Raphael. This wickedly beautiful creature was Raphael, one of the most dangerous men prowling the earth.
“Hi.” His deep voice sailed into Maria’s ears, the heavy Bostonian accent wrapping around the simple greeting. Spell broken, Maria forced herself to play with her hair. Every simple move she made, Raphael devoured like an offering. Maria didn’t understand why such a bad habit would inspire such captivation from the man, but every movement made his chest rise and fall faster, until his tan cheeks were flushed red.
“Hello,” Maria said back. Raphael tore his gaze from the hand running up and down her neck and met her eyes. Maria stroked along the curve of her neck and over to the front of her throat. Her movements were discreet, subtle, like Father Murray had instructed. The movements were so unnatural she felt sure her ruse would be discovered immediately.
“I haven’t seen you here before.” Raphael flicked a hand at the bartender. In less than a minute, a tumbler of amber liquid was placed on the bar before him—whiskey? Brandy? Maria wasn’t sure. Besides red wine at Mass, she never drank. Raphael took the whole shot in one deep swallow, his Adam’s apple bobbing in this throat. His eyes squeezed closed for a second and shook his head, as if he were arguing with an internal voice. Maria was caught off guard by his strange actions, the tightening of his lips and the twitching of his head. Raphael looked pained, as though something were hurting him from within.
When his eyes opened, they were locked on hers, a strange intensity to his gaze. He straightened. “I’m here for someone else,” he said. His voice had changed from seductive to curt and cold. As if he were reprimanding her for even existing. Anger seemed to flash across his face, and his fists clenched at his sides. Maria’s gaze was drawn to his fist, but she couldn’t help but notice his arousal, the bulge in his slacks that was more than obvious.
Maria’s cheeks burned.
She faced the bar, her hair falling forward to cover her neck. She was chaste. No part of any man, let alone a man as dangerous as this, should draw her attention. The bartender placed another glass of water in front of her. Maria reached for the glass, but before she could take it, she felt rough fingers brush aside her long curls. The pulse in her throat throbbed with unease. But she let it happen; she endured the uncomfortable touch. She let Raphael push her hair away from her milky skin. The pads of his fingertips ran along the bone she had been caressing.
Father Murray had somehow known that simple move would appeal to Raphael. A moth to a flame, and Raphael was wholeheartedly diving into the fire.
“Your hair,” he whispered close to her ear. His soft voice was back and sending hordes of butterflies swooping down her spine. Maria couldn’t help herself. She watched as Raphael’s eyes locked on his slowly moving hand. Up and down along the bone, over and over again. Maria wanted to look away, but she couldn’t not look at the face of this man. The face of an angel.
He is not an angel, but the devil in disguise.
Self-hatred washed over Maria as though she were being doused with holy water after a lifetime of ungodliness. It pulled her from her enraptured state and thrust her back into reality. This man was as ugly on the inside as William Bridge had been in both body and soul. William had been a lot older though. Maria couldn’t help noticing how young Raphael appeared, maybe not much older than herself. It didn’t matter, she told herself. Fathers Murray and Quinn had deemed him one of the most evil men in the world. His age was of little consequence.
She had to keep focused. Though that part of her, the part that believed people could be redeemed, wanted to know more, pulling her mind from the task at hand. She wanted to discover why a man like this, with the world at his feet, would choose this damned and forsaken path.
Raphael stepped closer and closer until he was before her—not touching her, but a mere hairsbreadth away. His scent was overwhelming, his height and lean body imposing in a way no man had ever been to Maria before. “I’m here for someone else.” Raphael’s words sounded reasonable enough, but when she replayed the sentence in her mind, her stomach fell and her chest seized her breath. I’m here for someone else. Not I’m here with someone, but for.
Panic setting in, Maria cast her eyes across the bar to the blond woman who had made him laugh so freely. She was older than Maria and Raphael by quite some years, but she was watching them now with an envious scowl on her face. Her eyes were tight as she watched the man who had been seducing her talk to another.