Read In Plain Sight (Stolen Hearts) Online
Authors: Kate Kelly
In Plain Sight (Stolen Hearts) (11 page)
“What are you smiling about?” Rafe crawled onto the bed on all fours and kissed her belly.
She ran her hand over his shoulder and down his sinewy arm. “How beautiful you are.”
“I’m handsome, Irish. This—” He gently bit her nipple. “This is beautiful. Matter of fact.” He ran his hand over her breasts, across her rib cage and down to the hollow by her hipbone, then slowly raked his fingers through her wet curls. “I can’t find one flaw on your body. ’Course I haven’t looked everywhere. Yet.” He smiled a wicked, I’m-going-to-eat-you-up smile.
She didn’t think she could get more turned on, but her body had other ideas. A vibration started deep inside, and her legs fell open as she thrust her hips up into his. She felt his hard cock jump against her belly, but when she reached to touch him, he pulled out of her reach.
“I won’t last a minute if you touch me, and there’s still so much to discover. Like the delicious, soft skin on the inside of your thigh.” He trailed his fingers over the inside of her thigh and before she could catch her breath, he put his moist mouth where his fingers had been.
She groaned. “You’re torturing me.”
“Good.” And slipped his tongue into her heat.
He barely flicked her nub with the hard tip of his tongue, and she came apart into a million pieces, digging her fingers into his arms, holding on to him for dear life.
“You’re so beautifully responsive. I could make love to you all night long.” He slid his fingers into her as he leaned forward and claimed her mouth, his tongue imitating his fingers.
“Please,” she croaked, not sure what she was asking for.
He rolled her onto her stomach and ran both hands down the length of her body, then back up to her ass. He squeezed both orbs, then moved each leg so her behind jutted up. Parting her thighs, he kissed the bottom of her spine, and followed it up to her neck.
She felt him, thick and hard, pressed against her. She mewled and rubbed herself against him, like an animal in heat. He laughed and bit the side of her neck as he covered her breasts with his hands. There wasn’t one part of her body he hadn’t touched, and every inch of her screamed for more.
“I love your body, Irish.” Cold air rushed over her as he pulled away. She heard foil rip but didn’t have the energy to turn around or even look over her shoulder. He’d reduced her to pure desire. She’d die if he didn’t finish what he’d started.
“I wish you could see yourself.” Parting her thighs, he ran a finger up and down her opening. “You’re wet and swollen. So beautiful.”
He replaced his fingers with the tip of his cock and entered her slowly from behind, her body opening to his, letting him in, accepting him.
“Are you okay? Am I hurting you?”
She felt a tremble go through him as he pushed in the last inch. “No,” she sighed. He filled her completely. Not just him, but his smell, his hands on her, his powerful thighs imprisoning hers. He surrounded her, completed her.
She moved cautiously, not wanting to lose him. He grunted, and she realized he’d been waiting for her. “I’m okay,” she whispered. “Really.” She moved her hips. “Really.” He pushed back in. “Okay.”
He reached round, touched her and two seconds later she shattered around him as he started pumping into her. She took him deep inside, and just as she thought she might hit an all-time record for orgasms, he pulled out of her and flipped her over on her back and stretched out beside her.
He smoothed her damp, tangled hair off her forehead and kissed her temple.
“I’m so turned on, I got carried away. I wanted our first time to be romantic. Maybe we should slow things down.”
Damn him. She pushed back her sudden tears. She would not fall in love with Rafe Pascotto.
Not
. She balled her fists.
“You want romantic,” she repeated. On top of the hottest sex she’d ever had in her life.
“Yeah. I want to look into your eyes when I come. To hold you in my arms and kiss you.” A corner of his mouth hitched up. “On the mouth.”
Make a joke. Push him away
. Lots of people got to have romance in their lives, but not her. She’d sold her soul to the devil years ago, and the bastard had come back to claim it. She knew he’d trample over Rafe to get to her.
She pushed out a smile. “I liked the hot sex. Why mess with what’s working?”
He got an intense look in his eyes, like he saw beyond her bullshit to the best of who she could be. “Because I want more.” He spread open her thighs and pushed into her.
She clenched around him at the suddenness of his thrust, her arms automatically circling his shoulders, pulling him down to her.
He thrust into her again, and she groaned. He smiled a cocky smile and kissed her. “And so do you,” he whispered into her mouth.
And then, as if his control slipped, he pounded into her, and she hung on, meeting each thrust, not sure if he was taking them to heaven or hell. But at least they were going together.
***
In the first light of day, he knew before he opened his eyes that Bridget had left. The bedroom they’d spent the night in felt empty. He’d tried not to fall asleep, knowing the minute he did, she’d slip away from him again. He groaned and rolled over on his stomach, thinking of how incredible it would have been to wake up beside her and take up where they’d left off last night.
Christ, he had it bad. How could he have let that happen? He was falling in love with a woman he knew next to nothing about, and who, he strongly suspected, had done something terribly wrong at some point of her life. Bridget O’Neill was a strong woman, but someone had her on the run, and it wasn’t just the FBI. The agency’s involvement only raised more questions. Why were they so interested in her? He didn’t think the gems that had gone missing from the show were that valuable, and yet the FBI had tapped his phone. They needed some kind of order or something from a judge to tap a phone, didn’t they? Which meant they had a damned good reason to suspect Bridget was guilty. Guilty of what was the million-dollar question.
He sat up on the edge of the bed and scrubbed a hand over his face. He needed a shower and some coffee to kick-start his brain, because it was time he started using it instead of just reacting to what was going on.
And he needed to clean up the bedroom. The room smelled like sex. He grinned. No, it smelled like the best sex of his life. He wanted Bridget back. With him. Where she belonged.
An hour later, Rafe hailed a cab and gave the address of the downtown jail where Bridget’s brother, Darcy, was being held. He didn’t know much about the justice system, but having been previously incarcerated in the downtown jail himself, he thought of it as a temporary holding place. Darcy had already been found guilty of theft. Why hadn’t they shipped him to the proper prison? He doubted Gage would tell him if he asked, but he added it to his list of questions anyway.
In the back of the cab, Rafe mentally ticked off his to-do list. He’d left Honey’s place relatively clean, although he knew Izzy, the cleaning lady, would come in to clean the condo in a day or two. But there was a possibility the FBI would pick up his trail after his visit to the jail, and he didn’t want to risk Honey returning unexpectedly to discover too much of a mess. A couple of dirty glasses, okay. But the bedroom?
He hardened, remembering last night.
He’d also searched everywhere for a note from Bridget. Not a love note, although he wouldn’t have minded one. He’d been hoping—expecting—she’d tell him where the gems she’d hidden in his apartment were. If the cops found the stones at his place, he’d go to jail for sure. It depressed the hell out of him that she hadn’t told him where to find them. Maybe she didn’t care that he got in trouble.
He didn’t believe that. While making love to her last night, all the barriers had come down. It had just been the two of them, and it had been explosive. Bridget cared about him. He grinned. She’d hate like hell to admit it, though. He couldn’t wait to get his hands on her again to prove how wrong she was to think she could just shrug him off.
In the meantime, he’d do as he’d promised and pass her disturbing message to Darcy, ask a few pointed questions of his own, then hustle and try to find those damned stones before the FBI got a search warrant. He wouldn’t be much help to her if he were stuck in jail.
***
Rafe detoured into the Starbucks across the street from the Nashua Street jail. He could use another coffee, and he figured Darcy would probably appreciate a good coffee for a change, too. After placing his order, he stuck his hands in his jeans pocket to check for change and pulled out a slip of paper. Thinking it was an old receipt, he was about to toss it into the trash bin when he noticed someone had written on it. He unfolded the paper. Two words;
Your Burberry
.
Rafe grinned.
Thank you, Irish
. Clever woman. She even knew the proper name for his raincoat that hung at the back of his closet. More important, she cared enough to tell him where the stones were. If Bridget were here right now, he’d kiss her for that alone. His smile slipped as he thought of her out there alone. Wherever she was, he hoped she was safe.
When Bridget’s brother, Darcy, walked into the visiting room fifteen minutes later, Rafe recognized him. His curly hair wasn’t as bright as his sister’s had been, but there was no denying it was red. He was about the same height as Bridget and had a hard, compact body, and although he wore a guarded look, Rafe could see the intelligence lurking beneath his curiosity.
Rafe passed one coffee to the guard and pointed at Darcy, then sat at the station opposite Darcy behind the glass and picked up the phone. Without preliminaries, he plunged in when Darcy held the phone to his ear. “I might not have much time. Bridget asked me to warn you. She said
he
was back. That’s all. I don’t know who
he
is, but I do know she was worried about your safety.”
Darcy looked like he’d been punched in the gut. “Who the hell are you, and where’s Bridget?”
“I don’t know. She’s on the run. I tried to get her to talk to the FBI—”
“The FBI? What do you think they’re going to do for her other than put her in jail? Look.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Start at the beginning. Who are you? How do you know my sister?”
Rafe was tempted to skip the part of how he and Bridget had met, but as Gage had pointed out, he was a lousy liar. “I…ran into her in Paris.”
“Christ.” Darcy barked out a laugh. “You’re that guy.”
He’d never live that damned incident down. “Yeah, that guy. Then I ran into her at the gem show here in Boston.”
“When?”
“This week.”
“The one where the gems went missing? She was there?” Darcy’s voice tightened, like he was spitting out bullets.
“Right. I, uh…” He hunched his shoulders. “I helped her get out of there.”
Darcy leaned back and crossed his arms. “Why would you help her? She crucified you.”
Oh, yeah, Rafe could see the family resemblance clearly now. The O’Neill clan was a skeptical, suspicious lot. “Because for some reason I can’t explain, I like your sister. What does she mean when she says
he
? How can I help?”
“You can’t, pretty boy. Go home and forget you ever met Bridget. You’re in over your head.”
“And you’re locked up in jail.”
Darcy stared at him for a minute then looked away. “You don’t know where she is?”
“No.”
“If Bridget calls anyone, it’ll be Claire.”
“Claire was at the show, too. I met her. I don’t think Bridget trusts her.”
Darcy’s gaze sharpened. “What do you mean?”
“If she’s such a good friend, why didn’t Bridget ask Claire to deliver the message?”
Rafe watched Darcy’s eyes move back and forth as he weighed the new information.
“Do you know where the missing stones from the show are?” Darcy finally asked.
“Why?”
“If you do, clean them, put them in a padded envelope and send them to this address.” He rattled off the number. “Say it back to me.”
Rafe recited the number, realizing the numbers repeated themselves. “What good will that do?”
“I’ll tell Claire I think I know where the stones are. If the cops show up at that address, we’ll know whose side she’s on.”
“But Claire will know that you know.”
“Maybe not. Besides, what difference does it make if she realizes her cover’s been blown?”
“What about Bridget? I don’t like that she’s out there on her own.”
Darcy wiped a hand over his face. “Yeah, me either. If it helps, my big sister’s been looking after herself for a long time now.”
Shortly after, Rafe left the jail with a sour feeling in his gut. It didn’t help one damned bit to hear that Bridget had had to take care of herself, whatever that entailed, for years. He could see her brother was concerned for her, but he got the feeling Darcy was one of those things Bridget took care of from time to time. Meanwhile, who was looking after Irish?
He was fed up with people telling him he didn’t know what he was doing. Okay, so he’d made use of his God-given looks and worked as a model for a few years. That didn’t mean he was stupid, and he’d gotten what he wanted out of it. Money to build his house. The more people who told him to go home and forget about Bridget, the more determined he was to help her.
Rafe cursed under his breath when he saw Nick DeMarco leaning against a car across the street. If Gage looked career FBI, Nick, an undercover agent and a friend of Gage’s, looked like a career criminal. He’d grown his dark hair almost long enough to be tied in a ponytail. He was a big man, solid muscle and had that bad-boy vibe going on. The faded jeans and black T-shirt fed into the image.
He’d heard Gage mention how women loved DeMarco. Rafe had met him at a barbecue at Gage and Sophie’s once, and he remembered feeling a weird twist of jealousy at how much in love Nick was with his wife. What was her name? Selena? No, Serena. Yeah, she’d been pregnant, and they couldn’t keep their hands off each other. Just being around them had made Rafe feel lonely, even though he’d taken his girlfriend-
du-jour
with him.
“Why do I get the feeling you guys are following me around?” He held out his hand after jaywalking to reach Nick. No sense in pretending he wasn’t there for him. What was Gage up to now?
Nick smiled and shook his hand. “You’re getting paranoid in your old age. How ya doing? Gage said you’ve moved home for good?”
Rafe wouldn’t have put it quite like that. “For good” sounded so permanent. “I’m not planning on going anywhere for a while. Gage sent you? Sophie’s okay, right?”
“Yeah. Sorry. It didn’t occur to me you’d be worried about her. We thought you might be able to help us with an ongoing investigation. Got a few questions.”
Of course they did. Rafe nodded and got in the back seat of the car when Nick opened the door for him. No sense in arguing with the FBI. He knew from experience things would go easier for him if he cooperated. The sooner he was free of the feds the sooner he could get back to looking for Bridget.
The small room Nick escorted him to in the main FBI headquarters almost looked familiar, and Rafe wondered how he’d ended up here. And not for the first time. How did a basically law-abiding citizen attract so much attention from the FBI?
He pulled out a chair from the table, swung it around and straddled it, wishing he still smoked. Not that the feebs would let him. They’d use it against him, the same way they fed you coffee then kept coming up with excuses to not let you go to the bathroom. God knows how many more tricks they had.
“Want a coffee?” Nick asked.
There you go. Even a nice guy like DeMarco couldn’t resist. “I’ll pass.”
Nick sat across the table from him. “Any reason in particular you went to see Darcy O’Neill today?”
“I wanted to check him out.”
“Why?”
Rafe shrugged. “I heard a lot about him, and I wanted to meet Bridget’s brother.”
He thought he detected the tension lessen in the room. What had Nick expected him to say? No matter how hard you played at being unaffected, talking to someone against your will felt like crap.
“She’s a fascinating woman, Bridget O’Neill.”
“And?”
Nick half smiled. “Don’t suppose you want to tell me where she is?”
“You can keep me here all night and ask me the same questions in a million different ways, but honestly? I can’t tell you because I don’t know.”
“Hell if I don’t believe you.” Nick pulled out of a slump. “Okay. What do you know about her?”
“She says she’s from Boston. Darcy’s her brother. She designs jewelry, believes Darcy’s innocent and hates Pierre Dejarnatt.”
“She talk about her family or friends?”
“No.”
“About her plans?”
“No.”
“Why did she return to Boston now?”
“Because Dejarnatt was showcasing Darcy’s designs as his, and she wanted him to know she was watching him.”
“You’re sure?”
“Am I sure?” He wiped a hand over his face. “No, Nick, I’m not. I’m telling you what she told me, which is fuck-all. I’ve never been less sure in my life. One minute she’s here, then she’s gone. She convinces me she has a handle on everything, but then I see this look in her eye. She’s scared, and I have no idea what she’s afraid of.”
“The FBI?”
“I think you’re more of an inconvenience.”
“Jesus. She’s got balls.”
Rafe refused to rise to the bait. He knew Nick was trying to provoke him, get him to say something he didn’t intend to. But what Nick didn’t understand was he’d tell the feds everything if he thought it would save Bridget. Not that he knew much, and he hated like hell to admit that she hadn’t trusted him or cared enough to tell him the truth. Why should she? They’d barely met. And yet, damned if he didn’t feel…connected in some way.
“I think whatever she’s afraid of has been going on for a long time,” is all he said.
Nick stood. “If I said she was in danger, would you tell me where she is?”
“Yeah, I would, but I still don’t know where she is.” His gut twisted. “How much danger?”
“With Bridget? Hard to tell. I’ll be right back.”
Did he have to be so damned cryptic? If the FBI didn’t know how much danger she was in, who the hell did? He hated not understanding what was going on. For sure the feds had more than Nick was telling him, but he sensed frustration in Nick’s voice as well. Otherwise, why waste time on him when they should be looking for Bridget?
But what if she was guilty? DeMarco or Gage would tell him, wouldn’t they? If they had something on her, they wouldn’t let him make a fool of himself, chasing her all over Boston.