The room swells with the sound of his heavy breathing.
“Who was she?” I whisper.
His shoulders tense. “My mother.”
The floor under my feet goes soft. My fingers fly to my necklace, as if making sure it’s still there.
“How…” I falter, shaking my head. “How do you know? How can you be sure?”
He lets out a huff. “I’m sure, Penny. I can see it now, as clear as anything. Fuck, I don’t know how I never connected the dots before. There’s nothing unique or special about the design, I guess. And seriously, what are the chances? But she never took it off, not even for fancy dinners and balls. She’d just layer her diamonds or her pearls over it. I remember…” He clears his throat and runs a hand through his hair. “I’d always untangle them for her in the car ride home.”
My heart cracks in two, right down the middle. As I take a step forward, his gaze meets my smeared reflection in the window. We stare at each other, a stillness cloaking the room.
He’s right. What are the chances? All the anger in my body has evaporated, and I’m left with this awful, hollow ache behind my solar plexus.
“That sounds like fate,” I choke out.
His laugh is humorless. “Yeah, it does.”
He turns and looks at me.Reallylooks at me, like he’s committing every angle of my face to memory. He breathes out, rubbing his jaw and giving his head a shake. “Fuck, Penny. Look at you.”
Dazed, I stupidly look down at my sweats and fluffy socks combo and frown. “What about me?”
When I glance up for an answer, my pulse flutters in my throat. He’s closed the gap between us, finding my hips and drawing me so close my body fuses with his. The heat of his stomach burning through my hoodie thaws the ice in my chest. And when he drops his forehead to mine, blocking out the light in the room, it unlocks memories of violent love-making and gentle massages, and fuck, the damn butterflies that always came with them.
“What was I thinking?” he murmurs, brushing his nose over mine. “How did I ever think I could let you go, Queenie?”
Before my thoughts can solidify, he grabs a fistful of my hair and brings his mouth to mine. The rough grip is at odds with his soft kiss, spinning my common sense off its axis.
He captures my bottom lip between his, tugging it slowly, like he’s savoring the taste. The move sparks a fresh flame in my lower core, and for the first time in two weeks, it isn’t anger or rage butneed.All I can think as he works his tongue into my mouth and groans with approval when I let him, is that he’skissing me.
There’s no icy rain numbing my skin and I’m not slippery with his blood, but it feels just as dramatic. My heart beat drums so loud it drowns out all my thoughts, and now I’m nothing but my senses. I’m seeing stars on the backs of my eyelids, flashes of green when I dare open them. Tasting his mint flavor, smelling his masculine scent. I don’t even realize we’ve moved until I feel the backs of my legs meet the side of the sofa.
Rafe yanks my head back and scrapes his teeth along the curve of my throat, before sucking where my pulse beats. “Come home, Queenie. Come home and let me worship you every day for the rest of your life.”
I groan, palming his chest. Maybe because his lips aren’t assaulting mine, I manage to reply with a somewhat coherent answer. “Iamhome.”
His palm skims down my spine and spanks my ass. “Our home,” he growls into my collarbone, planting violent kisses along it. “The yacht, baby. Hang your stolen clothes up in my closet, make your god-awful lasagnas in my oven. Light your girly candles in every room. I want all of it, all of you. Just comehome.”
He drops me to the sofa and comes down on top of me. The rickety frame of my Craigslist purchase cracks under our weight. Rafe glances up at me, eyes darkening.
“Our home has sturdy sofas and doesn’t look like a smack den.”
I bring my knee up to his groin, but he catches it and roughly pushes it to the side, lowering himself between my thighs.
“Are you really cracking jokes when all I want to do is put my fist through your face?”
My words melt into a whimper as he pulls up my top and licks along the waistband of my sweats. “And allIwant to do is find out if you still taste as good as I remember.” He looks up at me with a dangerous heat, pulling my waistband between his teeth like an animal. “You can put your fist through my face later.”
I almost ask, “Pinky promise?” but then his hot tongue sizzles against my clit, and, oh well, I guess I’ll just have to take his word for it.
RaphaelVisconti’senormousframespills out over all four corners of the single bed. The sight would be comical if the bed wasn’t mine, and if he wasn’tnaked.
I can’t stop staring at him. Haven’t stopped since the white sun pierced through my blinds and woke me up. Its colors have warmed in the hours since, and now wash his tanned skin with a golden glow, giving a vibrant sheen to his tattoos.
He’s lying on his side, one thick arm disappearing beneath my pillow. The slack of his jaw deepens the contour of his cheekbones; the gentle rise and fall of his chest makes the serpent on his collar slither.
He looks so peaceful.