When I'm with You (10 page)

“Let me take another look.”

“Why?”

“Because.” He reached for her, but she ducked aside, shifting to look away from him. When she refused to face him, he merely scuttled around to kneel before her. Sunlight danced over his dark hair, making it shine just like the ocean behind them. He was broad enough to block out most of the glare, and he was gentle as he touched her, catching her chin with one hand again.

“Oh!” It was bad enough he'd seen her at the height of her humiliation, looking all bruised and swollen and helpless. She didn't want his pity, but couldn't help sucking in a sharp breath when his fingers merely brushed one of the bruises.

At the same time, it gave her a modicum of peace. He did care what happened to her—because it happened to
her
, not because it prevented her from carrying out her duties or serving him. Her well-being was on his mind. Nothing more and nothing less.

His eyes narrowed at her gasp, but he didn't hesitate in moving his fingers over doughy flesh, lightly enough that it didn't hurt. She tried to remain still when he poked a little too hard at another bruise, and when he finally released her, he said, “I don't think your cheek is broken.”

“That's what Mr. Randall said. But I hadn't realized
you
were a doctor now.”

He traced the tip of his forefinger along her jaw. “I've had my share of black eyes, you know.”

“Why doesn't that
surprise me?” She tried to ignore the funny little flutters accompanying his sweeping touch. Nothing good could ever come of them. “You should let go of me now.”

“I don't want to. I like touching you, even when you're puffy and colorful.”

She tried to glare at him, but judging by his grin, having only one good eye most likely spoiled the effect. He probably thought that by smiling, she'd do the same. Well, she wasn't about to succumb to his charm this time around.

“If someone sees us—”

“Someone? Someone who?” He glanced over her head, and made a grand gesture of looking over his shoulder and all around before he brought his smile back to her. “There is no one around.”

“You have no idea who is in the music room, and there is a perfect view of this beach from there. That's how I saw you—” She clamped her lips together, but it was too late. His smile grew wickedly sly, and a warm flush spread into her face.

“How you saw me?” He scooped up a handful of sand and let it spill through his fingers. “You were watching me?”

“I was working and just happened to look up.”

“You lie.”

The teasing tone of his voice threatened to melt her from the inside out. This time, she did pull away. “I was. I was dusting the harpsichord and I happened to look up.”

“If I'd known I was being watched, I'd have minded my modesty.”

“Why? You never troubled to do so before.” The words popped out more flirtatiously than she'd intended, and the flush in her cheeks grew warmer still. Damn. She needed to put distance between them. As much distance as possible. Before it was too late.

“Touché.” He settled beside her once more, his shoulder against hers. She tried to ignore it, tried not to notice the solid muscle pressed against her. It wasn't easy, as she clearly recalled just how well-defined his shoulders were, a testament to his chosen life at sea. So much for distance. She didn't care if she ever moved. Ever. Even her face didn't seem to hurt as much now.

They sat in comfortable silence, just watching the water, watching the sea birds as they swooped and slid on the currents to dive into the ocean. It was so comfortable she had to stop herself before she let her head come to rest against his massive shoulder. Once it was there, she doubted she'd ever voluntarily lift it again.

“I've missed you.” Rafe spoke in a low voice, just barely audible over the roar of the waves.

She twisted to look at him. “Have you? Good. You should. You should stew with missing me. It should eat you alive.”

“My, my, you've become bloodthirsty.” He stared at the water for a few minutes. “But I'll admit I deserved that. You're right. I should stew in it.”

“You deserve far more than scalding words, Rafael Sebastiano. Far more.”

“Again, you're right.” He paused, glancing at her. “Would you like to blacken my eye? I'd be willing to let you, you know.”

She glared at him as best she could. While she didn't expect abject sorrow, she could certainly expect much less cheek. “I'm glad you think this is something to mock,” she growled, getting to her feet. “But none of it is. Not one bit. And yes, I'd love to blacken your eye. I just don't think I can throw a straight punch with only one good eye.”

He also got to his feet, reaching out to catch her by the wrist, all traces of humor gone. “You have every right to be furious with me. To hate me, even. I deserve no less.”

“No, you don't. However, right now—” she squinted up at him, her right eye watering from the brilliant glare, “—I'm in too much pain to care. So if you won't go, then I will.”

She tried to pull out of his grasp, but he refused to let go of her wrist. She halted, her arm snapped taut by his hold. “What?”

“Katie, I want to apologize for all of it. For everything I did and everything I didn't do and should have.”

It couldn't be easy for him to apologize, but she didn't care how difficult it was. She was still far too angry with him to allow much sympathy.

“Thank you, but it no longer matters. What's done is done. An apology can't undo it.”

“I don't expect it to. I don't expect you to forgive me. But I do want you to know I'm sorry.”

She looked up at him, seeing a remorse she hadn't thought it possible for him to feel. Yet there it was, staring her in the face. “Rafe, I don't know what you expect me to say. Or to do.”

“I expect nothing from you. I just thought you should know.”

The low rumble of his voice did something odd to her. It jumbled her thoughts and tossed her belly. She could tolerate the tossing, but her thoughts? No. It created such a mess inside her head that she had to look away, and as she always did, she looked to the ocean to help soothe her messy mind.

Which might have worked, had he released her. Once they no longer touched, her thoughts would unknot and come clearer.

But he didn't let go of her.

His thumb caressed her inner wrist and, despite herself, she almost shivered. Almost. The breeze picked up, flipped up the edge of her white cap and threatened to pull it off her head. She had to do something to break the spell, to shatter her growing tension and set everything back to normal, so she said the first thing that came to her mind. “I think we're in for another storm.”

She winced at how weak she sounded and then made the mistake of looking up at him. Rafe didn't look away, but pulled on her arm to draw her closer. Her heart tripled its pace all the while her brain screamed at her to break free, to run as fast as she could back to Marchand Hall. However, her feet were obviously much stronger and refused to budge. They remained where they were, trapping her as he pulled her up to his broad chest. She managed to hold back a whimper at the jostling of her bones and sore muscles. But the pain faded as his arms tightened about her. At that moment, she doubted she would feel her arm being ripped clean off her body.

She saw his kiss coming, but did nothing to avoid it. She should avoid it, should duck and slip free from his embrace and run as fast as her achy body would let her, as swiftly as her one good eye would allow. Instead, she let his lips slant over hers, warm and soft, and when he tightened his hold on her, her arms slid about his waist of their own accord. Her hands pressed flat into his solid back, gripping two handfuls of pale gray linen as he bent her back ever so slightly.

His lips moved slowly, sensually. They parted and the tip of his tongue nudged her closed lips. Every last ache vanished as if it had only been an unpleasant dream. His kiss awakened something inside her, something she thought had long since died. There was something inherently powerful, feeling how Rafe wanted her. His body didn't lie, his muscles like thick bands of flexible steel. Only there wasn't much flex in them at the moment. He was tense and taut, and probably held himself that way to keep from trembling against her.

He groaned, his tongue growing more insistent. She couldn't keep resisting, and opened her mouth to the gentle pressure, letting him taste her with a slow teasing that fired her blood and sent her pulse racing. She had thought she'd forgotten just how magnificent his kisses were, but she'd been wrong. It was every bit as sweet as she remembered, every bit as sensuous. He didn't rush, didn't force, but just let his tongue slide along hers in a silken stroke that left her head spinning.

Her knees threatened to buckle, so she gripped her handfuls of shirt even tighter, and when he finally pulled back to break the kiss, she was breathless and fairly sure she was about to faint.

She wouldn't. She didn't faint from kissing. Then again, she'd kissed very few men. And none of them had kissed with the same sensual mastery as Rafael Sebastiano.

In her former line of work, kissing was to be avoided at all costs. It was too personal, too intimate. Personal in such work was never a good thing. Personal led to grandiose dreams and troubles galore. The no-kissing rule was one of the first she had learned and one that always served her well. It was also the first rule she had broken when she met Rafe.

Until this moment, she had never regretted breaking it.

No. She still didn't regret it, as Rafe broke their kiss to sweep his lips along her jaw and nuzzle her. She waited for him to pull away and declare he'd made a mistake, that he hadn't meant to kiss her, and all that sort of nonsense.

His breath was soft on her ear, soft but not slow, as if their kiss had snatched the air from his lungs. He didn't release her, which was just fine with her. He could hold her this way, arms tight about her, forever, and she would be perfectly happy.

But nothing lasted forever. Eventually, he pulled back to brush a kiss over the tip of her nose. “We should try again, sweetheart. Let me make it up to you.”

She groaned, only this time it was in frustration.
Now
she regretted allowing him to kiss her. Bracing her hands on his chest, she pushed him away. “And how do you think Lady Sally would feel about that?”

He had the good grace to look uncomfortable, but that didn't help her irritation, as he wasn't making breaking contact any easier. “About that—”

Now she was able to step back, out of his arms. “What about that? Did you assume I would simply fall into your arms again because I did so once before?” It wasn't exactly easy, mustering up so much ire when she still felt dizzy from his steamy kiss, but it had to be done. If she didn't take care, she would fall back into his arms
just
like that.

Not that it was all manufactured. She liked Lady Sally and didn't want to be the reason why the lady was hurt. Judging by how she had seemed to glow the previous evening, Lady Sally obviously cared for Rafe. There really was nothing else Katie could do except push him away.

“All I know is that I have missed you, and it—it just seemed right.” The winds picked up to ruffle his wavy hair into glossy black peaks and ripple through his shirt. “And I do wish you'd tell me who did that to you—” he reached out to touch the bruise, but she jerked out of his reach before he could make contact, “—because I'd like to have a word with them about it.”

Somehow, she didn't think a word was all he wanted. Rafe was more of a fighter than a poet.

And if anyone was going to hit Abigail, it was going to be Katie.

“I appreciate your concern, but that won't be necessary. I plan on having that word myself.” She stepped back, trying to put as much space between them as she could. It was the only way she wouldn't give into the urge to feel his strong body against hers again. “What
is
necessary is that you stay away from me, Rafe. Far away. I like it here. I'm happy. I don't want to have to leave, and if I lose this job, I will. If you care about me—even just a little bit—you'll respect that. You'll keep your distance from me.”

He stared at her, unblinking, and she expected him to protest. It seemed to be on his mind, as various expressions of discomfort marched across his face. But he rubbed the back of his neck and slowly nodded. “Very well. If that's what you want, of course I'll respect it.”

“Lady Sally cares for you. You should have heard how she spoke of you last evening.” The words were so hard to say, almost painful, but she had to make him see reason. She could only say it once. “I could never ruin that for her, even if I wouldn't lose my job.” Her throat constricted sharply, and she coughed to clear it. “Besides, she will make you a good wife.”

Although she did her best, she couldn't keep the bitterness from those last words, and even Rafe flinched. Her throat squeezed tight, forcing her to clear it again. “Everyone will love her.”

“Everyone except me, you mean,” Rafe told her, his voice soft but his words clear.

“Not yet, perhaps. But that doesn't mean you never will.” At his long look, she shook her head. “Besides, you don't love me. That's something you've talked yourself into. Whether it's because you feel guilty or sorry, I don't know, but I do know that you're lying to yourself.” Her back straightened and she held his gaze easily. “I know what I am, what I was, and although I'm not proud of it, it didn't make me less worthy of being with you. It didn't make me any less worthy at all. I understand that. It's only a shame that you didn't.”

“I didn't—”

“No, you didn't.” A humorless laugh wrapped around her words, and it was the only way to keep her voice even. “You didn't stand up for me when your mother was ranting about the fallen woman and how I wasn't fit to wipe her boots. You said nothing.”