San Antonio Secret. Robin Perini
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ROOM was a dump. Clean, but still a dump. Rafe lay on the rickety, regular-size bed and stared at the water-stained ceiling, his Kimber within reach on the bedside table. A glint of early-morning light peeked between the cheap blinds, providing just enough visibility for Rafe to study, yet again, the odd patterns the discolorations had created. He needed the distraction.
His body thrummed with tension, with unrelenting longing. Sometime during her sleep, Sierra Bradford had worked her way across the too-small bed and settled on top of him, her soft, toasty body pinning his legs and chest to the mattress.
Nestled against him, she was killing him with every curve, every inch of flesh. Her warm, even breath burned a hole in his chest. Her brown hair, luxurious to the touch, cascaded over his shoulder. The clean soap and hint of lilac lotion she favored danced a seduction on his senses.
Just one small movement of his hand and he could caress her silky skin. He didn’t know how much longer he could take the torture.
He fisted the rough sheets and closed his eyes against the temptation. He wanted to groan aloud, wrap her in his arms and lose himself in her. He longed to touch her, hold her, kiss her, make love to her.
Plain and simple, he wanted her. Bad. Even if he tried, his body refused to hide his need. The moment she stirred, she’d feel him. And there wasn’t a thing he could do about it, short of getting out of this bed.
And damned if Rafe could force himself to move. Even if he should.
He could tick off a hundred reasons he shouldn’t allow himself to give in to the urge. Sierra deserved a forever kind of man, a forever kind of love. The kind Noah had found with Lyssa. The kind her brother Mitch shared with his wife, Emily.
Not a man whose scars—both inside and out—made him damaged goods.
Rafe breathed in deep and slow, taking in every scent, every touch, burning the memory of the moment into his brain for the long, lonely nights to come. He’d never imagined he’d be this close to her. But here they were. Together. In a small room, in a small bed, with nowhere to go.
Every minute for the last forty-eight hours he’d hoped Sierra would reveal a flaw, something that would drag him down to earth, prove that the dreams she’d inspired since they’d met were unrealistic and impossible fantasies.
His prayers had gone unanswered. She was everything he’d imagined. Brilliant, resourceful, courageous, and passionate in her loyalty and love for her family.
He’d only identified two imperfections. She was Noah’s sister, and the woman was the most stubborn and tenacious person he’d ever met. Rafe had practically had to sit on her since they’d arrived to keep her in this room, safe and sound.
Unable to go to a hospital for fear Archimedes would discover she had survived, he’d treated her wounds and located this out-of-the-way motel that would take cash only.
Two solid days had passed since the explosion. The wait was grinding on both of them, but they were stuck here until Noah caught Archimedes. Personally, Rafe hoped his best friend killed the murdering psycho.
Until then, Rafe was trapped. With a woman who challenged and attracted and intrigued him more than anyone since... Rafe shoved aside the comparison. He couldn’t dwell on what he couldn’t change. Only learn from it.
Sierra shifted on top of him. His entire body turned rigid. He fought back his shuddering response. Maybe she’d move off, and he could escape into the tiny bathroom for an ice-cold shower before she realized—
A small moan escaped her, a whimper. She trembled, her nails biting into his chest.
Oh, Sierra.
He glanced down at her face, the long lashes resting against shadowed eyes, frantic movement just beneath her eyelids. He recognized the signs.
Another nightmare.
She dug her nails deeper into his skin. “Please, no. Please don’t.”
Rafe wrapped his arms around her. “Shh,” he whispered, rubbing her back, careful not to jar her injured shoulder. “You’re safe.”
Sierra shook her head and with a sleep-limp fist pummeled his chest. “Rafe!” she shouted. “Help me!”
“I’m here. I’m not letting you go.” He cupped her cheeks, stroking the smooth skin. “Wake up, darlin’. Let me see those baby blues.”
She squeezed them shut even tighter. Obstinate even in the midst of a nightmare.
“Come on, Sierra.” She was entangled fiercely in a memory, and he tried to tell her it was only a dream. “He won’t hurt you. Not ever again.” His thumb traced the pale translucence of her skin. She’d been through so much.
Her eyelids snapped open, expression foggy with sleep.
“Good morning,” he said, his voice gravelly and deep.
She blinked. She moved her leg slightly against his hip. Her eyes widened; her cheeks reddened.
The pulse at the base of her throat accelerated. Her pupils dilated.
She didn’t move away. She pressed closer instead.
His heart leaped. The burn simmering inside his gut exploded. He shook with the effort to maintain control.
He couldn’t look away. She’d captured him with her gaze. He held his breath.
“Rafe,” she whispered. Her tongue dampened her lips.
“You should move.” He cleared his throat. “Or I should.”
She lifted her hand from the bare skin of his chest. She nodded in agreement, tossing a wave of disappointment and resignation through him.
He allowed his hands to fall back to the sheets. All for the best. But right now he had to get away from here. He needed that shower or to dunk himself into a tub of ice. “I think I’d better—”
“Don’t,” Sierra whispered, straddling his hips. “I don’t want to think. I don’t want to remember. I want what you’ve been promising me for the last two days.”
Sierra sank into him, pressing her lips to his, demanding a response.
Rafe couldn’t stop himself. He didn’t want to. His heart racing, he shoved aside the doubts and let his body take over. With a groan, he wrapped Sierra in his arms, giving in. The world melted away. Heat and sweat and want and need overwhelmed them both.
But lingering, in the still small place deep inside, Rafe knew he was probably making the biggest mistake of his life.
Present Day, San Antonio, Texas
Nightmares weren’t supposed to invade twice—not in the daytime, anyway.
That way-too-familiar, incessant, head-knocking throb thudded against Sierra Bradford’s temples in time with her pulse. She didn’t want to open her eyes, but ignoring the truth had never worked out well for her, so she squinted and tried to remember.
Her cheek pressed against the cool metal of a half-rusted floor. She attempted to raise her hand to ease the pounding in her head, but she couldn’t move her arms. Thick rope cut into her wrists.
Her mind whirled in confusion. No. Archimedes was dead. He had been for over two months. This must be a nightmare. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be.
“What was she doing with a gun? Who the hell is she?”
The man’s harsh words skewered past the pounding at the back of Sierra’s head. She twisted to identify the man to match the voice. All she could make out was a utility belt against a dark blue uniform. Her gut tightened. She followed her line of sight, and there it was. A badge. Before she could see his face, he turned his back and walked away. Military cut, dark hair. About five-ten,