The drive back to Stone Mountain was a quiet one. Ricardo fell asleep, so when they pulled up in the driveway of the house, Rafael went around to the back to lift him into his arms.
From the back seat, Rebekah grabbed the canvas tote with leftovers her mother had packed.
“I’ll take him upstairs,” Rafael said once they’d entered the house.
In his son’s bedroom, he removed Ricardo’s shoes and socks before placing him under the covers. He stared down at him for a moment, his heart filled with heaviness at the thought of what he’d missed over the years.
Driving home with his wife and son in the car and bringing Ricardo up to bed had seemed like the most natural thing in the world. The magnitude of what he’d lost because of his lapse in judgment came crashing down on him with acute force. He ran his fingers over his son’s thick curls, then bent down to brush a kiss against his forehead.
He had indicated his willingness to share custody, but summers and alternating holidays were no longer a palatable schedule.
Rafael entered the kitchen just as Rebekah straightened from tucking the last of the containers into the refrigerator.
“Is he still asleep?” she asked.
“Yes. He hardly moved when I put him in bed.”
“He’s probably out for the rest of the night. It’s been a long day, and he sleeps soundly.”
“Takes after his father,” Rafael said with a smile. Rebekah used to tease him that if someone broke into their motel room, they would both be killed because he wouldn’t hear her screams for help.
She didn’t return his smile. She licked her lips nervously, and his eyes followed the movement with interest.
“Rafe,” she began, “we need to set some ground rules if this is going to work. We’ve both been living separate lives, and we have to respect each other’s space and make sure there are boundaries.”
“What kind of boundaries?” he asked in a suspicious voice.
“Relationship boundaries, for one. Your behavior with Carlton tonight was…a bit much.”
“He was a bit much.”
“You have to understand, it was a shock for him to find out what he did. And it’s not as if you and I are really married.”
“The law says we are.”
“You know what I mean. We’re not married in the sense that we’ve been living together as husband and wife. Would you consider treating Carlton with a little more respect and stop directing so much animosity toward him? He’s a really nice person.”
“What are you suggesting? That he and I become friends?” Rafael asked cynically.
“I know it’s not going to happen right now, but I think you should at least be open to the idea.”
He didn’t like that she was looking at him as if he was the bad guy. Granted, years had passed, but seeing Carlton had awakened something primitive inside him. He didn’t like the thought of another man in the life of his wife and son.
“Are you going to have this same conversation with the good deacon? That hug he gave you before we left your parents’ house was meant to provoke me.”
He’d watched in simmering rage as Carlton held her in an embrace, his arms around her waist, pulling her close when he, Rafael, couldn’t even touch her.
“It was an innocent hug. It’s not as if he kissed me in front of you.”
“Lucky for him, or he’d be in the hospital right now. He was trying to push my buttons because of what I said at the dinner table.”
“He doesn’t think like that.”
“He’s a man. Trust me, he thinks like that.” Her defense of Carlton had him on edge and made him want to pummel him even more. A trace of anger slipped into his voice when he said, “You’re as much my wife today as you were the day I married you. Until that changes, the good deacon needs to keep his distance.”
Carlton would be wise to stay the hell away from his wife—and his son, for that matter. Those were his rules.
His jealousy was irrational, but that didn’t lessen the strength of it. He certainly hadn’t lived the life of a monk, yet he couldn’t cast off the thoughts that overtook him. She was still his wife. His. He hated the thought of another man touching her, getting close to her, having her.
“I see you haven’t lost your possessive streak.”
“I’m only possessive about what’s mine.”
“So am I. Lot of good it did me.”
“That’s it,” Rafael ground out. He invaded her personal space by placing one hand on the counter behind her. She stared up at him, wide-eyed. “While we’re talking about boundaries, let’s start with no more bringing up the past. I told you I never slept with those women.”
“There were pictures.”
He cursed in Spanish, and then he took a deep breath to calm his temper and think coherently enough to continue the conversation in English. “Yes, there were pictures, and I’m not saying it wasn’t me. I made a mistake, but I swear to you, nothing happened.”
“Oh, right, you were out on the patio talking while everyone else was drinking, doing drugs, and having sex.”
“Is it really that hard for you to believe I could be there and not participate? I guess since I’m not one of the Saint Jamisons, who, by the way, thought it fit to keep my son from me—”
“Don’t talk about my family!”
“Why not?” he said tersely. “We both know I’ve never met the criteria to be welcomed into your family.”
“Even if I believe you—which I don’t—don’t try to pretend you didn’t want to have your fun like the rest of your buddies. If not, then why were you there in the first place? You expect me to believe you were just standing around, all innocent, just looking? They had to block out parts of the photos because some of those women didn’t have any clothes on!”
“Rebekah—”
“Those pictures were horrible. Everyone knew. It was humiliating.”
He heard the tremor in her voice, could see the pain in her dark brown eyes. “If I could change what happened, I would,” he said, the muscles in his throat clenched tight with regret. “I’ve never forgiven myself for hurting you.”
She could see the regret in his face at what they had lost. She felt it, too, and her heart broke all over again. Perhaps his actions years ago weren’t as callous and uncaring as she’d originally thought. She had been so hurt when the tabloid story came out, knowing her husband was in those photos. She had worried about him and the fighting, missed him so much when he traveled, yet it seemed he hadn’t missed her at all. He had been too busy partying with the other wrestlers and the slew of women who followed them around.
“We have to figure out a way to get along,” he said. “At least for Ricardo’s sake.”
“I know.” Talking about the pain of the past had drained her.
He reached out and touched her hair.
“What are you doing?” she asked in a panic-stricken voice. She couldn’t get away from him. She was more or less blocked in by the refrigerator to her right and his muscular arm to the left.
“Piece of lint,” he responded, showing her. “You seem…what is the word…skittish?”
Her heart rate started a steady acceleration. “You’re too close, and it’s making me uncomfortable. Would you step back?”
Rapid fluttering like that of tiny butterflies settled in the pit of her stomach. How could she want him when she still bore the wounds of their ruined marriage?
“Why would you be uncomfortable? I’m not uncomfortable around you.”
“You’re not the one crowded against the kitchen counter by a giant wrestler.”
The corners of his mouth lifted slightly in an amused smile before he stepped back. In an ironic reversal, she missed his closeness. A knowing smile stretched fully across his face. He considered her with a long, appraising look.
“What?”
“Do you really like him?”
“I think we need to continue our conversation about boundaries, and we should include respecting each other’s privacy.”
“I have nothing to hide.”
“Neither do I.”
“Then tell me about Deacon Carlton.”
“No.” She and Carlton had never been intimate. Because of his position in the church, he remained celibate.
“I just want to know about my competition.”
Rebekah swallowed, apprehension settling in her gut. “There is no competition. Our marriage is over.”
“It’s not over until the papers are signed. Until then, you’re still my wife.”
“Don’t remind me. The sooner we get this over with, the better.”
“So you can rush off to the good deacon?”
“I won’t ask you about your affairs, so don’t ask me about mine!” She only took one step before he grabbed her arm and hauled her back around to face him.
The hard collision with the wall of his chest knocked the air from her lungs. She put up a hand to push away from him, but his arm entwined around her waist like a steel brace and trapped her against him. Everywhere they touched, warmth seeped from his body into hers.
Her gaze shifted to his sensuous mouth when he lowered his face toward her. Her nose recognized and welcomed his masculine smell.
“Let’s get one thing straight,” he said. His calm voice held a threatening undertone. “There will be no ‘affairs.’ While you’re my wife, no one comes near you.”
“I think—”
“Do not try me, Rebekah.” His face became a hardened mask of anger. “Unless you have a pressing desire to see every bone in the good deacon’s body broken—or any other man, for that matter—I suggest you give him a call and make sure he understands your relationship is over until further notice. If you don’t call him, I will, and he won’t like my conversation.”
A frisson of apprehension snaked down her spine at the threat, but she couldn’t deny also feeling a trickle of excitement at his possessiveness. He was as big and strong as an ox and capable of successful follow-through on his words.
“I’ve already talked to Carlton about it and he understands.” She surprised herself with her next words. “That goes for you, too, by the way. You’re still my husband, so make sure the groupies know to stay away from you.”
A gleam of satisfaction entered his eyes. “I’m glad we understand each other,” he said. “And another thing—if Ricardo needs anything, you come to me. If you need anything, you come to me.” His fingers spread out across her back, heating her skin through the material of the dress. “If we’re both staying away from groupies and deacons, what do we do in the meantime to satisfy our needs?”
He was calm and composed, while his touch wreaked havoc with her senses, dragging her under the tide of his sensual influence. She shouldn’t—couldn’t want him.
“I couldn’t care less what you do.” Any minute now, he would look down and see she was a liar, see the way her nipples strained against the soft cotton of her bodice. “Use your hand, for all I care.”
“Hmm. Doesn’t have the same appeal.”
“Rafe,” she warned. She tried to ease out of his embrace, but found her efforts thwarted by his brute strength. “All right, you’ve proven your point. You’re stronger than me. You can let me go now.”
“Maybe I’m not done proving my point, ángel,” he drawled. The sensuous sound of his voice tugged at her heartstrings.
He lowered his head in one swift motion and took her mouth, startling and arousing her at the same time. He cradled the back of her head in his palm, and her anger dissipated like morning fog in the first rays of sunlight. Her fingers curled into his powerful arms as he bent her over his arm. Teasing teeth tugged the sensitive flesh of her lower lip until she could no longer bear it and wrapped her arms tightly around his neck to urge a fuller exploration.
His expert tongue delved between her lips, stroking the sensitive cavern of her mouth to elicit a moan of burgeoning desire from the back of her throat. The taste of him was intoxicating, flooding her taste buds with a flavor that far surpassed the memories she’d tucked away in the deep recesses of her mind.
When Rafael slipped his hand over the curve of her breast and shaped the soft flesh, a shudder coursed through her. In the back of her mind, she knew she should be stronger than this, but she’d always been weak for him. Nothing had changed.
“Let me suck your nipples,” he murmured.
Not waiting for a response, he lowered the straps of her dress and pushed her plump, swollen breasts to sit over the top of the bodice. On a groan, he lowered his head and pulled one dark nipple into his mouth. She gasped, the sharp jolt of pleasure that rushed through her echoing between her legs. He shifted from one breast to the other, focused, licked, stroked with his thumb until her shallow breathing filled the air between them.
She should stop him, but she couldn’t. She arched her body, anxious to get more. The escalating ache almost unbearable, her fingers trailed through the dark, silky hairs on his head.
Weakened from the sensual maneuvers of his mouth, Rebekah let her head loll back.
The tip of his tongue traced the column of her throat and left a trail of moist heat in its wake. When he reclaimed her lips, she could do nothing but kiss him back and take the pleasure he offered. He kissed her long, hard, and thoroughly, holding her tight, crushing her bare breasts against his chest. Her sensitive nipples rubbed against his white polo shirt while his large hands smoothed down her back and molded the curves of her hips and buttocks, heightening the sexual demands of her body.
When he lifted his mouth from hers, her quickened breath skated across her tingling lips as he watched her from his superior height. In the intimacy of the moment, she felt bare and vulnerable.
His blazing gaze locked with hers. “From now on, those nipples belong to me, and I’m the only one who gets to suck them.” She trembled, aching from the raw sexuality of his words. “Anything you need,” he reiterated, his accent thicker now, his sculpted lips just inches away, his voice raspy from the same hunger that coursed through her veins, “you come to me. Anything.”
She didn’t miss the innuendo, nor did she miss the excited leap of her heart. His touch and his words made her wish for, want, need what she’d lived without for years. Him. All of him.
It scared her. He had been her world. She had abandoned her family for him.
She pushed away from him and he released her. She staggered back and braced her hand against the counter. Her body ached to be filled in the same way he had filled her mouth.
After righting her dress, she met his gaze when she could speak. “This doesn’t mean anything,” she said past swollen, quivering lips.
“You can deny it, but there’s still something between us.” The husky velvet tones of his voice moistened her already damp panties even more.
“There was always something between us, but it wasn’t enough.” There was no point in denying the message her body conveyed loud and clear. Her swollen nipples were still achy and clamored to get back into his mouth. “We can’t go back, and sleeping with each other is not the answer.”
“It’s not the answer to our past problems, but it might help us get through the coming months during the divorce.”
His suggestion was ridiculous. How could they have sex while trying to iron out a divorce? Sex would muddy the waters and cloud their judgment—hers, at least.
“What you’re suggesting is not a good idea.”
His gaze dipped to the front of her dress, surveying the proof of the passion that still existed between them. His lingering gaze had the same effect as a caress. Her nipples tightened in longing.
“I think you should leave.” The whispered words were a struggle to get out. She needed to regroup.
“You should think about it, mi ángel.” He trailed a finger down her cheek.
Rebekah turned away from his touch. “Go. Please.”
She had to get him out of there. The maelstrom of feelings swirling through her could not be analyzed in her current state.
At first, she thought Rafael wouldn’t leave. He remained standing just within reach, watching her, the heat from their fervent caresses weighing heavy on the air. Then, without another word, he left the kitchen.
She followed him into the foyer.
“Rafe.” He glanced back, his hand on the doorknob. “You know it’s over between us, don’t you? This was just a slip up. There’s no chance of anything happening between us again. Ever.”
His enigmatic expression didn’t change. “Good night, Rebekah."
She stared at the closed door. The reverberations of her heart shook her entire body. She touched a finger to her tingling lips.
Had those words been meant to convince him, or her?