Storming His Heart (7 page)

Savage walked her to the door, waited while she unlocked it and then went inside with her.

After ten minutes, when neither Savage nor the woman emerged, Lewis made a call.

“I didn’t mention it before, but you’ve got a nice place here.” Rafe stood in the living room while Storm prepared their dinner in the kitchen. He’d offered to help, but since he’d admitted he could barely boil water, she’d shooed him away.

“Thanks. Since you already had an uninvited view of the place, make yourself comfortable.”

“I will.” He studied her friendly, if disorganized, living space. The kitchen was small but looked larger due to the open breakfast bar. Penciled sketches of a variety of places, from Venice, Italy to New Orleans, Louisiana decorated the cream-colored walls. Most of the pictures looked as though they’d been done by local artists. He wondered if she had acquired them from the places she’d been.

A dark blue sofa and two chairs flanked the gas log fireplace. She didn’t have many knickknacks, but books and magazines overflowed her bookcases and stacks sat everywhere. He shook his head. How could she live like this?

“Problem?” Storm had returned.

“Ever think of hiring a maid?”

She surprised him by grinning. “Really gets under your skin, doesn’t it? I wouldn’t have pegged you for a neat freak until I saw your office.”

He plopped down onto one of her chairs, opened up an entertainment magazine and began to read.

“You’re really not going to help with dinner?”

“You ordered me out of your kitchen.” He turned a page. “Do you actually like this stuff?” He lifted the magazine to show her the picture of an alien zombie ripping apart a corpse.

“That’s one of my favorites, but it’s a back issue.” Her voice turned defensive. “I like
Horror Monthly.
Someone like you probably reads nonfiction.”

“Wow. I must be making progress. I was sure you didn’t think I knew how
to read,” he said to her back as she walked into the kitchen.

She turned on some classic rock music while she worked and he read. The domesticity of the arrangement comforted Rafe, which surprised him because he’d never considered himself a wife and two point five kids kind of guy. The one time he’d made a play for permanence had backfired in his face. And he hadn’t felt a tenth of the attraction for Lydia that he felt for Storm.

“Okay, Rafe, dinner’s up.”

He joined her at the dining table and inhaled the pleasant aroma of a home-cooked meal. “You really can cook.” He took a bite of food and hummed with pleasure. “You’re close to being the perfect woman.”

She didn’t respond, seemingly engrossed in her meal. She’d cooked a tender porterhouse, complete with baked potato and salad. Rafe didn’t think he’d ever eaten anything tastier.

Minutes later, Storm laid down her fork. “Okay, I’ll bite. I’m close to perfect, but…?”

“If you could just learn to keep your mouth shut, I’m sure you’d have guys all over you. Of course, that didn’t seem to bother Hank.” He’d told himself to forget about her meaningless date, but he couldn’t put a lid on his jealousy.

Storm scowled. “Mouth shut? Jerk. And just what have you got against Hank?”

“Other than the fact the guy let you take the hit from that car, and that Hank is a name you give to your dog, not a thing.” He felt his cheeks turn red when she just stared at him. “Look, this is a terrific meal. Let’s not spoil it with a fight.”

Her lips twitched, and he had the uneasy feeling she was laughing at him. “Fine.”

They finished the meal with banal conversation. The weather, Southern living, her car versus his. Nothing about work or family. Not that he’d tried hard for the information. She really had outdone herself with dinner.

“Storm, I have to say, I didn’t think you had it in you.”

She bristled. “I can cook.”

“You sure the hell can.” He patted his stuffed belly. “You cooked, I clean up.”

“Now that I can agree to.” She stood and walked to the couch, where she sat back and put her hands behind her head. “Someone to clean my mess.”

“Someone needs to,” he muttered. He collected their plates, washed the dishes, and had just finished drying the last plate when his cell phone rang.

J.D. didn’t have much to share, though he laughed his ass off when he heard where Rafe had eaten dinner.

Rafe joined Storm in the living room. “That was J.D. Seems your black sedan was stolen three nights ago. There’s a valid police report to back that up. We’re at a dead end on this one.”

Storm shrugged, and from his position behind the couch, he had a perfect view down her shirt. “For what it’s worth, I appreciate the effort.”

Rafe licked his lips, suddenly hungry for dessert. “Just how far does that appreciation extend”

“What do you mean?” she asked in a breathless voice and turned to face him.

It took all his concentration to refrain from joining her on that couch, stripping her, then surging inside her with one smooth, hard thrust.

He forced a smile, determined to be smart about involving himself with a Buchanan. He refused to be ruled by his dick. Once in a lifetime was enough. “How about dessert?”

“Dessert?”

He took a step closer. What if distance wasn’t the answer? Maybe if he slept with her, he’d purge her from his system. That, or make him more addicted to the aggravating woman.

Storm scrambled to her feet faster than he thought she’d be able. “You know, dessert’s a good idea. I’ll be right back with it.”

She winced, and he felt bad about prodding her. “You need rest. I’ll go. Tell me where—”

“No, no. Let me.” She had her keys and purse in hand before he could say no again. “To be honest, I need to work my leg or I get stiff. Can I trust you here?”

“What do you mean?”

She sighed. “Never mind. Just don’t upend the place looking for my dirty secrets.” She left him staring after her.

Rafe watched her go with some concern. If he didn’t know better, he’d think the damn woman could read his mind. And that scared the hell out of him.

Knowing he’d seen as much of her cluttered living room as he could stand, he peeked through her bathroom and her bedroom and freely looked through her closet and bureau.

“Oh, this is not a good idea,” he murmured as he held a peach-colored teddy up for inspection. He quickly closed that dresser drawer and sat on her bed. Another mistake, because her rumpled sheets smelled like flowers, like Storm. He could too easily imagine her naked body in the sheets, writhing as she opened herself to him.

Rafe shook his head and stood, aroused, frustrated and baffled at this pull from a woman he didn’t trust and didn’t really know. Rafe had made love to many women. Hell, he enjoyed sex. But with Storm, nothing mattered but pleasuring her.

He left her bedroom before he lost his perspective.
I should bed her and forget her, use our attraction to get Storm out of my blood
. Perhaps he found her so attractive because she was a Buchanan and therefore forbidden fruit. Then again, he’d met her cousin Alex before and hadn’t felt anything for the woman besides an appreciation for her natural beauty. Storm engaged all his senses. And apparently his sixth sense as well.

“What the hell am I going to do about you?” he asked no one in particular. Rafe needed to stop this weird fascination, but he didn’t know how. He had a bad feeling sleeping with her would only make his growing attraction worse.

Confused by feelings he hadn’t thought to feel ever again, he looked for the television remote, needing a diversion. As he searched, he straightened the room, all the while wondering what the future had in store for him. He bent down to collect a stack of papers behind the couch and heard the door open. But the heavy footsteps weren’t Storm’s.

Rafe didn’t think. He acted. He remained crouched, and when an unfamiliar male crept past the couch, he attacked.

Storm returned to find Thorne and Rafe engaged in a rough-and-tumble fight that had broken a table lamp and scattered books and magazines all over her floor.

“What the hell is going on?” she yelled, but neither man stopped.

It was a wrestling match between two equally cagey opponents. Whereas Thorne was taller, Rafe had more muscle and one heck of a technique as he pinned her brother. She wondered if he’d be that forceful in bed.

Thorne slumped under Rafe’s hold and groaned. “
Mercy.
Just stop thinking, both of you. Please
.
”

Rafe frowned down at her brother. He slowly let him go and rose to his feet.

“Friend of yours?” Rafe asked her, panting.

“Not really.”

Rafe scowled and leaned down again, his fist cocked to fly.

“Oh, get off it. You know he’s my brother. Rafe, meet Thorne. Thorne, Rafe.”

Rafe blinked with obviously feigned surprise. “Well, what do you know. I thought you looked familiar.” His eyes gleamed with satisfaction. “Another Buchanan—my lucky night.”

Thorne groaned, rubbed his stomach and slowly eased to his feet when Rafe backed away. “Bastard.”

“Dick.”

“Nice.” Storm sighed and ambled to the counter, where she placed the cheesecake she’d purchased for the sexy idiot she had no right thinking about. She turned and found him right behind her. Rafe steadied her by grabbing her elbows and pulling her into his body.

Unfortunately, this close she could only think about kissing him.

Thorne cleared his throat.

She blushed and shoved Rafe away. “This place is a mess. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t throw that right in your face.” She nodded at the boxed dessert.

Rafe aimed a thumb at Thorne. “He started it. And if you take a good look, the place is cleaner than when you left, with the exception of the floor by your fireplace.”

“True,” Thorne agreed. “Hey, is that Tony’s Cheesecake?”

“I love Tony’s.” Rafe nudged her out of the way as he made a bead for the dessert. “Truce. I’ll finish cleaning up if you’ll dish me some of that cheesecake. I’ll even take out the garbage,” he said with a glance in Thorne’s direction.

It took her brother a minute to comprehend the insult. When he did, he swore. “Motherfucker. You touch me and I’ll—”

Storm held up a hand. “Wait right there. Thorne Matthew Buchanan, watch your mouth or I’ll tell Mom.”

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Rafe’s slow grin.

“Come on. I’m not ten anymore.”

“Right. Now make nice or I won’t let you have any.”

Thorne opened his mouth then closed it with a snap. He snarled at Rafe, “Any
dessert
. You keep thinking those thoughts and I’ll put your face through the fu—freaking floor.”

Rafe’s disdainful snort didn’t win him any favors. “Oh, right. You’re the mind reader. I’m impressed.”

The silence that passed between them couldn’t be good. Thorne’s gray eyes brightened into a diamond-light fury.

“You too,” Storm warned Rafe. “Be nice or no
cheesecake
.” She emphasized the word and prayed she wasn’t as red as she felt. Obviously Rafe had been thinking dirty thoughts about her, and she liked it. God, what was wrong with her? He was one of those uptight government wannabes. A Westlake agent. The enemy, or so she’d been lectured since she’d begun working for her uncle. “Rafe?”

“Fine.” He addressed Thorne. “Sorry I beat you up.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry too. Sorry I almost kicked your candy ass out of the house.”

Rafe chuckled. “You wish.”

Her brother’s eyes narrowed. Storm sighed.

“And why the hell are you limping?” Thorne barked at her.

Rafe, the turncoat, added, “Great question. Why don’t you tell him why you’re limping?”

Storm didn’t think now was the right time to mention the hit and run, not with Thorne in such a big brother kind of mood. She definitely didn’t want him to know she’d gone to
Rafe
for help on the matter. She blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “Rafe and I were just finishing our first date.”

Thorne’s eyes widened. “You can’t be serious? He works for Westlake!”

Rafe leaned against the counter, doing nothing to help Storm out of the mess she’d made. At least he didn’t contradict her. To reward him, she cut a big piece of cheesecake and handed it to him.

Thorne looked like a man verging on apoplexy, but at least he no longer cared about her current state of health.

“Thorne, in case it’s escaped your notice, I’m a grown woman.”

Rafe pulled a fork out of a drawer and just had to say, “Oh,
I
noticed.”

She ignored him. “I don’t need to explain myself to you, big brother or not. I’d appreciate it if you’d leave now.”

Thorne gaped, incredulous. “Are you kidding me?”

“Not at all. I don’t question you about your bimbos. Don’t question me about my date.”

Rafe choked on his dessert.

Thorne growled, “This isn’t over. We’ll talk later. All of us.” With a mental tweak to get her undivided attention, he added, “
Including Luc and Max. You’re just lucky Mom and Dad are on vacation.”
He slammed out of the house.

Storm and Rafe stood in silence in the kitchen.

Rafe scraped his plate clean and licked his fork. “So if he has bimbos, what am I?”

“What?”

He started laughing. Not a small chuckle, but a huge well of mirth that brought tears to his eyes.

The laughter made him even more attractive, but Storm was annoyed. Her life was not one big joke. “You want a label? How about asshole?”

“Maybe I’m your himbo. A manbo?” he sputtered and tried to catch his breath.

She fought the smile curling her lips and looked at her trashed living room. “I think it’s time you left.”

Rafe wiped the tears from his eyes. “Man, I needed that. Yeah, I should probably go. Otherwise I might be tempted to stay and fuck you until neither of us can move.”

She whipped her head around and stared at him. “Wh-what did you say?”

“Yep. We wouldn’t stop until we couldn’t move. Afterward, we’d have regrets. You’d think I’m after you for Buchanan secrets, and I’d suspect you of pumping me for information about Westlake. We’d be so caught up in each other I’d be inside you before you could blink. And man, I’d come inside you so hard, filling you so much.”