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Natalie wondered what had happened to Rafe to make him so certain that a few hurt feelings would chase her away. Yes, he'd made a mistake, but it was one she could sympathize with even as she condemned it.
Besides, it would take a lot more than that to scare her away from someone she loved. It had only been a few hours since she’d denied the emotion, but it was ridiculous to do so any longer.
His lips, at first tentative, grew fierce. He drew her hands, still clasped in his, to the base of her spine and her back arched, pressing her breasts against the wall of his chest. She gasped into his mouth as her nipples ripened like cherries.
She loved Rafe. What else could this heady mix of passion and tenderness and frustration and delight be?
He drew away, his dark, hooded gaze doing nothing to hide the spark of shyness in their depths. His mouth opened and closed soundlessly.
A surge of power rippled over her skin. She knew what he wanted to ask. Knew he was leaving it up to her. “Wanna have make-up sex?” She grinned, effervescent in her discovery.
He groaned and his lips descended on hers again, demanding yet pleading, dominant yet yearning.
Despite his advantages—good looks, intelligence, social standing—she was only now coming to realize how fragile he was. Like a tree caught in strong winds that would snap in half before bending and bowing, he held himself to such a high standard that every little misstep was a cataclysmic reversal.
He needed her, needed her unwavering support and affirmation. She put her soul into the kiss, sent it to search out the cracks in his armor, the fractures in his foundation, and did her best to seal them.
Hooking his heel behind her ankles, he tipped her backward and laid her on the carpet, kneeling beside her. She wriggled and he released her hands, which she immediately set to unbuttoning his shirt. His fingers scrabbled at the waistband of her jeans, unfastening and unzipping.
With moves that were much less elegant that she wished, she shimmied the tight fabric off her legs, her slippers going with it. He shrugged out of his shirt and tossed it aside. The rest of their clothes were discarded in moments and he stretched his long length over her, hot skin and firm muscles slick against her sensitized flesh.
After that, it was a matter of urgent whispers and muttered pleas, of licking tongues and searching fingers, of liquid heat and naked need. The short carpet was rough against her buttocks until he slid large hands underneath and lifted her, opened her—
—and sent her flying with a desperate thrust.
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HOT. TIGHT. WET. Rafe was incapable of any more coherent thoughts.
Beneath him, the tendons in the taut column of Natalie's neck stood out sharp and clear, her gorgeous eyes squeezing shut as her inner muscles clenched around him. Her fingertips dug into his hips, her heels pressed his thighs.
He'd never seen anything so compelling as his lover—this lover—in the throes of passion.
He withdrew. Not completely, as he couldn't bear to lose all contact. Her grip tightened and she moaned, brow furrowing.
“No.” She was fierce and commanding. Her hips surged toward him, seeking to deepen their joining again, but he laid one palm flat on her belly to hold her down. They'd reached this point in a frantic blaze of lust and desire. It was time to slow down.
If he could.
He eased forward into her welcoming warmth and she sighed, muscles relaxing, accepting his advance. Back and forth he moved, in and out, deliberately teasing, drawing every sensation he could to the surface.
Pressure sparked at the base of his spine, sizzled down his cock, and he grit his teeth.
Not yet. Not until she—
She arched her back, heels digging into the carpet, neck bowing. The sound she uttered was primal and savage, exultant and euphoric. When she collapsed limply to the floor, he moved with her, staying buried deep inside. He propped himself on his elbows and brushing away a strand of hair that had tangled in her eyelashes.
He gave her a minute, let her breathing settle, and then flexed his hips gently. Her eyelids fluttered open revealing deliciously dazed dark brown eyes, though her lazy smile sparkled with the intensity he'd missed earlier. He could have stayed like this forever. His cock, however, had different ideas. It shuddered and quivered in her intimate embrace, demanding satisfaction.
“I can feel that.” Her murmur was a purr. In a slow, languorous motion, she raised her arms and wrapped them under his, gripping his shoulders from behind. Lifting her head, she sucked on his earlobe and whispered in his ear. “Your turn.”
It didn't take long. A few solid thrusts, with Natalie whispering sultry, passionate encouragement, brought him to his peak faster than he'd thought possible. The world exploded in a shower of incandescent sparks behind his closed lids, strength drained from his limbs, and he slumped flat.
Slowly, he became aware of carpet tickling his nose and the soft movement of fingers up and down his spine. With the return of sanity, another realization fluttered to the surface.
He stiffened and shifted onto his elbows. She tightened her hold on him, hiding her face in the curve of his shoulder. “Not yet. I like it when you squash me.”
Incapable of forming full sentences yet, he could speak only one word. “Condom.” The enormity of what he'd done—or hadn't done, rather—washed over him with icy dismay.
“I know. It's okay.”
“What?” Pressing with his palms, he shifted his hips up and back and knelt between her legs. She sprawled lushly on the carpet, her breasts plump and full with beaded nipples, her centre open and exposed, utterly unselfconscious.
“I thought of it. Before.” She waggled her fingers and shot him a sly grin. “I didn't want to...interrupt you.”
When all he did was continue to stare at her, she jackknifed into a sitting position. “I'm on the pill. If you had health reasons that made it necessary to use a condom, you would have told me before we had sex the first time. As for me”—she poked a finger in his chest—”do you trust me?”
It was a loaded question if he'd ever heard one, recalling their argument. But he had no hesitation in answering. “Yes.”
She nodded decisively. “I'm not saying we forgo the condom every time. A pregnancy right now is not in my plans. But this once, I was willing to take the risk.”
He had lied to her, both verbally and by omission, since the day they'd met. Yet, she continued to trust him.
How had he been so lucky to find this woman?
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LATER, AFTER A LEISURELY shared shower and reheated butter chicken, Natalie curled up next to Rafe on the couch in his den, a small, windowless room under the mezzanine. A flat screen television—playing one of the nature documentaries she'd been amused to learn he enjoyed—took up much of one wall and bookshelves lined two more. She reflected, not for the first time, that it was a huge house for a single man. Three bedrooms upstairs—four if you counted the one he had converted into his office—a games room over the garage, this den, a butler's pantry off the kitchen, the spacious living/kitchen/dining area, and a separate laundry. And, of course, the pool.
It wasn't a cozy home, in her opinion. It needed softening, with throw rugs and family photos and leafy green plants. It needed the sound of laughter and arguments and friendly conversation. It needed chil—
She stopped herself. That took daydreaming a step too far.
For a moment, she mourned her crowded apartment with its hand-me-down furniture, soft and squishy floor pillows, and colourful posters. She'd be back there soon, but it wouldn't be the same.
Just like she would never be the same, now that she had fallen in love with Rafe.
When the documentary ended, he reached for the remote. Before he could select something new, she asked a question she hoped wouldn't destroy the peaceful atmosphere. But it was one she needed answered.
“Why were you so sure I'd leave you?”
His finger froze on the button, arm in midair. He lowered it to his thigh and slid her a glance out of the corner of his eye. “I told you. What I did was inexcusable. I didn't think you’d want to stay.”
“Don't you know me well enough by now to know it takes a lot to piss me off?” She folded her knees and sat on her heels, perched sideways on the sofa with one arm lying along the back. “You've met Shyla, right?”
He ignored her jesting second question to answer the first. “I've never seen you lose your temper. But I thought this would do it. And I would have deserved it.”
“You deserve to be rejected because you made a mistake?”
“A big mistake. It's not like I mixed up your coffee order. I didn't trust you, I hid things from you.”
“Everyone makes mistakes. It's not life or death.”
“Sometimes it is.” He jerked to his feet. “I'm a doctor. Sometimes it is.”
She still hadn't made that visit to his lab they'd talked about. She really needed to do that sooner rather than later. It was easy to forget he held people's futures in his hands every day. “You're right. I guess even doctors make mistakes. And those can be life-threatening.”
He moved to the bookshelves and appeared to be enthralled by an abstract sculpture being used as a bookend, running one long, blunt finger over its sinuous curves. At her words, a shudder ran through his tall frame.
Intuition skittered with spider's feet across her scalp. “You don't have to tell me.” She watched him carefully for further signs of discomfort. “But maybe you should.”
He didn't deny there was something to tell, but still dodged her question. “It happened long ago. It has no relevance today.”
“I think it does.” She unfolded from the couch and went to stand beside him. He didn't look at her. “You seem to believe making a mistake deserves a terrible punishment. Maybe some do. But not most of them.” His fist rested on the shelf, his elbow bent at a right angle. She laid a hand on his raised forearm, feeling the muscles tense as steel under her touch. “What happened, Rafe?”
––––––––
IT WASN'T LIKE IT WAS a secret. His mother and stepfather and Otto knew. Several colleagues knew. There'd been a review of the incident and the report was available to the public, should anyone ask to see it.
Didn't mean he wanted to talk to Natalie about it.
“Rafe.” Her fingers on his forearm squeezed. “You can tell me anything. I'm not going to run screaming from the room.”
Tugging his wrist, she led him back to the couch and pressed him to sit down. To his astonishment, she cuddled onto his lap, her feet on the cushion with her knees bent, her buttocks on his thighs, and her head tucked under his chin. His arms encircled her automatically, drawing her close.
“I mean it.” Her palm splayed warm and calming on his chest, just over his rapidly thudding heart. “You can tell me anything. Or you can choose not to tell me. Either way, I'll be right here.”
She exhaled peacefully and her body relaxed as if preparing to sleep. He was unutterably comforted by her declaration, but didn't quite trust it. He knew she meant what she said—now. But when she learned what he had done...?
He'd lied to her once. He couldn't risk their relationship—a relationship that was becoming increasingly vital to his well-being—by not taking her into his confidence now. She deserved to know the worst about the person she was involved with.
The words choking his throat escaped in a rush. “I killed a patient.”