Internal Affairs (15 page)

Rafe had always loved the way the jacket fit her. A gentle caressing of her curves. He was suddenly reminded of the night she he had worn it—and nothing else—as she crawled atop him in bed and made him forget all about a looming trig exam. Made him forget about everything except her, wearing that simple swatch of tailored gray cloth over that magnificent—and pliant—body.

Was wearing it now a signal of some kind? Was she trying to tell him something? Was it a symbol of solidarity, love, or simply just a jacket?

“I had to do it, Rafe,” she said. “I know this all happened because of me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I know this has to be Oliver’s doing. He’s done it out of spite and jealousy, and if he’s as powerful as you say he is, he’d be able to call on the right people to make it happen.”

Rafe had, of course, been thinking the exact same thing, but Lisa hadn’t provoked Sloan.
He
had.

“You weren’t the one who stormed into your ex’s hotel suite and arrested him,” he said. “You weren’t the one who broke into a victim’s apartment and ran from his own sister. Believe me, this is my own stupidity at work. But I was looking for a way to get Sloan out of your life without...”

He didn’t finish the sentence.

“Without what?” she asked.

Rafe hesitated, wondering how much he should tell her. But he knew he needed to be open and honest with her. He’d learned that the hard way.

“My bosses called me into a meeting yesterday. After Sloan was freed. They’ve been investigating him for months.”

“If he’s what you say he is, then that’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” he said. “But they had a proposition for me. One they tried to make very difficult to refuse.”

She frowned. “What kind of proposition?”

“They wanted me to turn you.”

“Turn me?”

“They wanted me to use my influence with you, to use our past, to try to get on your good side and convince you to cooperate.”

She stiffened. “Cooperate in what way?”

“They wanted me to convince you to encourage Sloan to return to you so that you could spy on him and report back to me.”

Her eyes hardened. “And did you agree to this?”

“No.”

She didn’t seem to have heard his response. “So is that what this has all been about? Taking us to Nonna’s house? Being so nice to Chloe?”

“No,”
Rafe said forcefully. “Of course not. I would never do that to you. I would never do anything to put you or Chloe in danger. That’s why I broke into that apartment. I was hoping to find something that would connect the guy’s murder to Sloan.”

She softened, considered this a moment. Then tears sprang to her eyes as she said, “So then this did happen because of me. I’ve made your life a mess.”

He grabbed hold of her hand. “Stop that, Leese.
You
didn’t do anything. This is all on me.”

They let that hang in the air for a moment, then she laced her fingers through his and squeezed. “You don’t know how much I’ve missed you, Rafe. How many times I’ve cursed myself for letting you go.”

“You don’t think I feel the same way?”

Her eyes looked hopeful. “Do you?”

He looked into them, tears and all, thinking what a waste these past three years had been without her. Thinking how a simple miscommunication between them had separated them for far too long. And of the irony that it was fate—and Oliver Sloan—that had brought them back together.

On the porch last night, he had hesitated. But not now. He leaned toward her, kissed her. Felt the heat of her breath, her desire.

And there were no mistakes this time.

They both knew exactly what the other wanted.

Chapter Twenty

They made love in the shower.

When they first entered Rafe’s apartment, Lisa was shocked by the mess, once again feeling guilty that this had all happened because of her. Despite Rafe’s insistence that he was the one at fault, she knew that he would never have gotten into this trouble if he hadn’t been trying to protect her.

She took one look at the open cupboards and drawers and the books and papers strewn across the floor and immediately pushed him toward the bedroom.

“Go get yourself cleaned up,” she said. “You smell like the inside of a jail cell.”

He had laughed, kissed her on the nose, then headed toward his bathroom.

When he was gone, Lisa got to work. The least she could do to thank him was clean the place up.

She started with the kitchenette, making sure the dishes, canned goods and paper products were all back in place, that drawers were all shut, then she moved on to the living room and started returning the books to their shelves.

She was halfway through the pile, listening to the sound of Rafe’s shower, when she found a book that momentarily stopped her heart. It was a copy of Robert Frost’s poems that she had given to him shortly before they’d split up.

There was a bookmark poking up from the pages and Lisa cracked the book open to it, finding a small strip of photo booth snapshots. Four photographs of her and Rafe mugging for the camera, taken at a shopping mall one day when they had ditched their classes.

Lisa remembered that day well, especially what they’d done that afternoon on Rafe’s bed. The almost insatiable desire they’d shared.

In the book itself, there was a highlighted sentence, Frost’s words staring up to her, speaking to her, as if the poet—and Rafe—had read her mind:

Love is an irresistible desire to be irresistibly desired.

A moment later, the books and the mess were forgotten and Lisa was in Rafe’s bathroom, pulling off her clothes, looking in through the steamed glass at his newly toned body, as the water cascaded over his broad shoulders, the expanse of his chest, dusted lightly with hair, the trail that hair made downward past the ripple of his abs and below.

She stared openly at him, feeling the desire overwhelm her, moisten her, as she opened the shower door and stepped into his arms. She offered herself to him, pressing her nipples against his chest, feeling the brush of his firmness against her thigh. Feeling it grow and expand as if begging to be touched.

So she obliged, reaching a hand down to squeeze, remembering the feel of him as if it were only yesterday, yet experiencing it in a whole new way, now that he had grown from a boy into very much a man.

They immediately fell into their old rhythm, Lisa now dropping to her knees, feeling the warmth of the water rushing over her shoulders as she took him into her mouth.

She heard him groan and the sound empowered her, thrilled her, knowing that she was giving him the ultimate pleasure. He put his hands on her head, and she felt them tighten against her as she worked. She knew instinctively that it had been a long time since he’d experienced this. Knew instinctively that he was coming close.

She felt his hands tugging at her, trying to get her to stand up so that they could move on to even better things, but she stayed put, wanting to reward him quickly for his sacrifices, to thank him for being there for her. It wouldn’t have to stop here, of course. She already knew that they’d be moving into the bedroom after this, throwing that mattress back on its bedframe and continuing where they left off.

So she ignored him and concentrated on her task, feeling him grow even harder, listening to his groans, his breaths become more rapid.

Then he stiffened, his fingers wrapped up in her hair, tightening against her head as he let out a final, tortured moan and released himself.

She held him there until he was done, then gently pulled away and got to her feet, falling into his arms again, holding him close as she waited for the wave to roll over him and dissipate.

And, as she predicted, they didn’t stop there.

* * *

T
HEY DIDN’T BOTHER
to dry off, didn’t bother to put the mattress on the bedframe. They simply knocked it flat on the floor and fell on top of it, their drenched skin soaking the bedsheets.

But neither one cared.

Rafe’s hands began to roam, finding her breasts, gripping her enflamed nipples between his fingers, a tingle of electricity shooting through Lisa as his mouth found hers, his tongue slipping urgently between her lips.

Then one of his hands slid down her belly, stopping for a moment to caress her navel, sending a jolt straight to the sweet spot. She moaned in his ear as he moved on, using those strong fingers, caressing her, pressing the heel of his palm against her pelvis as he explored.

More shutters of electricity shot through her, tunneling straight for her brain, tiny explosions of pleasure bursting like the
rat-tat-tat
of a machine gun, growing in intensity as his fingers continued to move, to caress, to press and pinch and pull.

Then he pulled his hand away and slid down her body, tattooing her with kisses along the way, moving his mouth to her pelvis, using his tongue in place of his fingers, the tiny explosions growing in intensity.

She suddenly realized that her legs were trembling uncontrollably, something that had never happened to her before, even with Rafe. She was almost embarrassed by her inability to control them, but decided to go with the moment, let her body react however it chose to.

This feeling was too exquisite to fight.

She knew Rafe was merely reciprocating for what she’d done to him in the shower, but she had forgotten how skilled he was at this, and the reminder was so raw and real that she could barely contain herself.

Even so, she wanted him inside her. It had only been a few minutes since they left the shower, but she was more than ready for him and hoped that he was up to the task.

He must have read her mind, because he stopped suddenly and got up on his knees before her. And she shouldn’t have wondered about him, because there, below the ripple of his abs, he was ready to go again.

And he looked enormous. Bigger than in the shower.

Bigger than she remembered from their days together.

He put a hand on each of her knees and gently pushed her legs apart, lowering himself toward her, rubbing against her as if priming her for what was to come.

But she didn’t need priming. She was more than ready. Was, in fact, desperate for him. She needed him inside her.

Now.

A split second later she got her wish as he thrust hard and deep, filling her completely, his heat radiating up through her, growing in intensity with each new thrust.

She heard someone moaning, and realized it was her. A loud, long, uncontrolled utterance, punctuated by those thrusts.

And now Rafe was moaning again, too, the sound filling her ears, heightening her excitement. She felt the current between them growing stronger, hotter, more electric, building and building, their breaths shortening, timed perfectly to the rhythm of their bodies.

Then, all at once, something gave way inside her, something charged and fluid that worked its way toward her brain and blossomed there.

She squeezed her eyes shut and let go, drifting away on a wave of pleasure, letting it crash over her.

Then Rafe uttered a low moan and tensed, and she felt him throbbing inside her, releasing himself, his warm wetness filling her, feeding her, pleasing her.

Then he collapsed against her and brought his mouth to hers, his breath hot and earthy, as he said softly, “I...love...you...”

And despite everything wonderful about the passion that had consumed her—had consumed them both—those three words were the real magic. And the only thing that mattered to her.

* * *

L
ATER, AS THEY LAY
curled in each other’s arms, Lisa said, “I’ve been thinking about what you told me.”

He smiled, nuzzled her neck. “Just now? That I love you?”

“Well...yes, but no.”

He got up his elbow. “Because I do, you know. That wasn’t just a heat-of-the-moment thing. I’ve never stopped loving you, Leese. I don’t think it’s humanly possible.”

She smiled and pressed her nose against his chin. “I feel the same way, Rafe, but that’s not what I mean.”

“Then what?”

“I’m talking about what you told me in the cab. About your bosses wanting you to turn me.”

“Forget that. I didn’t even entertain the notion for a second.”

“I know,” she said, “but maybe you should have.”

He froze, narrowed his eyes at her. “What are you talking about?”

It was a thought she’d harbored since the moment he told her.

“Maybe I should do what they want,” she said. “Maybe I should go undercover, so to speak, make Oliver think he still has a chance with me. Try to help their investi—”

“Forget it. That’s not going to happen.”

“But what if I can find some way to—”

He sat upright. “I said forget it. There’s no way I’m letting them put you in that kind of danger. If he were to find out what you were up to, I have no doubt he’d have you killed. You’d wind up just like Azarov and his partner, sitting in a Jaguar with a bullet in your head.”

He was heated now. Obviously troubled by the mere notion of her doing something like this. So she backed down, didn’t press it.

“All right,” she said. “You’re right.”

“You better believe I am.”

“It was just a thought. I want to help in some way. I want to...”

She paused as the name he had spoken finally resonated.

Azarov.

“My God,” she said.

“What’s wrong?”

“That name. Azarov. I’ve heard it before. Well, not really heard it, but I’ve seen it on a document.”

He nodded. “He would’ve been listed on the prosecutor’s complaint against me as one of the victims.”

Lisa shook her head. “No, no. Not today. A long time ago. Over a year now.”

“What are you talking about? Where?”

Lisa took a breath, thinking about what she’d done in hopes that it would keep Oliver from contesting the divorce and ensure that he’d back away from her. She had always thought what she had found had something to do with a shady real estate deal, but now she wondered if it was much more than that.

“When I asked Oliver for a divorce,” she said, “he outright refused. Said there was nothing I could ever do that would persuade him to let me go.”