When I'm with You (26 page)

Katie. God, he couldn't wait to find her. He'd planned to reach Jamaica far sooner than this, but as happened so often these days, he planned and God laughed.

He expected to see the dark-skinned giant, Balboa, behind the bar, and was instead greeted by a doe-eyed, strikingly beautiful woman who looked decidedly uncomfortable. When she stepped back, he knew why. She appeared only days away from delivering her burden. “Balboa here?”

She scowled, wiping out a battered tankard. “No.”

“Is Katie here?”

He expected her to ask “Katie, who?”, but she didn't. Her scowl deepened. She swiped at the tankard with a bit more force. “No. I wouldn't let that one set foot in my tavern. She's working at Madame Zeta's these days.”

It was a good thing the tavern lighting wasn't bright, because Rafe was sure every last drop of blood drained from his face. The pit of his gut just dropped into his boots. “What?”

She nodded. “The whorehouse on the other end of the docks. That's where you'll find Katie.” She spit on the floor behind the bar.

Rafe felt sick. “Are you certain?”

The woman gave him a piercing look that would have made his blood freeze, had any remained in his veins. “Are you daft, man? A woman knows when her husband plans to sniff another woman out. Andre thought I wouldn't see it. But I'm not stupid. And I refused to allow that used piece anywhere near here.”

“I don't know who Andre is, and frankly, I don't give a damn. I just want to know where Katie is.”

“Look for her there. Probably got her legs wide open for some trash. From what I hear, that's all she good at.”

It was fortunate she was a woman, for if she'd been a man he'd have put her through the wall for her trouble.

His nausea melted into red-hot fury. He knew it had taken him far longer than it should have to get here, but he'd never expected her to go back to her old ways. After all her talk about never going back there again.

A red haze dropped before his eyes, and he shoved two men out of his way as he stalked out of the tavern. By the time he reached Madame Zeta's front door, he vowed he'd kill the man in bed with Katie. He stepped into the entryway, the overpowering spicy scent of lilies filling his nose as the door closed behind him. This wasn't the first time he'd been inside Madame Zeta's, but it'd been a long time since his last visit and he didn't recognize the lady who greeted him with a smile.

“Good evening, sir. What is your pleasure for this evening?”

“Katie.” He couldn't keep the furious growl from his voice, and he ignored the way the girl seemed to shrink away from him. “Get me Katie. Now.”

“I don't think she is available—”

“Where is she? I'll get her myself.” He stalked out of the entryway to the parlor doorway, where he poked his head in to find an empty room.

“Captain Sebastiano!” Madame Zeta obviously remembered him, as her voice was lilting and welcoming as she hurried toward him. “How are you? Have you come with your brothers or are you alone?”

“I want to know where Katie is. I understand she works for you.”

Madame's forehead wrinkled, and her eyes were puzzled. “Well, yes, but I—”

“Which room is she in?” He didn't care how abrupt he was, but shoved past her to make his way toward the narrow staircase.

“She is in Orchid's room, but—”

His boots thundered against the stair risers. “Which floor?” he called, halfway up the stairs.

“The third, but Captain—”

He ignored her, even as she and the other girl hurried after him. At the third-floor landing, he stormed down the narrow corridor, throwing open doors, not caring who or what he interrupted, until he came to the last door on his right.

He paused, his hand hovering above the handle. Did he really want to see Katie in a compromising position with another man? Did he want that image, of his beautiful Katie in the throes of passion with someone else, seared into his memory for the rest of his days?

Both Madame and her girl caught up with him, and Madame was out of breath as she said, “What the devil are you about, Captain?”

“Who is she with?”

“No one.” Madame shook her head.

Just then, the door swung open, and Katie stared up at him with surprised eyes. “Rafe?”

“Where is he?” He shoved past her, stomping into the room. “Where is the bastard?”

“Rafe, what're you—”

“Never going back to this, are you?” He blazed scarlet fury as he rounded on her, although even as he raised his voice he knew something wasn't right. In the farthest recesses of his brain, he knew something was terribly, terribly wrong. But he wasn't about to stop to examine it. It could wait; his words couldn't. “Never want to do this again, eh? And yet, look where you are!”

“Rafe, what the— Have you gone completely mad?” She stared up at him, her green eyes flooded with what looked like confusion. If he hadn't worked himself into such a fury, he probably would have seen it before, but it was too late.

“Have
I
gone mad? I find you
here
of all places and
I'm
the one who's mad?”

“Rafe.” She took him by the arm, and the sudden skip of his heart made tossing her hand off impossible. “Calm yourself.”

“Calm—”

“She isn't working,” Madame Zeta broke in, the feathers in her bonnet bobbing as she shook her head. “Least, not in the way you're thinking.”

He turned to snap at her to hush, and his voice fled him. All three women stared at him as if he'd indeed gone mad, and that feeling that something was wrong came surging back. This time, however, he paused to consider it.

Katie's hand tightened gently on his arm. “Come with me,” she said, her voice calm and soothing, “and we'll talk.”

“Sarah, take that basket below—” Madame Zeta pointed to the basket in question, on the floor in the doorway where Katie had been, “—and leave them be.”

Sarah nodded. “Yes, Madame.”

“Come with me.” Katie's fingers slid through his, and Rafe almost groaned at the contact. There really couldn't have been a worse place to finally find her. The air practically crackled with sensual electricity. Touching her only made it worse. Her hand was soft, so small that his swallowed it, and the urge to touch more of her nearly overwhelmed him.

She led him to a small room at the end of the corridor. One look at the narrow bed near the window and he closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. It took every bit of will he possessed not to pull her into his arms and devour her.

But she still hadn't explained why she was in a brothel, and how one worked there without
working
there, so he pulled his hand free and folded his arms.

The wind was stronger now, the white draperies fluttering as she closed the window. White. A relief after seeing so much red. His eyes practically stung from all the red. “I'm waiting.”

“So am I,” she replied, facing him.

“For what?”

“For you to be completely calm.”

“I am. Now explain yourself.”

“Mrs. Bates discovered I'd—”

He cut her off impatiently. “I know all that. Martha and my sisters told me when I returned.”

“And when was that?”

“The first week of April.”

“So where have you been?”

Her voice was sharp and her eyes hard. She mimicked his stance, arms folded as she glared up at him. Damn it all, she was angry with him. She was working—without really working—in a whorehouse, and she was angry with
him
. It would have been humorous if it weren't so irritating.

“I was delayed.”

“So I see,” she replied dryly.

“I beg your pardon, of course.” Now it was his turn to be sarcastic, the words spilling out, the urge to strike back stronger than he could hold back. “But I was delayed in my departure from Bermuda.”

“For what? What was so important that you couldn't keep your promise?”

He waited a beat, then plunged ahead. “My mother, I'm afraid. She had the absolute gall to die on us.”

Chapter Twenty-One

In all the times she'd envisioned this conversation, those were
not
the words she'd expected Rafe to utter, and she stared up at him, struck dumb by his revelation. Her anger fled as if he'd slapped it out of her. “She…oh…oh, my. Rafe…I'm so sorry.”

He remained rooted where he was, shoulders and back stiff, expression blank. Without thinking, she closed the space between them, sliding her arms about his waist and pulling him into her. He resisted at first, remained stiff against her, but then finally relented. He wrapped his arms around her, and she held back her sigh of relief. Things were so very close to being where they were supposed to be. She felt it deep inside and closed her eyes, pressing her head against his chest as she murmured, “I'm so very sorry.”

He didn't speak for a long time, but held her, perhaps a little tighter than necessary. Not that she minded. When he pulled away, she gazed up at him, surprised at what she saw in his face. His anger was gone. He looked tired, as if he hadn't slept in some time. No, not that sort of tired. He looked weary, and rightfully so. And a bit woebegone. It made her want to hold his head against her breast and whisper that all would be well, that this was only a terrible dream from which he would escape when he awoke.

His fingertips brushed her cheek, slid over her ear and up into her hair. Then he bent toward her, and his lips caught hers in the softest, most tender kiss she'd ever received. He didn't pull her closer; his hand remained on her face, cradling her cheek as if it was something precious and fragile, and it did more to send her heart soaring than just about anything else ever could. His touch was so simple, and yet it spoke of that basic need to feel something warm and alive, something that could only be found with her. Or so she hoped.

His fingers were warm against her skin, their tips just barely grazing her jawline. His lips were equally warm, soft as they teased hers, nibbled at them, parting as the tip of his tongue probed against her. Her back arched, pressing her even deeper into him as she parted her lips and bade him entry.

His free arm eased about her waist, and he bent her back slightly. His tongue, slow and teasing, caressed hers in a long, sensuous stroke that sent jets of fire spearing through her. She'd forgotten how amazing a kiss could be, how it could awaken every last sense and nerve in her body and make it crackle with the dance of desire.

She tightened her arms about him, reveling in the solid mass of muscle pressed hard against her breasts. They seemed much more sensitive to the simplest of touches, her nipples tightening at their first contact. The flames started at her feet, licked around her ankles, creeping upward as he opened his mouth wider to draw her tongue deep inside.

He tasted of sin and beauty, of heady rum and rainwater, and her fingers developed little minds of their own, curling about the tails of his damp linen shirt to tug it from his breeches.

His skin was hot and equally damp from the rain. Her palms flattened against him. The thick muscle layered beneath his skin jumped when she pressed her fingers into him. She skimmed her hands down into the valley of his lower back, beneath the waistband of his breeches, and her entire body reverberated with the rumble of his low groan.

His hair brushed against her, cool and damp as he swept his lips along her jaw, down the slope of her neck. Her head fell back, her eyes closing. Rafe kissed his way along her throat, and when he reached the curve of her shoulder, he nipped her ever so gently. She shivered. She couldn't help it. Tingles, soft at first but growing in strength, rippled through her with each teasing nip, each not-so-teasing kiss.

“Rafe…” she breathed, easing her hands deeper into his breeches, letting them curve about the firm mounds of his backside. As she pulled him into her, she heard his breath hitch in his throat.

She smiled, bringing one hand around to the front, to pop the button, and as she did, Rafe's whispered, “Thank you,” made her giggle softly.

He pulled back, his smile equal parts humor and sin as he caught her face in his hands. “Do I amuse you,
novia
?”

“I wasn't expecting thanks,” she confessed. “But you're welcome just the same.”

His eyes glinted, his thumbs grazing along her cheekbones. “I've missed you.”

She pressed her lips together, trying to find the right words. To say she'd missed him as well didn't capture just how acutely she'd felt his absence. There were no words, and so she tugged him to her again and pushed up onto her toes to kiss him.

His hands slid from her cheeks, down along her neck and around her. A few moments later, warm air skittered across her back as her dress fell open. The fabric spilled from her shoulders, swished down her body to puddle around her ankles.

Her corset was next. She kicked it aside as it landed on her feet, and one of the ribs stabbed her. The pain was forgotten a second later as she caught his breeches and shoved them from his hips.

“Katie.” He sounded as breathless as she felt, pulling back to gaze down at her through eyes dark and swirling with desire.

She waited for him to unlace her chemise, but instead he wrapped her in his arms, his hands easing down over her, cupping her backside to lift and press her against him.

Damn, but he was an impressive man, and there was nothing small about him. She ached to ease her legs about his waist, to pull him completely into her, but the chemise tight about her legs made that impossible.

He caught the hem and dragged up. The linen skimmed along her thighs, and as it bunched around her waist, she gave into the need to feel him where she ached the most for him.

He arched against her, teasing her as his hardness met her softness, and they sighed as one. She reached for him, but before she could curl her fingers about him, he rocked away from her. “Not yet,
novia
,” he whispered, the huskiness of his voice testament to his own need for her.

“Rafe…”

“Not yet. I'm not finished with you.”

“Not finished?”

Promise filled his smile. “Not quite.”

He turned and bent to set her on the bed, pressing her against the mattress and covering her body with his. Her legs were tight about his waist, but it didn't take much for him to break her hold, chuckling as she let out a whimper of protest.

“So unfair,” she murmured, trying to scowl at him but failing miserably. How could she, when his fingers now skittered along her inner thigh and it felt so wonderful?

“You will thank me,” he whispered, leaning to brush her lips with a light kiss.

He tugged his tunic over his head, and it fluttered to the floor, forgotten as he loomed over her once more. His lips came light and teasing against her neck, his tongue flicking against her pulse.

He nipped the slope of her shoulder again, then kissed his way down her breastbone and moved to his right. She sucked in a sharp breath, heat sweeping through her as his lips caressed the inner curve of her left breast. Gentle. Teasing. Delightful.

Her back bowed as he caught her nipple with his lips. She sank her hands into his hair, twisted the thick strands to hold him to her as he flicked the tip of his tongue over the bead. Fire filled her, ribboned through her, spun and danced its way from her center outward.

His breath came warm on her sensitive skin, and as his mouth closed about her right nipple, she pulled his hair such force that she gritted, “Beg your pardon,” and released him.

“There is no need,” came his throaty, whispered response. He lifted his head to smile down at her. “You didn't hurt me,
mi niña querida
. Pull as hard as you like if it means you are enjoying yourself.”

“Are you certain?”

He held her gaze as he swirled his tongue about her nipple. She shivered at the sensuality of it, her toes curling as he paused long enough to whisper, “Absolutely.”

He caught her nipple again, and this time she let her fingers twist in his hair without apology. What he did felt so amazing, sent such pleasure sparking through her, that she couldn't hold back her gasp, couldn't keep from arching into his touch.

The tip of Rafe's tongue swept against her following each teasing kiss. He brushed down over her belly, pausing to dip into her navel, which brought a breathless laugh to her lips. He looked up, and when he winked at her she was certain she'd melt right away.

He was as playful as he was sensual, and she shivered from his attentions, her skin tingling, her insides twisting, pleasure burning its way through her until she thought she might go mad from it. She'd forgotten how playful a lover he could be. As he worked his way down, she released his hair to trail her fingernails along his shoulders, down his upper arms, over his smooth, hot skin.

He broke away from her to suck in a sharp breath, and then it was
his
turn to shiver. No one would ever believe that someone as imposing and fierce-looking as Rafe Sebastiano could tremble beneath her touch. She wouldn't have believed it if she hadn't seen it for herself.

His voice held that same shiver as his husky, “Katie,” came warm across her belly.

He didn't wait for her to respond but resumed his teasing kisses. Down over her lower belly, pausing to playfully nip.

Over the front of her left thigh.

Along her knee.

Down her shin.

Then he shifted to her right leg.

She
was
going to melt. Just simply melt away as the fire in her blood threatened to consume her.

He teased the back of her right knee, then the inner curve of her thigh, and the wet heat of his tongue sent a
zing
of delight through her. The tingles were sharp and spicy, and she gasped as the familiar knots of desire coiled deep inside her. “Oh, yes… Rafe…”

He broke away and raked her from head to toe with a slow gaze. An unfamiliar sense of shyness overtook her, the urge to cast her eyes down almost impossible to resist.

Somehow she managed, even as the fire in his gaze snatched her breath away. Raw desire was etched into every line of his face. She reached up to trace the tip of her forefinger along his rough cheek. “I've missed you.”

“I've missed you, too,
novia
.”
His hand skimmed over her lower belly, and she let her eyes close at the caress, wondering if he noticed the subtle changes already taking place with her body. Did he realize her breasts were a little rounder, or that her belly had a gentle curve to it that it never had before? She didn't know when she should tell him about the child, but now wasn't the time.

She opened her eyes to find him still looking at her, and that odd shyness swept through her again. Without thinking, she reached up behind her head to unwind her braid. Her hair would offer a little protection from the heat of his stare.

But as she did, he groaned, “Dear God in heaven,” sending a fiery blush shrieking through her. His, “No, don't stop,” only made it worse.

“Rafe!”

His grin turned wolfish. “I like the view.”

Her blush grew hotter, but she laughed as she unwound her hair and let it stream over her shoulders. The ends curled just below the tips of her breasts, and, judging by how Rafe's eyes seemed to darken, he liked this view as well.

She brushed his hair away from his face, and his eyes briefly closed. When they opened again, he smiled, catching her wrist to turn her hand palm up. He pressed a teasing kiss in the middle of her palm and lifted his head to whisper, “You're staring, sweetheart. One would think you've never seen me in such a state before.”

“Well, it
has
been a while.”

He sighed softly as she curved her hand against his cheek. “That it has.”

Her thumb brushed along his cheekbone. “Should I apologize for staring at you?”

“Never,” he growled. “I don't mind.”

Of course he didn't. Women probably always stared at him. They probably stared and wondered, and imagined what it would be like to be with him.

Well, she knew, and that knowledge came back to haunt her in a most uncomfortable way. He was magic. Magic in the form of a man.

With a sly smile, she shifted, inching down the bed until they were face to face. The space between them disappeared, and Rafe bent to seize her lips once more. As she returned his kiss, she let her hand graze down over his chest, over his belly, along the ridge of his hip. He groaned, his entire body shuddering, as her fingertips brushed along his length. Hot. Smooth. Like polished glass or fine steel.

“Katie…” His breathless whisper held a plaintive note as he arched against her. “Oh, dear God…”

An even headier feeling of satisfaction swirled through her to fire her desire anew. He wasn't the only one who could tease, and she felt no more shyness as she explored every sensuous inch of him. He groaned into her open mouth, his kisses becoming more frantic, more demanding.

“
Dios mio
,” he whispered raggedly as she broke away to trail her lips over his chest. Down his flat belly. She came over him as she kissed over that ridge of hipbone.

“
Novia
…” His fingers plunged into her hair, scrabbling for a hold as she explored him in a way she'd never done before. He met each caress, each stroke. His hips moved, rocked in time with her, and his words were tattered along their edges, breathless and pleading as he lapsed into lyrical Spanish. She didn't know what he was saying, but the power of having total control over him was enough to make her want to tease him until he burst from it. From the feel of things, that might not be much longer.

She teased him with everything she had—her lips, her tongue, even her teeth. Each caress brought forth a new, pleading moan. Each stroke brought him closer to the edge. She felt it in the tension winding through his body.

Without warning, he snatched her beneath the arms to yank her to him, his lips hot and hard as they devoured hers. He rolled to pin her beneath him, and she welcomed his weight.