Power Play (The Billionaire's Club: New Orleans) (6 page)

“Maybe.” He gave her a brief smile. “I figured I had something to prove, like the first time I stepped into a ring in Thailand. I threw my whole self into fast-tracking through the company, learning all I could. I gave myself the length of my rehabilitation to understand the ins and outs of managing JerTech, and as soon as I had a clean bill of health, I officially assumed leadership.”

Their food arrived, red curry for him, spicy noodles for her. Macy dug in with gusto despite knowing she’d have to pay for it with a longer workout the next day. At his gentle prodding, she filled him in on the highlights of culinary school, her favorite desserts, the scary opportunity to open her restaurant, the lean first year, then finally achieving enough success to open Lovelace. He told her of his time in Thailand, a country he clearly loved if the tone of his voice was any indication.

Dinner went better than she’d expected, with none of the awkwardness she had assumed the years would show. Sitting and talking to him over spicy curry was like picking up a jump rope again. Muscle memory kicked in, years and distance fell away, and she found herself laughing and leaning into him like old times.

“Thank you for this,” she said, polishing off the last of her green-tea ice cream. “I haven’t had a night like this since …” She had no idea. Running the restaurants took all her energy, maybe more than they should have, but when her evening entertainment consisted of putting her feet up and breaking out her tablet, it was easier to stay at Choux or Lovelace instead.

“Believe it or not, I haven’t, either,” he said, giving over his ice cream before she could
steal it. “I’m appreciating this just as much as you are.”

She snorted her disbelief. “Somehow I find that hard to believe.”

“Why?”

She gestured around the now-closing restaurant. “This hardly seems like your usual hangout spots. After all, there are no cameras, so screaming crowds of adoring fans, and dinner isn’t going to break fifty bucks.”

“This is different,” he insisted. “This is comfortable, relaxing.” He caught her gaze again. “Real.”

“Come on, Raffie. You don’t really expect me to believe that you’re not a man about town with a different woman on your arm every week.”

“I was a good poster boy for the high-roller lifestyle before my injury ended my career,” he said. “When I took the reins at JerTech, I took the role, and the responsibility, seriously. That means I can’t fall asleep in meetings because I was partying until four in the morning.”

“I bet your girlfriends weren’t happy about that,” she said, then instantly regretted it.

“They were never my girlfriends, and they knew that. But no, the last one wasn’t happy that my glamorous jet-setting lifestyle was over. Dashing young billionaire CEO was all well and good but not if it meant staying in Baton Rouge. It was better to end it sooner instead of later. I told her to go talk to Gabriel.”

“You didn’t.” Gabriel Devereaux, the few times she’d met him, came across as cold and dangerous, the extreme opposite of Raphael’s sunny disposition. While she knew that there was more to Raphael than what could be seen on the surface, she didn’t want to know what lurked beneath the cool dark of Gabriel’s eyes.

“I did, and she went.” He shrugged.

Macy blinked. “Wow, that’s …”

“That’s all there is to say about that.” That Caribbean blue gaze caught her. “I didn’t think you’d be so concerned with my love life or lack thereof, Macy.”

She opened her mouth to deny it, but no words came out. She’d spent years feeling hurt and angry over being abandoned by him only to discover that he had come for her but she’d taken off. He had probably had the same feelings of hurt and abandonment that she’d had, and he’d be completely justified if he were angry with her, but he wasn’t. Not yet. When she finally told him everything about Paris, he’d probably never speak to her again.

“We should probably go,” she said lamely, pushing away the empty ice cream bowl. “We both have businesses to run, empires to build.”

He stared at her for a long moment before climbing to his feet. He dug his wallet out of his back pocket, extracted a hundred-dollar bill, then left it on the table. “Thanks for eating the last of my ice cream, by the way. I might actually be able to fold myself back into that matchbox of a car.”

She stuck her tongue out at him. His eyes widened a fraction, his gaze narrowed onto her mouth. “Just for that, you owe me a ride.”

“Excuse me?”

“On my bike.” He gave her a teasing grin as he held the door open for her, as if he knew exactly where her mind went and heartily approved. “This weekend. I know those are probably busy days for you, but maybe Sunday, if the weather holds, we can take a ride and have a picnic.”

Her ears heated. It was still difficult to reconcile this Raphael with the dear friend she remembered. He’d always been intense but he’d never been so … overtly male and sexual. She
gripped her purse tight, fighting the urge to touch him, to tunnel her hands into his jacket and rub her cheek along his T-shirt as she breathed him in. God, less than a week of seeing him again and she was already gone on him.

“What do you say, Macy? I’m not a daredevil, despite what people might say. If the bike is too much, we’ll take the convertible.”

The sweet simplicity of the idea appealed to her, and the weather had been beautiful, not too humid yet. If Sunday was anything like tonight’s dinner, she’d enjoy herself immensely. “You’re on.”

He directed her back to the Arts District, then instructed to pull over in front of a brick two-story that looked like it had been a warehouse in its former life. “This is where you live?”

“Yeah. I found it a couple of months ago. I would invite you in but all I’ve done on the main level is install a gym.”

Of course. “Maybe that picnic should be a furniture-shopping expedition.”

The dim light from the street light illuminated his brilliant smile. “I’d appreciate the help, Macy. You have impeccable taste.”

Macy pursed her lips. He couldn’t have maneuvered her better if he’d tried. And if that wasn’t trying, resisting him was going to prove impossible. She couldn’t refuse him without being rude, and her daddy had taught her better than that. “All right. I’ll see you later.”

He leaned over and gave her a kiss on the cheek that she felt to her toes. “Thanks for coming to dinner, Macy. And the conversation. Even the crook in my neck. Good night.”

With that, he unfolded himself from her car and made his way to the door, where he turned to watch her drive away. It took her a moment during which she realized the car didn’t need to be started again. Fumbling, she got herself and the car into gear, then drove off with a
lighthearted wave that contradicted the emotion churning inside her.

Raphael was back, and she was in trouble.

It was time.

Her defenses had remained intact for a whole week, and she had to admit that if Raphael had pressed her for more it would have been easier to refuse him. He hadn’t pushed her for anything since that first day. Instead, they hung out, talked, went furniture shopping, rode his massive Harley across the Lake Pontchartrain Causeway to the North Shore—which was an adventure in itself—and reaffirmed their friendship. Their friendship felt as comfortable as it had been before the terrible summer, that perfect summer when everything had changed.

Their relationship was a different animal. The casual touches that tingled along her skin. The glances that melted her insides. The simple kisses hello and good-bye that would have been chaste if not for her deliciously naughty thoughts. The nights alone in her bed, dreaming of him and all the wonderful things he used to do to her and with her. Wondering what it would be like to be with this new version of Raphael, the champion fighter, the expert lover.

A thrill of excitement swept through her as she dialed his cell. She knew he was probably handling some multibillion-dollar deal, but if she waited, she might lose her nerve. Who was she kidding? Given the intensity of her fantasies of being with him, she’d probably jump his bones the next time she saw him.

“Macy?”

“Oh, hi,” she stammered. “I was expecting to get your voice mail. I know you’re busy.”

“Never too busy for you,” he said, his voice like warmed honey. “What’s up?”

She decided to jump right in. “I was wondering if you’re free for dinner tonight at my place.”

“A home-cooked meal from the hottest chef in New Orleans?” He chuckled. “What time should I arrive?”

“About six thirty should be okay.” She took a deep breath, then plunged ahead. “You should also plan on staying for breakfast. If you want.”

A pause on the other end. “I want,” he finally said, his voice low. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” She paused, then put all her need into her voice. “Very sure.”

Getting through the remainder of the day was hell. She finally called it quits at four, had a quick staff meeting, then headed out. Somehow she made it through a trip to the grocery store, then guided the MINI to the northern edge of the French Quarter. Though it was newer than the row houses in the Quarter, Macy loved the charm of her two-bedroom, second-story condo with its brick and wrought-iron facade and her view of the inner courtyard. A lovely fountain muted most of the sounds of the city, and coming home was like entering another world.

She stopped short at the sight of the bright red sportscar in her guest parking spot, a low-slung expensive import she had become very familiar with over the last few days. Raphael stepped out as she pulled into her designated space and killed the engine, a black leather duffel and a large bouquet of peonies in his hand. He was gorgeous as usual in his dove gray suit, crisp white shirt, and sapphire blue tie that darkened his eyes.

She forced herself to take a deep breath to calm the onset of nervous excitement as she exited the car. “You’re early.”

He nodded. “I was shit for working after I got your phone call,” he admitted with no apparent embarrassment. “So I thought I’d come over and help you with dinner.”

“I don’t know about that.” She grabbed the groceries from the backseat and handed a couple of bags to him. “Have you graduated from mac-and-cheese and Hot Pockets?”

“Barely.” He flashed a grin. “I can now cut open a bag of salad greens without cutting myself.”

“Good boy,” she teased. “I’m so proud of you.”

He stepped closer to her, his lashes lowered over his startling eyes. “So what do I get for my reward?”

“Beyond a home-cooked meal?” she managed to ask, her tone breathy. He had a way of stealing the air. “Greedy, aren’t you?”

“When it comes to you? Absolutely.”

The impact of Raphael shot straight to her core. He was walking, talking sex on a stick and her hormones stood up and shouted hallelujah. Flustered anew, she made her way up the stairs to her door, her grip on her purchases slipping due to her suddenly sweaty palms. What if her memories of their time together were over-inflated? What if she disappointed him? What if he disappointed her? What if she was about to make the biggest mistake of her life and risk her heart again?

Conscious of Raphael behind her, she unlocked the door, disengaged the alarm, and stepped inside. She turned to face him and the naked hunger and need in his expression stole her breath. What she saw was what she felt. Her body screamed at her with want, with the demand that she
do something
to ease the ache this man caused in her. “Raphael.”

“Macy.” Raphael dropped his duffel, then reached for her one-handed, pulling her close. She had just a second to prepare before his mouth descended, laying siege to hers. The world zeroed down to the feel of his tongue sliding along hers, the heat of his body pressing against hers, and the hardness of his erection brushing the juncture of her thighs.

Whatever she held slipped to the floor as she reached up, tunneling her hands into his
hair, needing to anchor herself, needing him to continue what he did so well—give her pleasure stacked on pleasure. His large hand splayed across her lower back, holding her where he wanted her. With a slight tilt of his head he changed the intensity of the kiss, light, licking forays of his tongue that left her breathless and craving more. She registered the slam of the door, then the hard edge of the hall table against her butt. Then—God, yes!—he used both hands to push up her skirt and lift her against the hard ridge of his arousal.

“Been rock-hard like this all damn day,” he muttered against her mouth. “Thinking about you, about this.”

He claimed her mouth again and she forgot everything—forgot the groceries at their feet, forgot that she needed to tell him something important, that she should be wary of getting too involved with him again. Only one thought reverberated through her body: she had to have Raphael, the sooner the better.

After a blissful eternity spent drowning in his kiss, she loosened her grip on his hair. He broke off the kiss, resting his forehead against hers as he gasped for air. “I didn’t intend to do that,” he admitted. “I wanted to prove to you that it’s not just about this, that it’s everything you give me and it’s worth more than being a bad boy. That look in your eyes just now … God, Macy. I suddenly wanted to be really bad.”

“You are really bad.” Her ardor dimmed slightly as she thought of his reputation, the models and starlets he used to be seen with.

He cupped her face, rough hands gentle on her skin. “I’ll be good to you, Macy,” he whispered. “I won’t make you doubt me.” He gave her another deep kiss. His hands slowly slid down her cheeks to her throat, stopping just above the swell of her breasts. Heat radiated off him, the tiny space between his palms and her breasts almost cracking with electric sensation. She
took a breath, then a deeper one, her chest rising and falling, her breasts aching for the feel of his hands and his mouth.

He stepped back, a look of pain tightening his features. “We should get the groceries to the kitchen and your flowers in some water.”

She took a wobbling step sideways, then reached for the bouquet. “I hope we didn’t break anything.”

He gathered the bags, then followed her to the kitchen. “Doesn’t seem like it, though I think whatever you brought home from Choux is toast.”