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“I saidstop.”
“My father loved his little projects.” Rafe used his lip to catch a bead of beer rolling down the side of the bottle before setting the bottle down and lacing his arms behind his head. “I remember when he put in the grapes. All the people tramping in and out of the yard. It cost a shit-ton. Terraforming, irrigation, planting. I bet he took out loans to do it—probably without telling you. And when all those grapes started rotting on the vine, he probably got desperate and Googled what took me five minutes to find: that there was a scandal in Europe years ago with sweet white wines that didn’t have enough body or flavor, and all that was fixed by adding a bit of diethylene glycol.
“The only problem is, it’s poison. But my father was a hedge fund manager. I’m sure he did some cost analysis and thought, maybe they’ll only get a little headache. After all, it’s just one glass. I know my father. He wasn’t a psychopath but he lacked morals. Whatever he wanted, he did and he got. But I’m sure you know more about that than I do. It probably gave you something to fight about while I was gone. Apart from the bad sex I’m sure you weren’t having, you were his little project, too.”
“Get out,” Donni said. “Now.”
“All right.” He reached over and scooped up the photographs, tucking them into his jacket pocket. “I’m not a jealous lover. If you want me to leave you cradled in the strong arms of the law, I will.”
She stared at his pocket. “Where are you going with those?”
“Taking them with me. They’re hot.”
She was faster than he expected. When she grabbed him by the back of his jacket and tugged, she upset his balance. He sucked in a breath as his hips pivoted involuntarily and his ass slammed up against the edge of the counter. Donni loomed in front of him, flushed and angry.
“Give them to me.”
Rafe looked her in the eye. “No.”
“This isn’t a game,” she said. “If anyone else gets their hands on them, I have more to lose than you do.”
“I’m aware of how much you have to lose.” He leaned forward, until his chest was just grazing hers. “I thought you were, too. Isn’t that why you asked for my help?”
“I’m not going to give you the tools for my destruction. You’ve already made it far too clear that you’ll do anything to get what you want.Giveme thephotographs.”
Rafe laughed lowly in amusement. “I don’t need a few blurry pictures to destroy you. I still remember what you taste like. There’s more poisoned sweetness inside you than there is in a thousand cases of my father’s wine.”
“You,” she said haltingly, “have no idea what I’ve done or had to do. The things people said to me, the things peopledidto me—they donotcompare to whatever imagined hurts you think I’ve made you suffer.” Her eyes, when they went to his, were electric. “You don’t fucking know.”
“Then show me,” he breathed. “Give me a taste of what youreallyare.”
For a moment, he thought she was going to hit him. He braced himself for it, ready to grab her arm. But instead she leaned up and crushed her mouth against his, grinding her hips against his crotch in a way that made him moan into her mouth as he bucked against the soft cotton of her sweatpants. Her hand gripped his shoulder, biting in through the leather all the way down to the nerves beneath the bone. The other smoothed over his chest in a way that left him hungry for bare skin. With a growl, he let his hand slide down to her ass, gripping her so that his fingers were pressing into the warm cleft between her legs, working his way into that unyielding softness until he realized she was wet.
He slid his other hand up her back, tracing over her hip, her sides, her breasts. The bra was thin enough that he could see her nipples straining against the white fabric of her shirt. He would touch her there, he thought. He would touch her everywhere. His hand tightened at her back, over the fastenings of her bra, where it remained splayed as he breathed her in. Sweet spice and smoky parlors—that was her scent. He’d been trying to replicate it for ten fucking years, but no amount of tea or incense added up to what made herher.She was still gripping his shoulder, breathing hard through her nose as his tongue tangled with hers and she tried to fight him for control. Her other hand was on his waist now, moving over the leather, over his hip as she moved down towards—he sucked in a breath—his pocket.
The photographs.
Rafe pinched the elastic band of her bra through her shirt and snapped it, hard.
She flinched back from him with a cry of pain, lips wet and swollen. Rafe stepped away from her, patting the pocket with the photographs to make sure they were still there. His skin was buzzing beneath his clothes and his cock was throbbing so hard it was painful, but he was too angry to notice. “Well, well,” he said, a slight catch in his voice. “It seems I’m not the only one here who’ll do anything to get what I want.”
Donni’s posture became stiff and straight. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He studied her, for so long and so intensely, that she finally looked away. It was a good reminder that she could be vicious. That no matter what she made him feel now, she was still the woman who had upset his life nearly a decade before.
And if he let her, she could do it again.
“Frankly, I find it insulting that you think I’m that easy to manipulate.” He reached down to adjust himself, making it deliberate. Scoffing, he turned towards the door. “As I said, I don’t give a shit about the house. I don’t have anything to lose. So the next time you kiss me like that, I hope you’re ready to take your clothes off.”
“Where are you going?” She sounded gratifyingly short of breath.
He smiled grimly. “To take care of myself. The way I always do.”
Without a backward glance, he let the door slam shut behind him.
RABID
(Directed by Johnathan Steel; starring Adonica Blake and Oscar Medeiros; 1998)
