Raphaela's Gift (30 page)

"But what about Raphaela? Won't you be sacrificing your time with her to be with me?"

"It doesn't have to be that way." He leaned down and kissed her nose, then smiled. "Was that what you were worried about? That I wouldn't be able to handle the both of you?"

"Well, yeah. That was part of it. You're a busy man, and spending time with Raphaela is so important right now. I didn't want to rob her of that. Plus, there was Marian."

"Are you for real?" His gaze searched her face. "How did you manage to hold onto that self-sacrificing part of you--that amazing, loveable quality--in this world?"

Loveable? Her gaze dropped to the wooden deck planks, and her face warmed. Loveable? "I don't know. It's just the way I’m, I guess."

"Well, I hope you never change. You're an amazing woman, Faith LeFeuvre, and I can't wait to get to know everything about you." His hands slid down the length of her arms until he held her hands lightly with teasing fingertips. A playful grin spread over his face, sending the heat from her face down to a deeper place. "So, does this mean yes?" he asked.

"Yes?" she asked, bewildered, her mind suddenly mud. What he could do with those fingers!

"You'll work with Ella. You'll live here with us. We'll give this thing between us a try."

Was she making the right decision? She looked around, at the yard, lush green, and private with a line of hedges running along both sides of the cedar fence.

At a sudden impulse, she tugged her hands free from his light grasp, dashed to the iron fence closing off the pool, threw open the latch and dove into the cool, refreshing water.

The chill sent shock waves and shudders up her spine as she treaded water a few feet from the poolside. Garret grinned wickedly, lifted his t-shirt to reveal the deep lines of his abdomen and wide span of his chest. She'd never seen such a sexy body before, such defined muscles without being over-developed. The sprinkling of dark curls on his chest and the line that plunged down into the waist of his shorts left her wishing she were closer, so she could trail an explorative fingertip down, down, down.

And then he unbuttoned his shorts and slid the zipper down. He wouldn't…would he? Why wouldn't he? His eyes blazing, he shimmied out of his khaki shorts and kicked them away. They landed in the pool, floating on the surface until the resulting air pockets filled with water and the garment grew sodden and heavy.

After the shorts sank to the pool's blue-tiled bottom, she raised her eyes to him again. He wore only a pair of black cotton athletic boxers. They fit him snugly, accentuating the bulge between his legs and encasing the firm thigh muscles.

His body, hard planes and sinewy muscle, was virtually exposed to her. She was in awe of his raw beauty, felt like she should worship that perfect body--a true work of art. Heat shot through her veins. Her mouth went instantly dry and an ache between her legs, a throbbing need, carried her to the poolside.

"You wouldn't," she croaked, as he toyed with the elastic waistband of his boxers.

Before she could clamber out of the pool, he exacted a sleek swan dive, cutting through the water behind her.

She turned around, her hand gripping the edge of the pool as she watched his lithe body slice through the water. Before she knew it, he was next to her, his hands running up her legs, to her waist, and then her breasts as he broke the surface and shook the water from his hair.

His fingertips teased the aching buds, and oh, how she wanted to feel him inside her. All she could think of was the feel of her body joined with his as he brought rising waves of passion with his hands and mouth. He kissed her neck and arms, then nibbled her breasts through the thin fabric of her bathing suit. One hand wound around her back, dropping ever so slowly to the small of her back, to her buttocks and finally exploring the elastic at the crotch of her bathing suit.

When she felt him slide his hand inside her bathing suit bottoms, a shudder of need and anticipation shot up her spine and down her limbs. She closed her eyes and dropped her head back. It rested against the concrete poolside as she waited for the first touch.

Then he stopped.

Why? Would he leave her heaving for breath, aching for his touch, for completion? She searched his face as he pulled away from her.

"What's wrong?" she asked quietly.

"Nothing."

"Then why? Why stop?" She tried not to sound as desperate as she felt.

"Because I want it to be right. Not like this. Not when we have so much to work through yet."

"Oh?" Now it was her turn to wonder if he was for real. What man turned down what was so freely offered?

"Damn, I want to," he muttered, running his fingers through his wet hair. "You have no idea how much. But I want you to be sure. I don't want any regret."

"How gallant," she said in a teasing voice. When he scowled at her, she added, "Really. That's very noble." She hoisted herself from the pool, and wrapped her arms around herself to stop the shivers suddenly quaking her body. "I'm freezing. Do you have a towel?"

Garret climbed out of the pool and dashed back toward the patio, and she followed, watching the muscles of his back tense and stretch as he moved. She wished she hadn't seen him like this, wished she wasn't so driven to connect with him on every level.

He turned and, smiling broadly, wrapped a warm towel around her body. It felt so good, soothing, and fragrant as though it had been just pulled from the drier. She reveled in how its warmth seeped into her body and calmed the shivers.

Garret motioned toward a pair of lounge chairs sitting next to each other in a patch of sunlight. She nodded and sat, closing her eyes to the bright light and enjoying the heat of it on her cheeks. Bright red and yellow blobs of color danced in her vision as she listened to Garret settle into the chair next to her.

"So, would you like to take a few days to settle in before you start full time? I could pay a temp to stay here until Friday. Would that be enough time?"

He was persistent. She'd give him that. But she still was not convinced his proposal was the best thing for any of them. How would they balance the business and personal relationships? "I don't know." She'd never lived with a man. And there was Raphaela to consider too.

"You need more time? Did I tell you the apartment's furnished?"

She chuckled and, squinting, glanced at him. He was looking at her, that dashing smile still in place. She looked away, shrouded herself in the safe blackness behind her eyelids once more. "I mean, I don't think I can live here. How could we possibly be both employer-employee and lovers at the same time?"

"Who said we're going to be lovers?"

She looked at him.

He shot her a playful smirk.

"What happened in the pool said it," she muttered, more for her own ears than his.

He turned his head, staring up at the cloudless sky. "Okay, okay. We definitely have chemistry, but that doesn't mean the other arrangement couldn't work."

"I don't think it's a good idea."

"Okay." He stood, and she watched him walk toward the house, then closed her eyes and floated in the red and gold world that enveloped her.

Moments later, a shot of icy cold slammed her, wracking her in shivers once again. She leapt from her seat, bewildered and angry and…wet. "What the hell?"

Garret stood before her, grinning and holding an empty pitcher.

"You shit." She growled.

"I figured I'd make the rest of your body the same temperature as your feet."

She guessed she must have looked pathetic standing there blue and shivering, because within a few seconds, he pulled his other hand from behind his back and held it out to her. "Come here. Let me make it up to you."

She hesitantly took his hand as she tried not to smile. What would he do next? This playful side of him was so new and refreshing, even if it involved ice cubes.

He led her back into the chill of the house and, dripping ice water, she followed him up the stairs and down the hall to the last door. He opened it with a flourish. "My suite."

She hesitated. Had he changed his mind about…? Her body heated instantly, and where his fingers had last delved before they'd left the pool tingled with anticipation.

He tugged her through the massive room with the stately cherry wood four-poster bed, matching dressers and an enormous window spilling the last of the evening sun onto the white-carpeted floor. The room even smelled good, clean and fresh. Lavender?

He led her toward a door at the other end of the room and into the biggest bathroom she'd ever seen. All natural stone and marble, a massive sunken jet tub sat at its rear, surrounded by windows and live plants like a jungle oasis. The scent of lavender blossomed, filling the air, along with the sound of the jets. The tub practically spilled over with bubbles.

And then, before she could stop him, Garret swept her off her feet and carried her to the tub, lowering her, shorts, sodden towel and all, into the warm, fragrant tub.

"Ahhh…" she sighed.

"I thought you would like it," he said, slipping into the water next to her. He reached to a bottle of champagne sitting nestled within the palms and ferns.

"You're a regular Don Juan, aren't you? Bubble bath and champagne. Do you do this for all the girls?" She unwrapped the sodden towel and rung it out before tossing it at him.

He grinned. "Actually, this Don Juan has been out of commission for some time. You're the first woman I've had in the house since my divorce."

He was either lying or too good to be true. In three years he hadn't had a single woman in his home? Maybe he'd taken them to hotels, or went to their homes? He couldn't have remained celibate all that time.

"You expect me to believe that?" she asked, hoping her smile would ease the sting of her words.

"Is it that hard to believe?" He popped the champagne cork and the frothing, sparkling liquid spilled into the tub to mingle with the dancing bubbles. He poured champagne into a crystal flute and handed it to her, and then poured some for himself. Holding his glass up to her, he said, "To new beginnings."

"To new beginnings," she repeated and sipped the cold, crisp wine. The bubbles danced in her mouth and throat as she swallowed. She wasn't much for champagne, wasn't much for alcohol period, but she liked the way this one tasted. She took another swallow, and then fearing she would get tipsy since she normally didn't drink, she set the glass on the side of the tub.

"Don't you like it?"

"I do, but I'm not much of a drinker. Or maybe you want to get me drunk?"

"Nah. Besides, I'm not much of a drinker either." He set his full glass next to hers. "I just thought we should have a toast. Now, where were we?" He asked, sliding deeper into the bubbles.

"You were telling me how you haven't had a woman in your house since your divorce, and I was doubting you," she said with a smile. She didn't know if it was the intimacy of the tub or the champagne that was making her so fearless, since normally she would have let that subject drop.

"It's true, whether you believe it or not."

She studied him, his cheekbones, the dark shadow of stubble lining his jaw, the line of his nose and chin. How could a man who looked like that isolate himself from women for years? Frankie had nearly fallen over herself when she'd first seen him.

Was he a player? Funny, she hadn't gotten that impression, before now…

He flashed a smile, his straight white teeth gleaming in the weakening sunlight sprinkling between the heavy foliage around the windows. "Why is it so hard for you to believe?"

Take
this one slow. He's dangerous.
"Why? Because a guy like you has to have women trailing behind you like the Pied Piper had rats."

He chuckled. "Rats, eh? A good description of the women I've met. He dropped his head until it was immersed in the water and slicked back the curls that had started to dry haphazardly over his head. "Actually, they weren't all that bad, but they weren't my type either."

"So what is your type?" She held her breath, waiting for his answer as though her life depended upon it. Why should it be so important? Wouldn't she want to know now if she wasn't right for him? Would she try to force herself into the mold he described like she had with Steven, and every guy she'd dated before him, only to find herself miserable again?

For the first time she didn't want to. He would either accept her as she was, or to hell with him. She'd learned her lesson. At last.

He leaned closer, until she could smell the champagne on his breath, until her body tingled from head to toe in anticipation of his touch. She leaned back, her body opening to him of its own accord. How it would feel to have his weight pressed upon her, his pelvis nestled between her legs.

Garret closed his eyes to the sight of Faith and pulled back again, more frustrated with himself than he would ever let on. She was so beautiful, so intelligent, so giving. Why couldn't he let himself go--envelop himself in her, both mind and body, and enjoy what she was?

What was holding him back now?

They'd conquered so many obstacles to get to this point, Marian, Faith's work, his own defensiveness and sarcasm, and now he found himself cowering away. Why, why, why?