Taken by Storm. Rochelle Alers
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it was the latter.
Picking up Simone as if she were a child, Rafe sat down, settling her across his lap. He had to convince her that she was safe, that he would forfeit his life in order to protect her. When he'd been assigned to protect Simone Whitfield it'd become his responsibility to shield her from harm—physically and emotionally—because when he escorted her into the courthouse, the U.S. attorney expected her to give an accurate eyewitness account of Ian Benton's attempt to murder a federal judge.
It was Rafe's turn to hold his breath when Simone snuggled closer to his body, burying her face against his throat. What he was sharing with her was so acute that for a brief moment he felt what she was feeling: fear.
Lowering his chin, he buried his face in her soft, fragrant curls. "You're safe, Simone. I'm not going to let anything or anyone hurt you."
It was a promise he'd made only once in his life, when he rescued his mother and sister from an existence where they'd become prisoners to Gideon Madison's slow descent into a world of madness. Now, ten years later, he'd repeated the vow to Simone Whitfield, a woman with whom he would live for an unspecified time period, then walk away from when he accepted his next witness security assignment.
Simone heard the deep, comforting voice mouthing the words she wanted and needed to hear to ease her angst. Looping her arms around Rafe's neck, she fed on the strength emanating from him as naturally as breathing.
"I'm sorry," she mumbled.
Rafe smiled. "What are you apologizing for?"
She pulled back, but didn't break contact. "For losing it."
He stared at the shimmer of unshed tears. "You're allowed, Simone."
Sniffing and smiling, she nodded. "Thank you, Rafe."
Attractive lines deepened around his eyes. "You're welcome."
A slight frown formed between Simone's eyes that were now a vibrant green. "You must think I'm silly—"
"Stop it," Rafe chided softly. "What you went through today would take the nerve of the bravest man, so don't you dare apologize for being human."
"What—what would you've done in my situation?" she asked tentatively.
A muscle tightened his lean jaw. "I would've shot the bastard."
Rafe had said it so matter-of-factly that Simone shivered noticeably, as if cold air had swept over the nape of her neck, and in that instant she wondered if he'd ever killed another human being. She felt herself withdrawing although she hadn't moved.
"Would you have killed him, Rafe?"
He nodded. "I would've if he'd come at me with a knife."
"Did you—have you ever killed someone?"
Rafe smiled at Simone as if she were a small child. "Thankfully I haven't had to."
She returned his smile. "That's good to know."
"Why?"
"Because I'd feel uncomfortable living with you knowing you'd taken someone's life."
Within seconds, Rafe's expression became a mask of stone. "I don't ever want you to forget who or what I am. I'm not a school crossing guard protecting children from motorists who disobey the twenty-mile-per-hour school zone speed limit. I know my living with you is a constant reminder of what you saw this morning, but it's not a permanent arrangement. Think of the Supreme Court Justices who live every day of their lives under the protection of the U.S. Marshals Service."
Simone shook her head. "I don't think I could live like that, knowing that some crazy may be planning to take me out because they don't agree with my decision."
"You wouldn't have a choice if you were confirmed and accepted the position. Don't forget that everything we do or say has either conditions or consequences."
She knew Rafe was right. Easing out of his embrace and off his lap, she flashed a shy smile. "Thank you for your shoulder. I'm okay now."
Pushing off the chair, Rafe studied the too-bright smile and false bravado of the woman who for several minutes had slipped under the professional facade he wore like a badge of honor. Always the consummate professional, he'd never let any witness affect him emotionally.
However, when he'd held Simone he hadn't wanted to acknowledge that she'd felt so right in his arms that he hadn't wanted to let her go. He also hadn't meant to call her baby. He had to be careful, very careful, not to cross the line and risk compromising his assignment.
What he couldn't tell her was that she reminded him of a woman who'd captured his love and passion a year after he'd joined the Marshals Service. But his world came crashing down when she'd informed him that she was carrying another man's child. Although they'd lived together, she'd also been sleeping with another man. Their two-year liaison had ended without incident when he moved out, checked into a motel and submitted a request to his regional director—he wanted to be reassigned to witness security. Traveling kept him busy, and a single-minded focus on protecting witnesses proved advantageous to his emotional healing and growth.
A wry smile twisted his mouth as he walked over to the sink. Simone Whitfield's hair may have reminded him of Dorene, but that was where the similarities ended. The woman under whose roof he would sleep had an in-your-face attitude that said she was no shrinking violet. She'd proven that when she pepper-sprayed Ian Benton.
There was no doubt that if she were in law enforcement, the taxpayers of New York wouldn't have to foot the expense of the thirty-plus thousand a year it cost to incarcerate an inmate. Rafe knew that if Simone had been armed, she would've shot and probably killed Benton.
He gave her a sidelong glance when she stood next to him. "I'll make the dressing tonight. Tomorrow you're on your own."
Simone rolled her eyes at him. "Bully," she said under her breath.
Rafe lifted his eyebrows. "You think?"
She flashed a smile that looked more like a grimace. "I know."
The seconds ticked off as they stared at one another. Rafe was the first to break contact. "I'm going to need some fresh parsley, a green onion and two shallots."
"The parsley's in the second pot on the left on the window ledge. But I'm going to have to get the onion and shallot from the greenhouse." She'd set up one greenhouse to grow her flowers and half of the second one for herbs and vegetables.
Reaching for the keys to the house Simone had left on the window ledge, Rafe slipped them into the pocket of his jeans. "I'm ready whenever you are."
"You're going to have to change your shoes if you're going to the greenhouse."
He glanced down at his boots. "What's wrong with my shoes?"
"I don't want you to track fertilizer and insecticide into the house. There should be a pair of clogs or garden boots in the mudroom that should fit you."
Rafe wanted to ask Simone why she had men's shoes in her house if she wasn't living with a man, but thought the question much too personal. He followed her to the mudroom and discovered a shelf filled with wooden clogs and rubber boots in varying sizes and heights. He found a dark green pair of clogs in his size and slipped into them at the same time Simone pushed her sock-covered feet into a pair of rubber boots.
He waited for her to activate the alarm before they took off, walking side by side down the hill to the greenhouses. For a brief moment of madness, Rafe wondered how it would've been if he'd met Simone under other circumstances. He dismissed the traitorous thought as soon as it came to mind, knowing that if he allowed himself to see her as someone other than a witness, then he would lose his edge.
Ian Benton and the men who'd hired him weren't small-time hoods robbing gas stations and convenience stores for a few dollars. They were a well-organized group of dissidents whose intent was to eliminate anyone who opposed their beliefs.
Unconsciously, he reached out and took Simone's hand. She stiffened momentarily, then relaxed her fingers as she met