Secrets and Sins: Raphael: A Secrets and Sins novel (Entangled Ignite) (6 page)

Anger and lust boxed for dominance inside him. No, she’d never thanked him. Not in the hall of the police station and not with a phone call afterward. But then again, what would that apology have sounded like?
Thank you for fucking me for over five hours, or else I wouldn’t have had a solid alibi.
He smirked. Yeah, he’d pay good money to hear those words on her oh-so-genteel lips.

“The papers said you claim to have no memory of what happened. Is that true?”

Her lashes lowered, her teeth sinking into the plush curve of her bottom lip. He’d licked her right there where the skin became tender, slick, and wet.

“Yes, it’s true. The doctors believe my memory may return at some point, but they can’t say when or for certain. As of now, it’s a huge black hole.”

Interesting
. “Go on about the letters.”

“They continued to arrive, and I finally notified the police. They collected the ones I kept but they really couldn’t—can’t—do anything.”

“Their hands are pretty tied with what they can do. If no threats were made in the letters—just names—all they can do is file a report, because they would consider it harassment,” he explained. “Do you still have a couple?”

“Yes, I have the two from last week.”

“Good,” he murmured, his mind already turning over options. The police were constrained not just by the law but by budget, time, and resources. An anonymous letter wouldn’t rank very high in importance when compared with a murder, rape, or assault. But Rafe could send them to a private forensic laboratory his firm occasionally used and see if the technician could find prints, saliva, or any evidence on the letter or envelope. “Have the letters been the only form of contact? Anything else?”

“Yes. Until today. I figured before now the person sending the letters was some disgruntled, bitter fanatic with time on their hands and a grudge against people they considered ‘rich.’ But after this morning…” She crossed her arms, and the defensive gesture wasn’t lost on him. Her folded arms covered her midsection where the baby slept. He gritted his teeth against the wave of protectiveness that surged within him. “When I left for my doctor’s appointment this morning, my car had been broken into. The side window was shattered, my tires slashed, and on the driver’s seat was another letter and a d-doll,” she stuttered. “The eyes had been removed, the lips blackened with what looked like a black marker, and the body torn open.”

Horror and shock punched a hole in his gut. A hot, blazing anger quickly filled it up like lava gushing up a volcano and pouring over the lip. He shot to his feet and stalked away from his desk, dragging his fingers through his hair.
Son of a bitch.
Son. Of. A. Bitch. A mutilated doll, for chrissake. Who would do something so—so sick? This was more than an intimidating letter; this was a direct threat against not only Greer but her baby. An innocent baby.

“Did you call the police?” he rapped out.

“Immediately. They took our statements, pictures, filed a report, and bagged the doll for evidence. They said they’ll open an investigation and have the patrol cars in the area drive by our house as well as do a few walk-throughs. But I don’t hold out hope they’ll find anything.”

She was right to be concerned. With the vandalism of her car, the harassment would have escalated to criminal mischief, and the police could do a little more, but not much. The officers in that sector would pay special attention to the area, circle the house a few times on foot, maybe take down the license plate numbers of the vehicles in the area. Hell, serial killer David Berkowitz was eventually caught as the result of parking tickets, so the routine wasn’t pointless or just lip service to calm her. But they would only keep it up for a week or so, and the person behind the letters and the latest, more personal act seemed patient. Four months he’d been pursuing Greer. What was a week’s time-out?

“Does your brother’s building have a security camera?”

“Yes, but my car was parked farther down the block from his home.”

“Which this person knew.” He scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck, swore softly. “We can install cameras in the windows of his house that face farther down the street as well as in his and your car. It’s a long shot, but if this bastard comes back, maybe we can catch an image.”

“Whoever this is—he knows where I’ve been staying, maybe even my movements. Raphael,” she murmured. “I know I’m the very last person you expected to see or probably
want
to see. But…” She paused, and for the first time a tremor entered her voice, betraying her fear. “I’m scared. And I don’t know who else to turn to. The police can only do so much, and I could hire someone for protection, but I don’t…trust as easily as I have in the past. I don’t trust that whoever I hired wouldn’t leak what’s going on with the letters and threats to the press. Paranoid? Yes. But I’ve just gotten my life back…” She shook her head. “We don’t know each other that well, but you’ve stood up for me—protected me—in the past. I hoped… I’m asking a lot of you, I know.”

No, she had no clue what she was asking of him. She couldn’t begin to fathom how her presence—who she was, the news of a pregnancy, claiming he was the father—was dragging him back into an abyss he’d barely managed to crawl out of the first time.

“Rafe, don’t get me wrong. We had a lot of fun. But you’re not marriage material, much less father material.”

The incredulous words replayed in his head on a vicious loop. He could recall the disdain and pity—fucking
pity
—in that soft, cultured voice as if he’d heard them seven minutes ago instead of seven years.

He’d been deceived, played for a fool, then left shattered as he stood helpless, watching his joy—his fucking heart—stride out the door. And he’d paid one hell of a price. His soul couldn’t afford to pay the cost again. He couldn’t endure it again. He
refused
to do it again.

Yet,
damn it
, he couldn’t just walk away. Not with the very real threat to her looming in the darkness. Without knowing how serious the danger behind the letters and mutilated doll was, he couldn’t throw her to the wolves. Or an inept security agency. Besides, as much as he resented it, he was personally invested. He’d been inside her body, kissed her, pleasured her. Held her while she trembled in orgasm. He wasn’t that much of an asshole to abandon her now. Especially if there was a chance…

No!
Not going down that road
.

Shit. The need to strangle the breath from the person responsible for the threats bombarded him. Hell if he could decide whether the desire to hurt and maim stemmed from the cowardly stalking or the clusterfuck the bastard had brought into his life. Growling a curse under his breath, he retraced his steps and dropped into his desk chair.

“You’re going to be okay. I’m not going to let anything happen to you or your baby. I promise.”

He caught her slight flinch before she controlled it. Wondered if she recoiled because of his deliberate attempt to distance himself from her and the child she claimed was his. Hurt she would’ve most likely denied flashed in her eyes before they, too, cleared of all emotion.

“Thank you,” she murmured. “Another reason why I came to you? You’re the scariest person I know.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Baby, you’ll turn my head with such flattery.”

She snorted, but relief softened her features, edging out the traces of fear and weariness. Her mouth eased into a small half smile.

Fuck.

There went that indigestion again.

Chapter Seven

For the first time since Greer had woken up next to a dead body with a gaping hole in her memory months earlier, safety wasn’t a distant memory but a real possibility. Relief flooded her, and if she hadn’t already been sitting down in Raphael’s office chair, her knees would’ve weakened, taking her to the floor.

Thank God for small favors, because the last thing she wanted was to embarrass herself in front of him. Not that strolling into his office after not having any contact with him in months and announcing she was carrying his baby had been a proud moment. More like one of the more humiliating in her life. And considering all she’d suffered since the December night she’d found her ex-fiancé stabbed to death on the floor of her apartment, that was a pretty high bar.

Not that he believed her.

Damn, she hadn’t expected that. Or the pain his skepticism inflicted.
“…it seems more likely he would be the father than me.” “I’m not going to let anything happen to you or your baby.” “I used protection, Greer.”

Hell, she knew that; she remembered. She could recall every detail about that night with obsessive clarity. When she didn’t jerk awake from nightmarish images that eluded her like tendrils of smoke as soon as she woke, she tossed and turned from the hot, erotic memories of a night filled with tangled limbs, sweat-slicked bodies, soft moans, and harsh cries. The events of that early December morning may be lost to her, but not the hours before it. Not the man who’d introduced her to a devastating, shattering pleasure she still hadn’t recovered from.

Nor could she forget or run away from the results of her one selfish, reckless act.

She hadn’t been lying about the six-month period of abstinence and rededication so she and Gavin could have a true wedding night. She didn’t lie, period.

After a lifetime of observing her father perjure himself to score the next big client or loan, witnessing her mother delude herself into believing she had the perfect marriage, and watching her brother deny who he was to fit the rigid mold of an Addison, Greer had adopted a personal code of telling the truth.

Raphael couldn’t know that, though—he didn’t know
her
. A sexual one-night stand didn’t allow the time for getting-to-know-you conversation.

Even now she didn’t have time for him to become acquainted with her personality, quirks, and history. That time had come and gone when she’d discovered she was pregnant. And that someone wanted to harm her and her baby. Unconsciously, she curved a hand over the still-flat plane of her belly. She still woke up in the middle of the night scared, but so filled with wonder that another human slept inside her. Awe and love welled up in her chest, pressing against her rib cage until she believed she’d bust with the emotion that seemed uncontainable. It amazed her, this sudden, overwhelming love for a being that looked like an alien and, at seventeen weeks, was no bigger than an avocado, so her doctor said.

The flip side of that devotion was fear. A paralyzing fear for her baby’s safety.

She swallowed a sigh and struggled to maintain the mask of dignity and self-control that had been drummed into her since birth. The camouflage was habit—no matter how hurt, tired, or frightened, never show it.

And right now she was all three.

But, God, Raphael’s aloof manner wasn’t helping. Expect him to welcome her with open arms? No. Yet he was so…distant. Sarcastic, mocking, even cold at times. Part of her wanted to get up and leave. Being dependent on another person for something as basic as her safety stung.

But the rational side demanded she remain seated. Raphael could be the abominable snowman, but she still needed his help.

“First thing we’ll do is get those extra security measures set up at your brother’s. I have my doubts about the letters or damage continuing once you’re no longer there, but I’d rather err on the side of caution. I can supervise that while—”

Her attention sharpened, focused on Raphael as he leaned forward and reached for his desk phone. His words bounced against the inside of her head, growing louder and faster which each rebound.
Once you’re no longer there…once you’re no longer there… onceyour’enolongerthere…
What the hell did he mean by that?

“Wait.” She shoved to her feet, holding out a hand as he picked up the receiver. His brow arched in question as he tucked the phone between his ear and shoulder and punched out a number. “What are you talking about, once I’m no longer there? No longer where?”

He held up a finger, silencing her.
Yes, he did just shush me.
Anger flooded up her chest and poured into her face. He just
shushed
her!

“Hey, where are you at?” He paused as the person on the other end of the line obviously replied. “Okay, that can wait. Meet me at—” He rapped out her brother’s address, which momentarily made her forget her irritation.
How did he know where Ethan lived?
“I’ll be there in about thirty minutes. Here’s what I need for you to bring.” He recited a list of technical-sounding names that went right over her head. “You got that? Okay. Thirty.”

“How did you know Ethan’s home address?” she demanded, although that wasn’t the most pressing issue. Just the most immediate that came to her mind.

“I’ve known for a while,” he said, brushing it off with a shrug. “You’re no longer going to be staying with your brother. As a matter of fact, while I’m getting the security cameras installed, you can pack up your things, and we can leave for my house straight from there.”

A vacuum opened up inside her head and roared long and loud. Shock robbed her legs of substance, and she wavered before groping behind her for the abandoned chair. Slowly, she sank down, trying—and failing—to wrap her mind around the utterly ridiculous explanation he’d just offered her. He had to be joking. Had to be…right? She glanced up and searched his expression. His blue gaze was steady, resolute. His lips straight with no hint of a curl that would’ve suggested this was some kind of prank on the pregnant lady.

“You can’t be serious,” she finally rasped.

He crossed his arms, cocked his head to the side. “Three things I don’t joke about. The Sox’s chances of going the distance. My
Die Hard
movie collection. And safety.”

How the hell was she supposed to respond to that and not sound as crazy as him?

“I’m not going home with you,” she gritted out between clenched teeth. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Oh, yeah?” he asked. “Why?”

“Because…” She twirled her hand as if conjuring a reason to explain why his suggestion of her moving in with him defied the boundaries of logic. She wanted to scream, “Because we had hot, sweaty sex for hours on your backseat,” but so didn’t want to go there. So instead she settled for, “Because I live with my brother,” she sputtered. Damn, it sounded lame even to her own ears. And from his arched eyebrow, he agreed.

“You live with your brother in a house where a wack job has been sending menacing letters to you for months, did a slash ’n’ smash on your car, and left you a gift that screams
I’m off my meds
. Did I miss something? Because if I didn’t, I’d say your brother’s house is what we call ‘compromised.’ You’re no longer safe there.”

Maybe it was the pregnancy hormones, the horror from his too-accurate description, the stinging sarcasm, or all three that had her palm itching to smack him one. Raphael Marcel had a talent for getting under her skin and inciting her to act rashly. Whether it was having sex in the backseat of a car on a public street or punching him, she’d never had such a visceral reaction to anyone else in her life. Not even the man she’d been prepared to pledge the rest of her life to.

“But if you’re going to add the extra security there…” she said, desperation swirling in her stomach.

“For your brother.” He crossed his arms. “Look, Greer, this person has upped the game. We’re past intimidating letters and onto criminal mischief, vandalism, and threats. Do you really think he’ll be satisfied and go back to mailing letters again?” He shook his head. “Not going to happen. The next thing he does will only escalate in aggression or cruelty. No cameras are going to protect you from that. But I can—it’s my business. And when I’m not there, my house is like a damn fort. No one’s getting in or out. Face it. It’s the best solution.”

Despair varnished in a nice coat of shame covered her, swamped her. “I can’t,” she whispered. How could she explain? How could she make him understand? All her life she’d been dependent on something—kept by someone. First her parents, then Gavin. Even after she’d earned her business degree and moved into her own apartment, she’d still worked at her father’s bank as a glorified receptionist, because he didn’t trust her with anything more complex than answering a phone or taking a message. Her main job had been being Gavin Wells’s fiancée. For her father it had been the only smart move she’d made, the only thing she’d done to give him even a moment of pride.

After Gavin’s death, she’d been too immersed in grief and shock to protest when Ethan had suggested she come stay with him and Jason after her father had ordered her not to return to his home. When she’d finally emerged from the mental cave she’d hibernated in, it’d been to find she was once more dependent on another, sponging off another. Not adding or contributing. Just taking. Like her mother.

Raphael wouldn’t get it. Wouldn’t understand the horror of waking up one day and realizing you’d almost become what you resented most. A month and a half ago, she’d set in place plans to reclaim her life, to be self-sufficient and self-reliant. She’d decided to apply to art school, had started working on the portfolio required for submission. She’d begun paving the way for a new Greer—a Greer who followed her own desires and passions instead of obediently kowtowing to others out of fear of disappointment.

Yet here he stood informing her she would once again have to depend on another man for the roof over her head, the food in her mouth, her survival.

“I can’t,” she repeated. Yes, she’d come to him for help, hoping he would offer his firm’s services for protection. But live with him? She shook her head. No, she couldn’t do it.

“You said this baby is mine,” he pushed, steel penetrating his voice and matching the glint in his eyes. “You really think I would put the safety of my kid and his mother in the hands of a camera?”

“You don’t even believe the baby is yours,” she accused, incredulous.

“I didn’t say that,” he said. “I said there’s a chance it’s not mine. But as long as there
is
a chance, you and the child are my responsibility.” He dropped his arms and, planting his palms on the desktop, leaned forward. His eyes narrowed, and that quickly, her pulse sped up, her mouth drying of all moisture. She recognized that look—had been the recipient of it before. And an hour later she’d been straddling his lap, shaking in orgasm.

“You know what I think? You’re protesting a little too hard. What’s your real reason for not wanting to stay in the same house as me, Greer?” His tone deepened, softened with a sensuality that stroked over her skin and called to mind those hot, stolen moments in the back of his SUV. “Maybe because I know things you wish I didn’t? Like how you prefer harder, wilder kisses to gentle and slow. Or how soft and sensitive your breasts are, and how much you enjoy me touching them. Or how wet and so fucking tight you are. Or how your breath catches in your throat and you give this low, sexy moan right before you come.” A charged, deafening silence vibrated in the room. “Well? How close am I?”

She couldn’t tear her gaze away from him. Heat blazed a path up from her belly, melting every muscle and organ to a scorching puddle even as a slide show of erotic images burst in her head. Part of her—the part of her that had been raised to believe sex occurred behind closed bedroom doors, not to be gossiped about—wanted to deny his frank, erotic assessment, to tell him to go to hell. But the other side of her—the part that had exalted in writhing on a leather seat, had enjoyed digging her fingers in taut, golden skin—acknowledged the truth in his words. What they’d shared…it had been raw, wild, cataclysmic. Explosive.

Life-changing.

And as much as she feared becoming a sponge, she was equally terrified of the responses—the passion—he drew out of her. It unsettled her. She silently snorted. Unsettled, hell. It scared the shit out of her.

All her life, she’d witnessed her mother cater to her father’s every whim, swallow every criticism or insult, turn a blind eye to every affair. All because she loved him.
Love.
The word tasted like ash on her tongue. Early on she’d vowed to never allow herself to become so emotionally out of control. To never allow her heart or its just-as-fickle and traitorous cousin, desire, to exist in a world where common sense and dignity took a backseat to
love
. And no man had threatened that vow. Not even Gavin.

But Raphael could. Did.

With just a blunt, erotically charged word, a sensual hooded look, or, God, a wicked touch, he flipped the switch on a chain reaction of need, hunger, and recklessness. She’d never experienced such overwhelming passion before—had never known it was in her or she was capable of it. After one conversation, she’d spent hours having sex with a man she’d barely known. She hadn’t cared about propriety, what others would think, or consequences. He’d inspired that in her.

That had been one night. What would happen after she spent several nights with him? One morning would she look in the mirror, and her mother would be staring back out at her?

“Not even in the same ballpark,” she replied to his question and curled her lips in a smile that should’ve had Frosty the Snowman reaching for a coat. “Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to get back to how we can protect my baby and save what makes me scream in orgasm for tomorrow’s discussion.”

In the past, the cutting words combined with the icy smile had sent men scurrying away or even earned her a muttered “bitch.” Never had she received the snicker Raphael treated her to. The man wouldn’t know an appropriate response if he had a handbook and PowerPoint.