"We've dried up the small talk," he said placing his wine glass on a coaster. "What about tonight?"
She cleared her throat and sighed. "I went to see Santos." She looked at him from beneath her lashes, waiting for the explosion, but to his credit, he controlled his temper. However, his jaw worked and his eyes blinked as he made every effort to refrain from yelling at her.
His words confirmed her suspicion. "I'd like to throttle you," he said tightly, "or turn you over my knee and spank the daylights out of you. Or – "
"Okay, I get the idea." She stood and took both their glasses into the kitchen. "Do you want to hear the rest, or just pummel me?"
"I want to do both," he grumbled, following her into the kitchen. "What happened?"
She shrugged. "Nothing. I decided to offer him a deal and he said he'd think about it."
Rafe scoffed. "A deal? You can't offer him a deal. He's going to get federal charges and do federal time, no plea bargaining, nothing."
"Right now, he's in my jurisdiction and if I say plead him out, that's what will happen." She tried to remain calm, but really, the man was a bully.
He crossed his arms and leaned against the counter, a thoughtful look on his face. "What did you offer him?"
"Full immunity."
"Jesus Christ, Torres! You can't give a man like Santos full immunity!"
She bristled with stubbornness. "I can and I will."
"What do you imagine he can give you for this full immunity?"
"Diego Vargas."
"Just like that? On a silver platter," he jibed. "What part of Vargas?"
"Everything," she answered smugly, "the drugs, the trafficking, and the girls, enough to put him away for life, or give him the needle if we can show special circumstances."
"And who do you think is going to take over Vargas' business?"
"No one. The organization will be over, finished, destroyed."
"No, it won't. It's like a star fish. Chop off one part and another grows back. It doesn't matter," he said dismissively. "Santos will never betray Vargas."
"I think he will."
"Don't be so naïve, Torres. It doesn't become you."
Somehow his disappointment in her hurt more than his anger.
He snatched his jacket off the wing chair and headed for the front door. "I'll see you in the morning."
He'd turned the knob and begun to open the door when she struck out viciously. "Go ahead. Run away again. I don't know what made me think I could work with a… a giant lug like you."
She blinked furiously so he wouldn't see the tears threatening to spill down her cheeks. And why was she crying anyway?
He waited for long moments before he answered, back facing her almost as if he didn't want to look at her. Then he spun around, anger etched in every line of his face, his eyes dark and furious.
"Damn you," he ground out before he grabbed her and kissed her.
The kiss was hard and punishing and bruising, and she couldn't say when exactly she wound her arms around his neck and clung for dear life. When he released her, she staggered back, breathless and weak in the knees.
"Don't go," she heard herself say as if from a distance.
"If I stay, it won't end like last time, Isabella," he warned softly.
God, the sound of her name on his lips made her tremble. "I don't want it to be like last time."
"The case – "
She stepped closer and wound her fingers around his neck, running them through the thick, soft hair at his nape. "I don't want to talk about the case."
She felt hot and cold at the same time, lethargy and urgency warring within her. Her heart thundered in her chest, her breath caught in her throat, and fire raced through her veins.
She longed for the slow, exquisite pleasure-pain of arousal, but her arms, legs, and body had a mind of their own. She ground her hips against the thrusting bulge in his slacks and pressed against his chest, her nipples hard and peaked through her thin blouse and filmy bra.
"Oh, God," he spoke against her mouth. "You have no idea how sweet you taste." He trailed a line of soft, moist kisses down her neck. "How incredibly soft your skin is."
When his lips met hers, she opened her mouth beneath them and met his tongue with her own. His breath smelled of the faint tanginess of wine and a clean sweetness. She felt the sharp nip of his teeth against her bottom lip as he drew it into his mouth. She ran both hands through his hair, loving the way the dense strands curled around her fingers. He reached behind her to undo her hair clasp, and her unruly mane of hair tumbled around her shoulders.
"So beautiful," he said, running the hair through his long fingers, rubbing the ends with his thumb and forefinger as if he were assessing an expensively-textured fabric. Undoing the first three buttons on her blouse, he shoved the edges aside, exposed the lacy top of her white brassiere. He trailed his fingers down her throat and scraped his knuckles over the tops of her breasts.
She shivered again, an uncontrollable spasm like the start of an orgasm, threw back her head, and invited him to devour her neck. He followed his hands with his lips, gently pressing kisses along her breasts, pulling down the bra and exposing her nipple to the cool air. She gasped as he took one peak into his mouth and gently licked it, swirling his tongue around the hardened button. Then he sucked, softly at first, but harder as she pressed his head against her chest and moaned quietly.
A wet gush of sex flowed between her legs and suddenly she couldn't bear the gentle teasing. She wanted hard, pounding passion. As if he'd read her mind, he returned to her mouth and deepened his kisses until the assault left her bruised and swollen. Lips locked with his, she scrambled to unbutton his shirt. He labored to help her, jerked out the tails, loosened his trousers, and kicked them to the floor.
"Bedroom," he gasped against her open mouth. "Where's the bedroom?"
She gestured with her head down the hall behind her as he stepped out of his pants, picked her up and gripped her buttocks while she wrapped her legs around his waist. He continued to assault her face and neck as he stumbled down the hall. Reaching behind her to open the bedroom door, Bella almost tumbled out of his arms, but between laughing and panting, they made it to the edge of the bed.
Rafe fell clumsily, turning to keep his weight from crushing her. Holding himself off her by propping up on his elbows, he framed her face with his large hands.
"We can stop now, Isabella." He pushed her hair back from her face and trailed his fingers over her cheeks. "We don't have to finish. We don't have to do this."
"You're kidding, right?" she panted. "There's no way we're going to stop now."
She twisted her body to flip him over, knowing he let her because her weight was too slight to accomplish the move without his help. Straddling him, she finished opening his shirt and spread her hands over the fine, springy hair on his chest. His erection pushed aggressively through her slacks, the thick head seeking her wet, hot center.
"I can't wait any longer," she whispered as he watched her climb off the bed and unfasten her slacks. She stood in her bikini panties and disheveled bra, arms akimbo, as his eyes raked hungrily over her.
He clutched his hand over his heart. "Jesus, you're killing me."
She smiled, heady with sexual power, and reached around to unclasp her brassiere, letting it dangle from one hand before she dropped it to the floor. He sat up and pulled her close so that she stood between his knees. Licking each nipple in turn, he began sucking on them again. Oh, God, she felt as though she would explode even before he entered her.
Trailing his mouth under her breasts and down to her stomach, he kissed her navel and dipped his fingers under her panty waistband to slide the garment slowly down her body. He gently spread her legs and touched her between them, probing the wetness there.