Читать книгу Rafael's One Night Bombshell - Tina Beckett, Tina Beckett - Страница 9
ОглавлениеTHE STRANGER AT the bar was as miserable as she was.
At least, judging from the three empty shot glasses in front of him, he was. He rolled a fourth glass between his thumb and index finger, staring at the amber contents as if looking for something he’d lost.
Kind of like she was. Only she hadn’t exactly lost anything. It was more like it had been thrown away. Echoes of her childhood.
You can do this.
Taking a deep breath, Cassandra Larrobee unscrewed the huge rock from the ring finger of her left hand and dropped it into her purse. It was better than drowning it in the storm drain just outside the door but not nearly as satisfying. She should have realized long ago that permanent relationships weren’t in the cards for her.
She scrubbed at the indentation left by the ring, hesitating for the barest second, and then walked across the floor of Mad Ron’s, heading for the only available barstool—the one right next to the stranger.
Little Heliconia’s go-to bar, Mad Ron’s was named after its eccentric owner and had been one of Miami’s most revered liquor joints for many years. It also happened to be the first one she’d come across during her flight from the scene of the crime.
Her fiancé’s crime.
The loud clink of glasses and raucous laughter provided a much-needed refuge. A sanctuary. And if the man at the bar was willing to raise a glass with her, all the better. It would be a brief visit—not long enough to become attached. “Temporary” was a state of being that Cassie knew how to rock. And she could at least blur the memory of what she’d seen tonight, even if she couldn’t blot it out entirely.
After that, she needed to find a new place to live.
She slung her purse over her shoulder as she reached her destination and parked her butt on the tall stool. Ron himself appeared in front of her, puffs of white hair and a pink Hawaiian print shirt making her smile.
Before he could even open his mouth to ask, she said, “I’ll have what he’s having.”
Where had that come from?
“Sure thing, chica.” As Ron reached behind the bar for a bottle, the stranger’s head swiveled toward her, his fingers still twirling the tiny glass. And those eyes... Straddling the line between brown and predatory, they caught at her, snatching away whatever clever quip she’d been getting ready to toss his way.
Clever? That was so not a word Cassie would use to describe herself.
Capable? Careful? Cautious?
Yep. Cs—all three of them. Only right now she was none of those things.
“Do you even know what I’m having?” He held his little glass up, the low lighting in the bar making the amber contents seem darker. More dangerous.
Or maybe that was the man himself.
“I’m sure I can handle whatever it is.”
The bartender set a matching shot glass in front of her. Suddenly she wasn’t quite sure she could handle it. But it was either slink off or gut it out. And Cassie was no quitter. Except when given no other choice.
She lifted her glass and clinked it against his, before putting it to her lips and chugging the contents down in one swallow.
There. As easy as taking medici—
Liquid fire consumed her throat, her abdomen suddenly spasming as the fumes sought escape. She forced her eyes to remain on his as he downed his own drink, somehow managing to suppress the cough building in her chest. Letting out a quick gust of air that she hoped would ease the pain, she thunked her glass down on the bar. Just like in the movies.
“Another?” Ron held up a half-empty bottle.
One corner of the stranger’s mouth curved as he continued to watch her, setting his own glass down with a mere whisper of sound. He knew, damn him. Knew that she was a lightweight as far as the drinking game went. Not that she would even try to outdo him. His last drink upped his total to four. She would be passed out on the polished surface of the bar before she got to three.
So she changed tack. “I’ll have a margarita this time around.”
Mad Ron was known around Miami for making the best in the area. And it was a drink she could sip—slowly—rather than slug.
“Rafe? What’ll you have?”
“I’ll have coffee. Black.”
What?
“Coming right up.”
Damn. She couldn’t even get a stranger to drink with her on this sorry-ass evening. But she did know the stranger’s name now. Not that it mattered.
She swiveled her barstool a little to the right to face him. “Too much for you?”
“I’ll let you know a little bit later.”
The air caught in her lungs.
Was he talking about the drinks? Her own head felt a little woozy, but she was pretty sure it had nothing to do with what she’d just drunk and everything to do with the man sitting beside her.
Well, why the hell not? Her fiancé had played the cheating game, why shouldn’t she?
Was it still considered cheating if the engagement was over?
It didn’t matter. She could consider this the denouement of that failed relationship.
Ron slid a glass toward her. The huge bowl was precariously perched on top of a glass stem, the lime expertly stabbed onto the salted rim.
Oh, my. She’d forgotten how ginormous these things were. Ron must have seen her indecision because he set Rafe’s coffee in front of him and cocked a brow at her. “Everything okay?”
“I think I’ve changed my mind. Could I have a coffee as well?”
“Sure thing, chica.” Ron gave her a wink, picked up her glass and called out to his customers. “Anyone want a margarita? On the house.”
Within seconds her drink had found a new home, and she had a steaming café con leche in its place. “Thanks.” Maybe the splash of milk would help cool the whiskey that was still sending flames darting through her stomach. Or was that warm licking sensation caused by something else entirely?
“So,” the stranger said, taking a drink of his coffee, “thanks to Ron, you know my name, but I don’t know yours.”
And she didn’t want him to. Her thoughts whipped through a couple of sharp responses, rejecting each one. She was never going to see him again, so what did it matter what name she gave him?
“Bonnie.” She crossed her fingers beneath the bar, hoping her dearest friend would forgive her for pulling her name out of the hat.
Rafe took another sip, regarding her with inscrutable eyes. “You don’t look like a Bonnie.”
“No?” She swallowed hard. “What do I look like?”
“Like a beautiful woman who just got out of a painful relationship.”
Shock wheeled through her system. “Excuse me?”
How could he have known that? Or was it just some kind of pickup line?
His fingers moved to her left hand, which was lying flat on the bar, and slid up her ring finger, rubbing across the base of it. “The ring just came off. I saw you drop it in your purse right before you came over here. Unless you’re just looking for a good time. And you don’t seem like that kind of girl.”
This time she wasn’t going to lie. “I’m not. So what are you in here for?” She motioned toward the empty glasses. “Or do you simply get hammered every night?”
“Oh.” His thumb rubbed across her finger again, sending more heat shooting through her veins. “I am not hammered. Not by a long shot.”
The bartender knew his name, though, so he was a regular. She came in with friends from time to time, but not often enough for Ron to actually know her by name. Thank goodness. Otherwise he might just tell this man what it was. And she didn’t want that.
“Four whiskeys is a lot to drink at one time.”
“Maybe. But I’ve celebrated this day at Ron’s for the last eighteen years or so. I think I know my limit.”
Okay, she had no idea how to respond to that, since his voice hinted that the date didn’t hold good memories. Especially not if he spent the night getting drunk every year.
Death of a spouse? A child? Divorce?
Each option went through her head, but there was no way she could voice any of them aloud. The doctor in her came to the surface, however, and she couldn’t help but ask. “You don’t normally drive yourself home, do you?”
“No. I spend the night at a hotel just around the corner.”
She blinked. There was something about the way he said those words...
Oh.
“You’re not alone when you go there.”
“No.”
She glanced at the coffee mug in front of him. Why had he suddenly stopped drinking?
Maybe for the same reason she’d found her way to this particular barstool and engaged a handsome man in conversation. Was it just to get back at her ex?
Yes. And why not? Darrin would never know. But she would. And she could show the universe that she too knew how to play the game.
She lifted her chin. “I wasn’t planning on leaving here alone either.”
His thumb paused its stroking for just a second. “Did you have your sights on anyone in particular?”
“I’m talking to him.”
Cassie couldn’t believe she’d just said that. But why the hell shouldn’t she have a little bit of fun? If he was celebrating something dark and disturbing, then that made two of them.
Unless he was a serial killer or something. Maybe she should check just to make sure. She blurted out, “So, how do you know Ron?”
“My family has known him for years. Including mi hermanos.”
He’d lapsed into Spanish with such ease that he must speak it regularly. He didn’t mention his mother or father, however. Just his brothers. Regardless, it was doubtful he was a Jack the Ripper type if his family and Ron’s were friends. Ron was a great judge of character, from what she’d seen and heard.
Speaking of the devil, the bartender appeared back in front of them. “How are things?”
“I think we’re about ready to get out of here.” Rafe pulled out his wallet and dropped some serious-looking cash on the counter.
“I can pay for my own drink,” she said to cover the disappointment caused by the loss of his touch.
“You can get them the next time.”
There wouldn’t be a next time, and they both knew it. But it was either sit there and argue, and possibly ruin the delicious awareness that had been slowly building in her, or let it go.
She let it go. This lie was one she could overlook. Unlike her fiancé’s declarations that “It wasn’t what it looked like.” Things were normally exactly how they seemed. No longer want a child? Transfer them to another home. Tired of your fiancée? Move on to the next woman.
Want a temporary fling? Head to Mad Ron’s Bar.
Yep, she definitely knew how to play.
“Next time,” she murmured.
He stood, shoving his wallet into the back pocket of his black jeans.
For a second she thought he was planning on leaving. Alone. Until he held out his hand.
There was still time to chicken out. To sit there like she didn’t have a clue what he meant. Except she’d basically told him she wanted to hook up with him.
So she slid her fingers into his, relishing the way they enfolded hers in a strong grip. Her stomach somersaulted as she allowed her legs to swing to the floor. They shook, but somehow she braced her high-heeled sandals beneath her and remained standing. He said he normally went to a hotel a short distance away, but in little Heliconia there were several places that would fit that description. Some more respectable than others.
Who needed respectable for what they were about to do?
Not her, that was for sure.
Rafe towed her through the crowd and out the door. Twin pots of gardenias flanked the entrance, the breeze lifting the heavy fragrance of the blooms and sending it out into the night. She could hardly believe she was leaving a bar with a total stranger.
How long had it been since she’d done something so...dangerous?
And there was no mistaking that the man gripping her hand was dangerous, no matter how well he knew Ron. He was far removed from the world of her financier ex, who was busy building his empire—and amassing women as easily as he did money, evidently. Well, he was now down one percentage point. Or maybe since she’d been his fiancée, she was worth a little bit more, maybe a point and a half.
What had she learned through this experience? A stable career didn’t always translate into a stable life.
Ha! Who needed stable when there were men like Rafe in the world?
They were halfway down the block before the man in question stopped to face her. His hands slid up her arms as he gazed into her face. “Are you sure about this?”
No, but she was not about to admit that. Hadn’t she just said it had been ages since she’d let herself be picked up by a man in a bar? Actually, she’d never done that before. Well, she could now cross “Pick up stranger” off her bucket list.
Not that it had even been on there in the first place.
She took a deep breath and then nodded. “Yes. I’m sure. Unless you’ve changed your mind.”
“About your name not being Bonnie? Or about this?”
Then his lips found hers and every other thought she’d had vanished.
* * *
The second they hit the room at the hotel, his fingers smoothed across her hair, quickly finding the elastic at the back of her head and sliding it over her locks, freeing the messy knot she’d formed before she’d gone out. The whole mass tumbled free, spilling halfway down her back.
Before she could even cringe over how crazy her waves probably were from the humidity of the day, his voice rumbled above her.
“Hermosa. Me encanta su cabello.” Even as he murmured it, he wound her hair around his hand, tipping her head back. “Tu novio es un idiota.”
The flood of Spanish whisked up her spine, her brain scooping up the words and translating them with ease.
Wow. The man was as hot as they came.
The fact that he’d called her fiancé an idiot made him even hotter. It also gave her a shot of courage. Winding her arms around his neck, she went up on tiptoe, surprised at how far she had to stretch to get to his lips. Too far. She couldn’t reach, unless he bent down. “No more talking.”
“Agreed.”
His fingers went to the back of her fitted blouse and found the zipper, sliding it down with ease.
Okay. That was more like it. Sweet heat fizzed through her tummy and bubbled up her chest, making her shudder.
He stopped. “Okay?”
Far too okay. “Hurry.”
Up went that sexy smile.
The zipper finished its journey, and the back of her blouse parted. His palm skimmed down her skin, seeking something but not finding it.
“Dios mío.”
This time it was Cassie who smiled. She was small enough that she didn’t always wear a bra, and from his reaction she was glad today was one of those days. Coming here with him was the right thing to do. She was sure of it.
Her top fluttered over her shoulders and down her arms, landing on the floor at her feet. Rafe’s fingertips trailed over her collarbone, but didn’t venture any lower. Instead, he moved behind her, twisting her hair and dropping it over her left shoulder. It whispered over her nipple, sending a ripple of sensation through it that jetted straight to the region due south of her breasts. His lips went to the side of her neck, kissing softly, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin he found there.
“Bonnie, open your eyes.”
The name jarred her, threatening to send her libido plummeting through the floor. Then she did as he asked, not even realizing she’d closed her eyes. She wasn’t sure how he knew they were closed since he was behind her, and she couldn’t see...
Her gaze found his.
That’s how. There was a mirror over the dresser in front of her. She swallowed as she took in the two of them standing there. Rafe’s head was still tilted, his lips less than an inch away from the skin he’d been kissing. All thoughts of the fake name skittered out of reach as his hands slowly skimmed up her abdomen, over her ribcage, his left palm dipping under her length of hair. When he reached her breasts he covered them. The sight was heady. And unsettling. And when his fingers parted, catching her nipples between them and pinching, her lids slammed shut again as a wave of need crashed over her.
He could take her right now, and she’d come.
That’s what she wanted.
“Open.”
She blinked again, although her eyes didn’t seem to want to co-operate.
His teeth caught her neck, mimicking what his fingers were doing to her breasts. Squeeze. Release. Squeeze. Release.
“Open.” His words were softer this time. Almost a growl.
Her eyes were already open, so what did he...
A knee nudged the back of hers.
Oh, lordy. Her lips parted, her lungs dragging in air that suddenly seemed still and heavy, while the spot between her legs pulsed with heat.
Somehow she made her feet shuffle apart, the heels of her shoes giving a warning wobble.
“Encantadora.” His hips nudged forward, a ridge of hard flesh finding the groove between her buttocks. His hands left her breasts and traveled down to her hips, holding her in place while he slowly pressed against her again and again. All the while his gaze held hers in the mirror.
She was going to explode, very, very soon, if he didn’t...
He stopped moving, and all her fears about things ending too soon screamed at her for being an idiot. His hands found hers and lifted them, placing them flat on the smooth wood of the dresser. “Mantenerlos allí.”
Keep them right there.
Gulping, she somehow managed a nod, then felt an air-conditioned breeze slide over her calves, up the backs of her knees...her thighs.
Having her hands on the dresser had tipped her forward at the waist, and Rafe was gathering the fabric of her maxi-skirt in his hands, bunching it time and time again, until the whole length of it was up over her behind, baring her legs and exposing her underwear. Not a thong, but small enough that she started to shift.
“Don’t move.”
Heaving in breath after breath, she watched as he removed his wallet, opening it and removing a small packet. Here it came. The moment of truth. If she was going to tell him no, now was the time to do it.
Are you kidding me?
Her body evidently had a mind of its own, because it was screaming all sorts of protests at her.
He set the packet on top of one of her hands, sending another shiver through her. Did he want her to take it?
No. He’d told her to leave her hands where they were.
She heard the snick of another zipper. His, this time.
Cassie’s breath locked in her lungs when the elastic of her panties tightened and then slid over the curve of her backside until they rested just below it, one palm curving around the front of her thigh until he reached the heart of her.
Her body seized as a finger slid into her with ease.
“Ahhhh.” She was powerless to hold back the sound.
“Caliente. Mojado. Tal como esperaba.”
The rational side of her should feel embarrassed that with barely any effort at all he’d aroused her to fever pitch. And he knew it. But the not-so-rational side felt a stab of pride that her body had obeyed him.
All too soon, his hand withdrew. When she started to mutter a protest, he stopped her.
“Shhhh. Almost.”
He retrieved the condom from its resting place and ripped it open in front of her. He lifted it and stroked it down her cheek and over her lips. It was unbearably sexy. She could picture him against her mouth, asking to come in.
She wanted it. Wanted to feel him along her tongue.
“Tell me you want me.”
“I do.” Her eyes closed and then opened again, fixing on his. “I want you.”
“Yes.”
The condom disappeared below her line of vision, but she could picture him slowly rolling the latex cover over his length. His mouth went to her cheek, following the line he’d taken seconds before. She turned her head so she could kiss him. Their lips fused together as Rafe’s hands returned to her hips, easing them backward, tilting them, his mouth following hers as his movements forced her upper body toward the top of the dresser, until her breasts were resting on the wooden surface.
“Open. More.”
He definitely wasn’t talking about her mouth. She spread her legs wide, his chest pushing against her back, hands returning to her breasts.
With a quick thrust of his hips, he entered her, stretching her wider than she thought possible. He stayed like that, their labored breathing the only sound in the room for several long seconds. Then his thumbs were brushing across her nipples, and it was as if he was caressing her somewhere else. A sharp point of arousal began building rapidly, threatening to overtake her.
“Rafe... I don’t think I can... Please.”
“Say my name. Again.”
“Rafe.”
Then he was moving with powerful strokes, sending her hips into the edge of the dresser, the sharp pain only adding to the pleasure.
It was too much. The wave found her. Slammed into her and sent her spinning through the surf, taking her breath away and making her see stars.
She was vaguely aware of Rafe above her, shouting something in Spanish, but she was too lost to try to make sense of it as he thrust into her again and again.
Then it was over. His cheek against hers, nostrils flaring as he dragged in air.
Her own body eased its grip on her senses, and she blinked. The mirror showed that his eyes were closed. She swallowed.
Who would he be when those dark pupils met hers again?
She shifted, trying to brace herself for an abrupt withdrawal. A speedy exit into the night.
“Don’t move.” The eyes opened.
“But...”
His body slid from hers, but it was anything but abrupt. He turned her to face him. “Do you have to leave yet?”
The words sounded as if they’d been forced from him against his will. His sudden frown echoed that thought.
She should. She should go, tossing him a quick thank you on her way out the door. But she didn’t want to. To leave was to face the ugly reality that awaited her outside that door. “No. I don’t have to leave.”
One side of his mouth curved, his frown fading as he swung her into his arms. “Then let’s see if we can try that again. In the comfort of a bed this time.”
He leaned down and nipped her lower lip. “As great and sexy as that was, it was much faster than I’d hoped it would be. So for the next round...”
He tipped her shoulders down so he could catch at the edge of the bedspread and pull it down. “Let’s see just how slow we can go.” With that he set her down on the bed, went over to the dresser and retrieved his wallet. When he pulled out three more condoms, her eyes widened, and she had to moisten her lips.
Surely not.
As if reading her thoughts, he grinned again. “Oh, yes. We can. And we will.”
* * *
Bonnie—if that was even her name—was sprawled naked on her stomach, her hair in a deliciously tangled mess all around her face. A peculiar twinge went through Rafe’s gut as he stared down at her.
Shafts of sunlight were already ducking beneath the hem of the curtains and pooling on the carpet at the bottom of the bed. He was normally long gone by now, his one night binge doing what it always did: blotting out a specific memory.
Almost against his will, he took a step closer, noting her head was precariously perched near the edge of the mattress. The reason for that made a certain part of his body react yet again.
He should wake her up, make sure she got home safely, but something stopped him from touching her. He was due at work in a half hour, but it wasn’t that.
He’d approached last night the same way as he did every year on this date, and yet something about this woman’s appearance in the bar had been different. The way she’d jerked the ring off her finger as if she couldn’t stand it being there one second longer. She’d looked lost, the sense of desperation in her eyes dragging up a sense of protectiveness he hadn’t felt in a long time. Hadn’t wanted to feel in a long time.
Rafe had thought for a moment she was running away from someone. He’d actually glanced behind her to make sure some abusive ex wasn’t following her. When he’d satisfied himself that she was alone, he decided to bide his time and leave her to someone else.
Except she’d sat down beside him, the clear blue of her eyes colliding with his glance and sending all rational thought running for the door. Maybe the alcohol had actually done the job he’d meant it to do and addled his thinking. The rest was history.
So what did he do now that he was no longer under the influence?
She was a big girl. Surely she could hail a cab and get home on her own?
The notepad on the end table caught his attention, along with a black elastic circle.
When she’d reached for the band to put her hair up before settling down to sleep last night, he’d stopped her, the thick mass of strands calling for him to sift through them one more time...to wrap them around himself and...
Hell, she’d driven him wild last night. He closed his eyes to banish the memory.
Time to go. Now. Before he woke her up and made himself later for work than he was already going to be.
Besides, goodbyes were one thing he’d never learned to do well.
Going to the table, he gripped the pen, his fingers accidentally brushing across the hair band in the process. Without thinking, he picked it up and pocketed it, picturing her leaving the hotel with her locks in sexy disarray from what they’d done in this room.
He would probably be damned to eternity for everything that had happened last night.
No. The damning had taken place many years ago, when shaking eighteen-year-old hands had placed his signature at the bottom of an irrevocable document.
He grabbed the hotel stationery. This time there would be no signature. The pen hovered over the pristine white paper for several seconds as he thought. Then he scrawled two words. No Goodbye. No Thanks for a fun evening. Just: Taxi fare. Then opening his wallet one last time, he drew out a crisp fifty-dollar bill. Because unless he wanted to go snooping through her purse or, worse, wake her up to ask if she had any money, it was the only thing he could think of to do.
Laying the bill under the note, he set a cheesy palm tree alarm clock on top of it.
Then he quietly exited the room. This was one event that would go down in annals of What Not to Do with a Beautiful Woman.
Because every moan and touch and thrust was permanently seared in his skull. A cautionary tale at best. So the only thing left to do was tiptoe back to his normal mundane life and never think of Bonnie—or whatever her name was—ever again.
