Raphael’s mouth curves into a slow, dangerous smile, but his eyes stay soft. He leans down again, pressing a kiss to my stomach, his breath warm on my skin. “Let me show you,” he murmurs.
My pulse races. Part of me still trembles, unsure, but another part—the part he lit on fire a year ago—wants to know. Wants to feel. Wants him.
Raphael, pushes up the skirt and kisses the inside of my leg. Instinctively, I try to snap my legs closed. He pushes his face into me and breathes deeply, then his tongue strokes me. I jolt at the sensation and he does it again.
“Let me taste you,” he whispers.
Confused by the emotions and lust coursing through me, I stare at the ceiling of the car, not knowing what to do.
“Open your legs, Princess.”
Embarrassed, I put an arm over my eyes and do as he says.
“Perfect,” he whispers and then I feel his mouth on me.
His tongue flicks over my nub and instinctively I spread my legs wider. This is no clumsy lover. Raphael sucks and flicks his tongue and I find myself threading my fingers through his hair and holding him to me as I grind on his face. Abandoning all feeling of embarrassment as my body feels like it’s reaching for something.
My thighs feel like they are on fire, then he inserts his tongue inside me and my body feels as though it’s shattering. He sucks on my nub as wave after wave pulses through me. I scream his name as he keeps up his assault. It’s only when every last tremor stops that he, kisses his way up my body and lets me taste my own desire on his lips.
Panting, trying to steady my breathing, I feel Raphael’s hands move with surprising gentleness as he fastens the buttons of my blouse again, one by one. His touch is warm, steady, almost protective now, and then he draws me into his arms.
“You’re going to make a fine lover,” he whispers against my hair.
A nervous laugh escapes me before I can stop it. “Will it… be like that all the time?” My voice sounds small, unsure, but there’s a thread of curiosity laced through it that I can’t hide.
Raphael chuckles softly, low in his chest. “No.” He presses a kiss to the side of my face, lingering just long enough to calm the wild flutter of my heart. “Your first time won’t be like that. But I promise you, as I learn your body, I’ll do my best to make you feel good.”
Something in his tone—steady, confident, but almost tender—settles the storm inside me. I still don’t know what’s coming, but with his arms around me and his breath warm against my skin, I start to believe he means it.
Chapter Thirteen
Raphael
Sophia is curled into my side, her head resting against my shoulder as I watch the landscape fly by. The city blurs past the tinted glass, lights smearing into streaks of gold and red. Three hours to the airport, then nine hours until Paris. Hector Chavez said she’s always wanted to go there, so my father arranged it—one more move on the chessboard he’s been playing with our lives. If it softens her heart toward me, maybe it’s worth the trouble. If it doesn’t, I’ll find another way. I always do.
The chauffeur takes the same steady route we’ve taken a dozen times—through the city, past the old heart of Miami. The Miami City Cemetery rises on the left, iron gates and low-slung mausoleums, palms leaning like sentries. I let my guard fall a fraction, the place looking like any other patch of the city. The ring on my finger glints where it can catch the light. Sophie’s slipped into sleep somewhere between adrenaline and exhaustion, even exhausted, she’s trouble wrapped in a ribbon I’m determined to keep.
The limousine turns off the main road.
Not onto the service drive. Not onto anything public. The chauffeur steers inward, through the carved iron, onto a path between stones, slow but deliberate. For a beat I think he’s taking a short cut, some odd mercy I didn’t ask for. Then thetrees close in and the path narrows and I realize where the driver is taking us. The cemetery swallows the engine sound. Lamps throw long, twisted shadows. It’s wrong — all wrong.
I reach for the screen, the privacy divider between us and the outside, the little barrier that keeps the world at bay. It won’t budge. Not a millimeter. My voice is too steady when I call the chauffeur’s name, then louder, clipped. No answer. I try the intercom. Silent. I yank at the door handle. Stuck. Not jammed—the locking mechanism is engaged.
Panic is a flavor I don’t like, but it sharpens me. I pull my phone, thumb the speed-dial to my father. Call drops to voicemail. I call Antonio. No answer. My men, Hector’s, the Chavez detail — I know where they should be, how fast they move. Running the numbers in my head: they’ll be an hour away at best.
We’ll never make it.
The limousine slows and finally stops. The engine’s hum goes down to a purr. The doors unlatch with a soft mechanical sigh that sounds louder than it should in the quiet. I look at Sophia. She’s awake now, eyes wide.
“Stay,” I tell her, bluntly, the word brokers no-room-for-argument.
She shakes her head. “It’s not safe,” she says simply.
“It’s safer in here.” My jaw tightens. “Don’t argue with me.”
She shakes her head immediately, as she slips her hand into mine. Her grip is firm, steady, defiant. The pale pink of her skirt flutters as she shifts closer, the silk blouse catching a line of light, stripes soft against the night. The matching shoes look delicate, but the set of her jaw says she won’t be left behind.
I curse under my breath, knowing there’s no changing her mind. With my free hand, I reach for the pistol hidden in a consol that my chauffer didn’t know about. I check the magazine, then tuck it into the back of my pants beneath myjacket. The weight settles against my spine, a silent promise that whatever waits for us in the dark, I’ll meet it head-on—with her beside me.
