Raphael’s Tale

Excerpt

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Chapter 1

Raphael

He opened the door and his dick went hard. His shit literally bricked the fuck up at the sight of the woman standing on the other side.

For any man who’d just done four years out of an eight-year sentence for possession of a prohibited firearm, this might seem normal. But this was the same reaction Rafe always had when he came face-to-face with Camri Myers. He didn’t really consider her the one who got away, it was more like she was the one he’d never tried to go after. One of the many things that had plagued him during those lonely ass nights in his cell. And one of the first things he planned to rectify on his second day home.

“Babygirl,” he said, the name he reserved just for her slipping from his lips without a second thought.

She blinked and his gaze fell to those long lashes he knew were natural and the honey-colored eyes that seemed to melt every hardened edge he’d perfected over the thirty-two years of his life.

“Uh, hi,” she replied. Then she licked her lips, and his dick jumped.

It was his turn to do the slow blink as he tried to focus his thoughts on at least being cordial before he pulled her pretty little ass onto his lap and fucked her until they were both speechless.

“I’m Camri. Joy sent me.” She cleared her throat and adjusted the large bag on her left shoulder. In her right hand she held her cell phone and she flipped it over as if she were about to make a call. “I’m pretty sure she said two o’clock but let me doublecheck the text.”

Without a second thought he reached out to touch her hand and stop her from checking her phone. But the moment his fingers grazed her wrist she jumped back. The confused look she had on her face just seconds ago was now replaced by something else. Her eyes were wide, her lips—the medium thick kissable ass lips—were closed tight. The hand holding the phone was now posted on her chest as if she thought he was either trying to steal it or she was attempting to hold something in. Perhaps her rapidly beating heart, because he’d just figured out what this new look on her face was, fear.

Immediately dropping his hand, he took a step back but never stopped watching her. “You’re right on time,” he said. “Come in. Please.” If his voice sounded gruff and his reactions—the basic ones used when communicating with another person, not the purely physical ones—a little stilted, it was because he hadn’t been in the vicinity of a woman he was attracted to in four long ass years.

The last time he’d seen Camri was a few weeks before he’d gotten locked up and he’d carried that, along with all the other memories he had of her with him every day of the time he served.  On that day in the shop where she worked, she hadn’t looked at him the way she was staring at him now.

Shit! He’d scared her and that was the last thing—on the very long list of things he planned to do to her—that he wanted. It hadn’t occurred to him that she might be afraid of coming to the penthouse of an ex-con to re-twist his locs. It was a client house call, but also their first official date. She didn’t know the last part and if he didn’t do some real quick course correction, they might never get to it.

“I don’t bite,” he said, cursing himself for the half-truth he prayed she wouldn’t hold against him later. “I asked Joy to schedule the appointment, so like I said, you’re right on time.”

On a relieved sigh she let her hand fall to her side and took a tentative step. “Okay.” She cleared her throat again and crossed the threshold to enter his home. “I didn’t want to be late. I know your time is valuable. I mean, I know you probably have plans for what you’re going to do now that you’re…um, home.”

She said all that so fast he had just closed and locked the door, before he turned to stare at her. She was nervous and afraid. He was fucking this up bigtime.

“Thanks for agreeing to meet here instead of at your shop.” He clasped his hands in front of him as he stood just a few steps away from her. “As I’m sure Joy didn’t tell you, I’m on home detention for a couple of months. So, no big plans for tonight or the next fifty-eight nights.” He chuckled and lifted the left leg of his sweatpants to show her the thick black ankle bracelet that would allow the Department of Corrections to monitor his whereabouts until the end of his sentence. He prayed his honesty would relax her enough to at least get a smile.

He remembered she had a great smile and deep dimples in both cheeks. She was about five feet four inches tall, which was a lot shorter than his six feet stature. Cinnamon brown skin, high cheekbones and a tight little body that made his hands itch to touch her. She was perfect, dressed in a forest green short set and cream-colored Crocs. Her hair was short now, styled in twists that just barely touched her earlobe.

“So where do you wanna do this?” she asked as she glanced around.

They were standing in the foyer of his penthouse. One of her hands gripped the handle of the bag still perched on her shoulder while the other one continued to hold her phone. He gave her a few moments to check out her surroundings because his priority was for her to feel comfortable here, with him specifically.

“We can go right in here to the den,” he said pointing over her shoulder.

The den was the room just beyond the living room to the right, and the place he felt most at home, at least on this level. On the second level of the dwelling, he preferred his spacious bedroom with the nook that housed a recliner for him to relax and look out of the floor-to-ceiling windows. The breathtaking view of the town and the Blue Ridge mountains soaring toward the sky in the background never failed to instantly relax him.

“Follow me,” he said when he realized she hadn’t moved because she didn’t know where to go.

He stepped around her, catching a whiff of whatever perfume she was wearing. It smelled like something floral and spicy, but it was soft, and he liked it.

“This is a beautiful space,” she said as she followed behind him. “How long have you lived here? Did you decorate it yourself?”

“I bought it seven years ago,” he said. “And no, I didn’t do all the decorating myself. I hired a decorator, but I was very hands-on during the process.”

“The deep blues and browns are so warm. Not too masculine and very inviting.” She sighed. “I’m babbling. I do that when I’m nervous. Sorry.”

When they stepped into the den, he turned to face her again. “There’s no need to apologize and no need to be nervous.” He knew that it was one thing to say the words but that he’d have to do more to put her anxiousness to rest. So, this time, he cleared his throat.

“I was locked up for a firearms charge. That’s it. I’m not dangerous.” Then, he decided that if he was going to get what he really wanted from her, he had to start by being completely honest. Or as honest as a man in his position could be. “What I mean is, I would never hurt you. And I would never let anyone else hurt you.”

Camri knew exactly who he was. She’d lived in Destine all her life just like him, so she knew about the Platinum Ryders and had probably heard rumors about what their motorcycle club did in and for their town. But even with that knowledge, she might not necessarily know that his official title was lead enforcer for the club, although he was certain his reputation for kickin’ ass and asking questions later would undoubtedly have preceded him.

“I know who you are,” she said holding his gaze. “I remember you coming into the shop for your first appointment.”

He nodded. “Yeah, that was about a month before I went in.”

“You didn’t get anybody to maintain them while you were inside?” Her eyes widened a bit. “Tangie, the girl that started your locs, her brother Beanie is doing a twenty-year bid and there’s a guy in there that takes care of his hair.”

“Nah,” he said, his voice stern. “I wasn’t lettin’ none of them muthafuckas touch my hair. Joy, that’s my guy KC’s girl. Well, I mean I think they’ve got some kind of on-again-off-again thing going.” He shook his head because whatever those two had going on after all these years wasn’t his business to speak on. “She’s been loc’d for a long ass time, so she knew what to do. She gave KC the products and he got them inside to me. I did the best I could with that.”

“Well, they look clean at least,” she said. “Do you have a stool or something? If not, I can run down to my car and get mine. I should’ve brought it up with me, but I was just trying to make it here on time. I thought I had the wrong address at first because this is a really fancy building and—” She did that thing she’d done before where she seemed to catch herself saying something she didn’t want to say out loud, or simply wanted to stop babbling, as she’d called it.

Whatever the case was this time, his glance immediately fell to her lips. He could stare at them all night and jerk his hard ass dick simultaneously. But what he’d rather do, now that he was actually in a position to do so, was suck on those pretty muthafuckas, then watch as his dick slid in and out of them.

With a wry chuckle that was meant to maintain this cordial conversation and snap him out of the purely carnal thoughts running rampant through his mind, he said, “You didn’t believe a guy like me could live in a place like this.”

She opened her mouth, then closed it again. Then, as if rethinking her silence, she said, “You’ve got to admit it doesn’t fit the profile.” She chuckled this time and it felt like his heart was doing somersaults in his chest.

“You’re right,” he said. “But that’s when you only have one side of the profile. I’m more than what the streets whisper about me.” A fact he’d never cared to share with anyone else.

He’d learned early in life that people would ultimately believe what they wanted to so he decided that trying to show them anything different wasn’t his priority. The life he’d built with the Ryders who’d embraced him as family the moment he stepped into their compound at the age of seventeen, was only a fraction of who he really was. But the Rafe without the jacket and patches showing his rank, the one who didn’t sit astride a bike like he was born to ride, the one who hadn’t pistol-whipped, stabbed, shot or whatever else the situation called for with the club’s enemies, was a totally different person.

“I didn’t mean that as an insult,” she said on a huff. “Maybe we should just get started. I’ll go get my stool.”

She took one step forward and he extended his arm to stop her from taking another. “We can work right here.” He walked over to the russet brown couch and grabbed one of the big navy-blue accent pillows. Dropping the pillow onto the floor he turned back to her. “I don’t want you having to stand or sit on an uncomfortable stool for however long this might take. You can sit on the couch and I’ll take the floor.”

“What?” she asked looking from him to the couch and back to him again.

“Get your stuff out and we’ll get started here. You can use the kitchen sink for the washing and I had one of those dryer chairs delivered this morning.”

She titled her head, smirked and then shrugged. “Well, Mr. Sleeper, I guess you’re ready, ready to get this done.”

At the sound of his street name, he dragged a hand over the goatee he’d neatly trimmed this morning and shook his head. “No. You don’t call me that.” Her eyes widened and he continued, “Call me Rafe.”

 

 

end of excerpt