Read In Plain Sight (Stolen Hearts) Online
Authors: Kate Kelly
In Plain Sight (Stolen Hearts) (10 page)
“Mr. Pascotto. How was Paris?” The concierge greeted him from the front desk.
“Fine, but I’m happy to be home. Ms. Duwell called?”
“The condo has been cleaned and the kitchen stocked. Enjoy your stay.”
He nodded. “Thanks.”
“How very civilized. He didn’t even acknowledge me.”
He smiled, certain he could hear the wheels turning in Bridget’s head. He stepped into the elevator and didn’t breathe freely until she followed him. “He’s paid to be discreet.”
She frowned. “You’ve spent a lot of time here?”
“Honey’s a good friend. And like I said, we worked together.” She was a stunningly beautiful and intelligent woman. They’d had their time together as lovers, but discovered they valued each other’s friendship too much to try to make the relationship more than it was. Plus she had her million-dollar rule, and truthfully, hanging out with a movie star was a major pain. The minute he stepped outside with Honey, the cameras started whirling. He’d hated the attention.
The elevator doors opened, and he escorted Bridget down the silent, carpeted hallway and into Honey’s condo, which, according to some people, was a dream living space. Sweeping view of the harbor, lots of white furniture with splashes of color and wide open spaces. Two bedrooms. Two baths. Someone had turned on the air conditioning, thank God.
He went to the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of water as Bridget explored the various rooms. After a few minutes she found her way to the kitchen and trailed her fingers along the granite countertop.
“Water?” He held up his bottle.
“Sure.”
He grabbed another bottle, twisted off the top and handed it to her. “What’s up, Irish?” She didn’t look happy.
“Your apartment. It didn’t fit you. But this, you look like you belong here.”
“Nah. It’s too clean. Not enough color.”
She cocked her head and studied him. “Where do you see yourself living, then?”
Of all the things they needed to talk about, living arrangements was the last thing he had on his mind. “I own an empty lot in my old neighborhood. I’m going to build there someday.”
Other than Gage and Sophie, no one else knew about his plans. For some reason they felt too personal to share, and he’d guarded them like a state secret. Once he started building, okay. He’d feel comfortable talking about what he was doing. Probably wouldn’t shut up. But now, while the idea was in its infancy and not quite reality? Maybe he was afraid of jinxing his plans.
But he wanted Bridget to know. Almost as if he were giving her a gift, letting her see a part of him he kept hidden from most people. Strange, considering she had one foot out the door, and he may never see her again once she did leave.
The headache he’d managed to ignore all morning needled in behind his eyes. That happened sometimes if he forgot to eat. He yanked open the refrigerator door. “I’ve got a headache. I need to eat. Are you hungry? We could order something in or we could cook something.”
“I wouldn’t mind cooking a meal. It’s been a while, and I’d enjoy messing around in a kitchen.”
“Okay.” He went over to the sink to wash his hands. “You decide what and tell me how to help.”
“With a headache? Come on.” She tugged him toward the couch. “You lie down while I find something to stop the pain.”
He let her gently push him down on the couch, but banded his hands around her wrists. “Why are you being nice to me?”
When she laughed, she looked young and happy, and it made him realize how worried she normally looked.
He reached up and ran a finger over the lines puckered between her eyebrows. “I want you to tell me what’s going on, Bridget. You don’t have to go through this by yourself.”
He thought he saw a tear in a corner of her eye, but then she blinked and pulled out of his grasp. “Let me look for some painkillers first. We’ll talk later. I promise.”
He let her go and closed his eyes, bone-deep fatigue pressing down on him. He’d been too worried about Bridget last night to get much sleep. Could he trust her to stay long enough to answer his questions? He hoped so because if he didn’t get some rest soon, he really would be useless to her.
“I found these. I don’t think you should take more than two.”
He opened his eyes to see her leaning over him, her frown back in place. “It’s just a headache, Irish. Don’t start digging my grave.”
Pleased he’d brought a twinkle to her eye, he popped the pills in his mouth and accepted the glass of water. “FYI,” he said, his eyes closed again. “If I fall asleep and you leave, I will spend the rest of my life hunting you down. Just so you know.”
He didn’t bother to hide his smile as he heard her thump pots around in the kitchen. It wasn’t hard to figure out that she was used to taking care of herself, and the last thing she needed was a tag-along who hadn’t a clue what he was doing. Out of habit, she probably made most people feel superfluous, but everyone needed someone, and he liked the idea of being her someone. At least for now. They could work on later after they fixed whatever was wrong in her world.
The lights were dim when Rafe woke a couple hours later. He lay still, straining to hear Bridget move around the condo. After a minute he sat up, then wished he hadn’t as his vision blurred. He felt like he was tipping sideways, although he was almost certain he was sitting upright. What kind of pills had Bridget given him? He tried to lie down again, but the couch cushions looked too far away.
“Hey, there.” A vision, clothed in a gauzy dark blue dress full of sparkles, floated in front of him.
“You didn’t leave.” His voice sounded cracked and dry.
Bridget handed him a glass of water. “Maybe you should have taken only one of those pills. You’ve been out for hours. How are you feeling?”
His grin felt like it was trying to slide off his face. “Fantastic.”
Bridget smiled back. “Hungry?”
“I think so. You look beautiful.”
Bridget held her arms out to her sides. “Do you think Honey will mind that I borrowed a dress?”
His body tipped against the couch. “I doubt she’ll even notice. She has closets full of clothes. Come ’ere.” He reached for her, but she danced out of his reach.
“I spent hours cooking a meal for us. We should eat.”
He struggled to his feet and waited a minute to make sure his legs were solid. When he saw the candle-lit table Bridget had set, he ran a hand over his scruffy beard. “I should clean up. You look beautiful. The table looks beautiful.”
“I wish you wouldn’t.” Bridget took his hand and led him to the table. “It probably sounds silly to you, but I like you roughed up around the edges. Sometimes you look too perfect, and…”
“And what?” He resisted the urge to lean down and nibble his way up her slender neck. God, she looked delicious.
“It’s like you’ve built a façade or a barrier between you and everyone else. Like you’re not real.”
He lifted a stray curl that fell across her cheek. “I’m real, Bridget. I’m right here.”
When she kissed the inside of his wrist, he forgot to breathe. It felt like such an intimate gesture. A
loving
gesture.
“Sit. I’ll get the first course.”
“Can I help?”
“You can pour us each some wine,” she called from the kitchen. “That’s if you think you can handle it.”
He poured a small amount of wine into his glass and a much larger amount into Bridget’s. “You raided Honey’s wine selection.”
Bridget carried a platter of seafood to the table, her cheeks flushed and her eyes bright. She looked excited and happy for once. “I did. I’ll pay her back. When everything’s…I’ll pay her back,” she finished lamely.
“Don’t worry about it. The only thing Honey will be mad about is missing this incredible meal. Don’t tell anyone, but the woman eats like a horse. This is delicious, Bridget.”
Her face lit with pleasure. “Do you like it? Really?”
Aw, hell. He was falling in love with her. Seriously falling in love. He shoved a piece of salmon into his mouth to stop himself from blurting out the words. The last damned thing she needed was to be burdened with his feelings. And the last thing he needed was to fall in love with a woman who didn’t trust him and had made it clear she planned to leave as soon as she could. He’d be damned if he’d ruin the evening.
“Really. You’re a great cook.” He poured more wine into his glass.
“I imagine you know all sorts of famous people,” she said after a couple minutes of silence.
The wine tasted bitter in his mouth. Polite chitchat. Finally, something he excelled at. “I’ve met a few movie stars, but I wouldn’t say I know them. If I have a big ad campaign running, sometimes I’m obliged to attend some functions as an escort.”
She put her fork down. “What kind of functions? Like the Academy Awards?”
“Once. They dress me up in a monkey suit, and I walk the red carpet with whoever and sit with them during the ceremony. The minute the cameras are turned off, I’m out of there.”
She toyed with her food. “Do you like doing that kind of stuff?”
He shrugged and tried to ignore the jab of anger he felt. “It’s work. That’s all. Anyway, I’m finished. I think I have an award ceremony or something in a few months. I can’t remember. That will end my obligations.”
He’d hated his escort duties, but just about everyone had them in their contract.
“You’re not going to model anymore?”
“No.” He drank deeply from his wine glass.
“I’ve upset you.”
“I’d rather talk about you. Are you from Boston?”
“Yes.” Her expression turned bland as she stood and picked up some of the dishes. Weren’t they the pair? Neither of them could stand to talk about themselves.
He twirled the fork on the table. “You said you had money. Where does it come from?”
She waited until he stopped watching the fork spin and looked at her. “I started my own line of jewelry last year, and I sell it online. It’s quite successful.”
He frowned at his plate. “Do you make it as well as design it?”
“Yes, of course. It’s only the bigger houses that can afford to hire craftspeople to make the jewelry. I have a studio.”
“Where?”
“Paris, but I’m in the process of moving everything here.”
“When you have it up and running, will you take me to your studio someday?”
She nodded, her mouth crimped at the corners. “Someday.”
“Will you tell me what you’re afraid of?”
“No.” She fled the room.
Rafe sat at the table, stunned by her honesty. He’d expected her to make up some cock-and-bull story, but she’d outright refused to let him into her life. At least he knew how little he meant to her. He wished he could break through her reserve. He wanted to matter to her, and he wasn’t even sure why. She was a major pain in the ass. Didn’t matter. She’d drawn a line, and he wasn’t going to step over it, no matter how much he wanted to.
After a few minutes of simmering, he got up and started washing the dinner dishes. With a solid meal in his stomach he felt more like himself.
He felt the heat from Bridget’s body as she slid up beside him at the sink. “I wanted to say thank you, Rafe. For everything.” She cleared her throat. “And I’m sorry for...you know…”
“Trying to dump me? Not talking to me? Or how about hiding those stones at my place? Which, by the way, you still haven’t told me where. No, wait a minute, I think the first time we met beats all, don’t you? I lost my job and my paycheck and, oh yeah, my self-respect.”
He chucked the hand towel on the counter and crossed his arms. “You owe me, Irish. Every time I run into you, you one-up me, and I’m a lot worse off for it.”
How could he have missed the gold highlights in her hazel eyes before? A flare of anger brought the brilliant gold to the surface before she narrowed her eyes. “I’m not going to keep apologizing, if that’s what you’re after.”
He moved closer to her, smelled the elusive scent that followed her wherever she went. She edged back a step, crossed her own arms, imitating his stance.
“That’s not what I had in mind.” He cupped her head with one hand, put the other on the counter she’d backed into.
“You’re crowding me, Pascotto.”
“I am.” He picked her up and set her on the counter, surrounding her. Moving into her space. She wasn’t going anywhere until she answered a few questions. But not the ones she expected. He knew a dead-end when he saw one. If he couldn’t get through to her one way, there was always another.
“There’s a lot about you I don’t know, and I’d like to find out more.” He leaned forward, rubbed his lips over her mouth, teased her lips open with the tip of his tongue. “Are you a moaner, Irish? Or a screamer?”
His body hardened instantly at the thought of her whimpering beneath him. He brought his mouth down hard on hers and plunged in, demanding. He groaned when her soft hands skimmed under his T-shirt and over the muscles in his back.
When he touched her bare skin at the nape of her neck, his hands tingled. God, she was so soft. He pushed the straps of her dress down, then tore his mouth away from hers long enough to push the top of the dress down to her waist.
She whimpered when he filled his hands with her full, round breasts. She wore a black bra that covered the whitest skin he’d ever seen. His knees buckled, and he welcomed her legs clamped around his waist, her heat scorching him through his jeans.
“I want this off.” He dragged her bra down and sucked in a hard breath as he stared at her. Large, brown nipples, standing upright, begged for his attention. He flicked his tongue over one, was rewarded with a groan. He took her into his mouth, sucked hard, then pulled back after a minute and blew gently on her wet nipple and watched it pucker harder. Beautiful.
“Please,” she croaked and arched up toward him.
“I like it when you beg.” He circled her other nipple with his tongue, taking his time, loving the closeness, the feel of her strong legs banded around his waist. All that beautiful, soft, white skin. His cock twitched. She was a goddess in heat.
“Damn it, Pascotto. Stop teasing me.” She cupped her breast and pulled his head down to her.
He laughed as he filled his mouth with her soft skin and sucked deeply. And instantly felt the dark pull of desire and the urgency to possess her. She was his. He knew it. She knew it, too, although she’d never admit the truth. She was too damned busy proving how tough she could be. How she didn’t need anyone’s help. Especially his. What had she called him earlier? Fucking Model Man.
“I want you naked.” He yanked the dress down over her hips and let it slide to the floor.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“Taking your clothes off.”
“You can’t. Not here in the kitchen.”
He curled his fingers under the edge of her matching lace panties and pulled them down as far as her knees.
Aw, Christ
. His mouth went dry when he saw her beautiful, red curly pubes. He leaned forward, gently blew on her curls, eliciting several low curse words as she jerked her hips upward.
He slid his hands under her tight behind, felt her ass muscles contract in his hands. “You sure you want to stop? ’Cause I really need to taste you, baby. But if you want me to stop…” He trailed a fingertip along her glistening opening, parted her curls and touched her nub. “I will.”
She grabbed his hand and rubbed it against her wet heat. “Stop, and I’ll kill you.”
He smiled, enjoying her breathless command. He pushed the tip of his finger in a little deeper and ran it up and down. “Is that a please?”
“Please, goddamn you.” She raised her hips and thrust her pelvis at him.
“My pleasure, Irish.” He bent and put his mouth on her, using his teeth and tongue to pull more whimpers from her. And when the whimper turned to a moan, then an outright cry, he slid his hand up over the curves of her body and found her nipple. He twisted it just enough to push her into oblivion.
Then he slid two fingers inside her as she held onto his arms, her body trembling with aftershock. He pulled his fingers out, reached up and gently pushed her hair off her face as he leaned forward and kissed her. Not hard, but deep, a marking kind of kiss.
“Come to bed and make love to me.” He caught her earlobe between his teeth and tugged.
She giggled, a delightful sound he’d never expected to hear from her. “I need to rest up first.”
He put her arms around his neck and scooped her into his arms. “You always underestimate me. For once, I can’t wait to prove you wrong.”
When she buried her face in his neck, something broke inside him. Like the edge of something big and potent. Something he didn’t, or couldn’t, acknowledge.
He’d think about it later. Right now all he wanted to do was taste every inch of Bridget’s body. Twice over.
***
Bridget’s toes curled as she stretched out on the bed and watched Rafe Pascotto, the most beautiful man in the world, take off his clothes. Big, muscled shoulders, hard chest, and his “equipment”, she squirmed on the bed, big and hard fit that as well. Although she knew he was aware of his looks—he made an excellent living by looking good—he lacked the vanity she’d expected to find. He didn’t fit in the world of glamour, which made him all the more intriguing, in her opinion.