So he brought you here?”

“Yes. We did not have mutual trust at first.
I had to earn it. He had to earn mine. Nevertheless, he did
everything he said he would. I had an English tutor. I was a quick
study. Eventually I finished all the classes, and then I got a
business degree.”

“No wonder you two are close.”

Nodding, Rafe said, “I never met anyone who
gave me anything for nothing. I never dreamed of any other kind of
life. He had high expectations and demands. The better I got, the
more I learned, and the more he expected me to do better, for my
own self. To dream bigger.”

“How old were you, when you met him?”

“Twelve,” Rafael supplied. “When I started
working in the Tavern, I was eighteen. I hadn’t lived with him
since I was sixteen. Sunny never tried to make me fit his mold. He
wanted me to find my own. I could take care of myself. I lived in a
one-bedroom apartment he paid the rent on, until I was finished
with school.

Brook leaned over and cupped his face. “What
an amazing man you are, to have survived and come so far. What an
extraordinary life you’ve had.” She kissed his mouth.

His free hand cupped the back of her head. He
kissed her back. When they parted, his eyes searched hers.

Brook smiled. “You should write a book.”

“That’s what Sunny says.” He shrugged.
“Maybe, when I’m older. If the restaurant keeps being a success,
and I feel like I’ve made it.”

“You’ve made it. You have come so far. I
don’t know how you survived. You’ve no idea how brave and how
special you are.”

He looked abashed. And uncomfortable.

She laughed softly. “Okay. You won’t let me
express my amazement. So let me say this, I feel privileged that
you are in my life. I think you’re wonderful.”

He set down his cup and drew her to him, held
her there, against his shoulder, gently rocking the glider for a
long while.

Brook knew it was not any easy story to tell,
not even the smoothed over version.

“Let’s get necked. “She suggested.

They did.

He stood and took her hand, leading her
inside. They turned off lights as they headed up to his rooms.
There, he undressed, then stripped her slowly. In a low amber
light, he laid her on his bed, kissed her from head to toe,
stroked, and made sensual love to her.

Brook touched him too. She rolled amid the
sheets with him, feeling, molding, caressing his gracefully muscled
body. His whispers, his husky words, enflamed her blood. It created
an erotic fever they both became wrapped in.

They stretched and arched, kissed and tongue
bathed.

Brook would look into his dark eyes and
drown. She’d burn and then shiver with the sexual intensity. He
taught her—showed her, taking her hands and gliding them where they
felt the best.

She sat up, astride him, his hands on her
waist, as she rode him. He rolled to their sides, and put her under
him. They parted, kissed, touched more, tasted—and he brought her
to climax with his mouth. Her legs trembling, back arched, hands
grasping the headboard.

It was three wonderful hours that Brook would
never forget. Uninhibited, sensual, Rafael, the lover was sweetly
explicit, sexually skilled and erotically dominate at times.
Receptively passive too, as he showed her and let her explore
him.

~*~

A light rain shower brought Brook’s eyes
lazily open.

Her head lifted from the pillow and turned.
Rafael, beautiful man that he was, lay on his stomach, uncovered.
The dusky skin gleaming in the subtle light. His hands were under
his pillow, the inky hair mussed on it.

She eased up and then slid to the edge of the
bed. Edging out and trying not to disturb him, she stood and picked
up her clothing, silently dressing.

She walked with a soft tread to the hall
bathroom and washed her face, rinsed her mouth, and finger combed
her hair.

When she went out into the hall, he stood
there, in the bedroom doorway, his trousers on, barefoot, and bare
chested. His hands rested on the facing. He looked sexily sleepy
still.

“You don’t have to go.”

“I work in the morning.” She walked over to
him. “What time is it?”

He looked somewhere over his shoulder. “Only
around ten.”

Brook reached up and brushed a lock of inky
hair off his brow that tumbled right back. “I should go.”

Rafael cupped her cheek and dipped his head
to kiss her, rising it slowly. His hand remaining against her face,
his thumb softly stroked her cheek. “What’s your weekend like?’

She told him about meeting the girls at the
Tavern.

He slid his gaze over her face but said
nothing. Somehow, Brook guessed, he knew Coy would be playing that
night, but all he said was, “We’ll get together. Maybe next week.
Go out, have some fun?”

She grinned. “I’d like that.”

His own grin was sexy.

Blowing a breath of air out because she was
getting turned on again, Brook murmured, “I really need to go.”

Laughing— a low, knowing one, he dropped his
hand, to take hers. Stepping out then, he walked down to the door
with her.

Padding barefoot onto the porch, he made her
wait until he found an umbrella.

There was a slight fog moving amid the rain
shower. His yard was muddy. He said it would help the new sod. She
protested him walking her out to the car, but he did it anyway,
carrying the umbrella.

“You’ve no shoes on,” she admonished rolling
down the window once she was in and the car was started.

“I go in bare feet all the time. Be careful,
mi amor.” He leaned down and kissed her, the rain pelting thicker
on the taut umbrella.

Straightening, he moved back a step.

Brook backed out, turning at the two lane,
glancing over to see his hazy image still there. She drove homeward
in a muse, replaying the intimacy, feeling the different sensations
washing over her.

Putting a CD in, to play low, she had to pay
attention to the roads though. The wipers slapped hard. The black
top was shimmering.

Long before she reached her turn off, she
noticed a pair of headlights too close behind her.

Brook’s nerves grew frayed. They would get
close, high beam and nearly blind her. It was playing a dangerous
game of doing that and then pretending it would pass in a no
passing, then pulling back behind her. Had she not been familiar
with the area, she would have wrecked a dozen times.

Fluctuating between curses and prayers, she
stayed tense until her turn off. The car had come up beside her,
nearly blocking her exit, and then backed off.

“Shit.” She finally sat back, and relaxed a
bit when she was on the two lanes.

In the drive, she sat in the car, waiting for
her legs to stop shaking. Getting out finally, she looked around
then went in, locked all her doors behind her, and turned on the
outside lights.

Later, she soaked in the tub, unable to find
that previous relaxation. She was anxious and a little creep'd out
by the incident. Afterwards, wearing soft shorts and a T-shirt, she
could not unwind enough for sleep.

She jumped when the cell rang.

Picking it up beside her, in the bed, she
answered. “Hello.”

“You didn’t call me when you got home,”
Rafael admonished, sounding sleepy, and intimate.

“Sorry.”

“You got there okay—”

“Barely.” She told him about the car.

“Was it Karla?”

“I don’t know. I was too tense, and too busy
watching the road. I don’t know what sorts of cars she has.”

“I’m going to tell Sunny.”

“You can. But there’s nothing to be
done.”

“Maybe. Be careful. Are your doors
locked?”

“Yes. And, I am careful. It freaked me out
though.”

He cursed softly. “You need a dog. A guard
dog. Something.”

“Okay. I’ll talk to Mom. One of the Coburns
breeds them.” Brook slid down in the bed. “Talk to me about
something else. I need to unwind.”

After a moment he murmured, “I was lying
here, after you left, doing a slow rewind in my head.”

Her eyes closed. She smiled. “I did that on
the way home—until that stupid car….”

“I’m hard again.” He laughed.

She was getting wet. “Maybe we should just
stay in bed next time—”

“No. We can’t just have sex the whole time
we’re together.”

“I can’t believe a man is saying that.” She
laughed softly.

He groaned. “I can’t believe I am saying it,
in my condition.”

“It’s all new to me. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. You are a passionate woman. But we
have to see what we have outside the sheets. I’d be all for having
sex every second, every moment. But that’s not the kind of
relationship that either of us waited for.”