Unconditional (30 page)

Which made it different somehow. More…important. More profound.

Lifting my gaze to his face again, I caught my bottom lip with my tongue. He stared back at me, silent.

Without a word, fingers trembling, I undid the rest of my buttons and slipped my shirt from my shoulders.

At the end of the bed, Raph hooked his hands into the hemline of his polo and tugged it over his head.

I let out a little whimper. God, he was gorgeous.

Once again, our gazes clashed. Held each other prisoner.

I unzipped my shorts and, with a rather clumsy and altogether unsexy jiggle, repositioned myself to my knees.

Raph’s stare dropped to the tiny triangle of my lower belly now revealed by my opened fly. His chest rose and fell again.

Heart pounding, sex throbbing, I slipped my hands between my hips and my shorts and shoved them, my shorts, not my hips, down.

“Oh, Maci,” he murmured.

The undeniable desire in his voice filled me with joy. And hungry, impatient need.

Unable to wait any longer, I dropped to my butt and kicked my shorts away. Yeah, so not a sexy move, I know, but I was beyond seduction now. I just wanted to feel Raph’s body moving over mine. Moving
in
mine. I just wanted to feel his heat seep into my bones as he held me and we made love.

Love. Not just sex, but love.

Because that’s what it was. And it was wonderful.

Moving my hands to the side strings of my panties, I smiled up at him and then frowned when he shook his head.

“
I
want to take those off you,” he said. “I
need
to take those off you. And your bra. I think if I watch you do it, I’ll fucking blow my load in my boxers.”

I laughed. “Then take your boxers off and get over—”

He shoved his boxer shorts down his hips and was on the bed before I could finish. Again.

With a rumbly growl, he captured my lips in a hungry kiss and pressed me back to mattress. He roamed his hands over my body. He knelt between my thighs, unclipping my bra with dexterous skill even as he kissed me crazy. When he moved his hands to my panties, I let out a hitching breath and arched beneath him.

Two seconds later, I was naked. Completely.

A heartbeat later, I was moaning loudly as he swept his tongue over my folds. A heartbeat after
that
, I was fisting the duvet as he sucked the tiny nub of my clit into his mouth.

Oh God, could it get any better?

It did.

Because after he made me come with his mouth, he tied my wrists to the posts at the head of the bed—utilizing his discarded belt and his socks. Necessity is the mother of all invention, after all—and made me come two more times.

With slow, powerful, deep thrusts, he buried himself in my wet heat, stretching me, filling me completely. Moving inside me. Moving with me.

And when he came, when his orgasm took him in the same way mine took me, he called my name and told me he loved me over and over again.

Suffice to say, we only just made it to the main house for dinner at 9:06.

Life
Is
Good

Raph’s mother took one look at us and raised an eyebrow. “Am I to assume you two know each other?”

Raph ducked his head. Seeing him this way, like a little boy, was an experience. He was so goddamn endearing. “Maci was in Mackellar House before coming to Gunnedah, Mum.”

Mrs. P cast me a long look. “Was she now? Why didn’t Raphael mention he knew you last night when we were talking on the phone, Miss Rowling? Are you one of those girls who are constantly trying to get him into bed? Trying to manipulate him with sex?”

My heart tripped a beat. An unsettled sensation squirmed in my belly. Did she really think I was that kind of girl? Did I
look
like that kind of girl? God help me, surely not.

My panic must have shown on my face, because Raph took my hand and pulled me closer to his side. “Bloody hell, Mum, she’s not one of
those
girls. And seriously, I think I’m going to need therapy for the rest of my life after hearing you ask if I’ve been manipulated by sex.”

Mrs. P narrowed her eyes, ignoring Raph’s reaction to her question. “Are you going to sell your story to the media, Maci?”

Heart fast, I opened my mouth.

“Jesus, Mum,” Raph growled. “Give it a break. I know you don’t read the gossip in the papers, and if you were
that
worried about me and my poor fragile heart, you would have been on the phone the second the news of Maci and I being in a ménage relationship with Osmond hit.”

Mrs. P’s eyebrows shot up her forehead. “A what? With who?”

Raph grunted. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“Who’s in a ménage relationship?” Mr. Patterson asked, striding into the dining room. To be honest, his sudden appearance, and the sharp interest in his voice, made me jump.

“Your son.” Mrs. P arched an eyebrow at Raph. “With Maci and someone called Osmond.”

Mr. Patterson grunted, a sound freakishly identical to Raph’s. “Good for him. But what’s that got to do with why my dinner isn’t on the table waiting for me? I’ve been working bloody hard all day and I’m hungry.”

If it wasn’t for the small twitching of Helen Patterson’s lips, I think I may have run from the room, cheeks on fire. I know it was really Helen
Jones’s
lips, but that name just didn’t want to stick in my head.

At my side, Raph rolled his eyes. “My family,” he muttered.

Dinner was…interesting. I learned very quickly why his parents didn’t know who I was. They genuinely didn’t seem to bother themselves with what the media was saying about their children. “I’m too busy to worry about drivel like that,” Mr. Patterson declared when, unable to hold my tongue any longer, I asked what they thought of their son being an Australian celebrity. “He’s a big boy. He can look after himself.”

I shot Raph a curious glance. Did they know about Horn? Did they care?

Raph pulled a face. “Thanks, Dad. Gotta love the support.”

Mr. Patterson raised his attention from his dinner—roast beef and a pile of vegetables cooked the same way—and gave his son a long, level gaze. A heavy tension fell over the room.

Finally, with another grunt—the patented Patterson grunt, I was beginning to think of it as—he returned his attention to his dinner plate. “You know it’s there for you when you really need it, son.”

And that was the end of the topic. The conversation moved to the weather, the health of the Kangaroo Creek cattle, the Scotts, who Mrs. P. informed us had finally made it through the overflowing river today, and then to Australian politics.

“We’re out of here,” Raph declared at that point, threading his fingers through mine and tugging me out of my seat. He dropped a quick kiss on Mrs. P’s cheek. “Thanks for dinner, Mum. We’ll see you sometime over the weekend.”

She slid a gaze my way. “You’re staying with Maci?”

Raph smoothed his arm around my back and smiled down at me. “Absolutely,” he murmured.

The weight of the word, the open emotion in his eyes stole my breath. I knew he wasn’t talking about just the weekend.

“Use protection,” Mr. Patterson instructed with a barely engaged voice.

God help me, my cheeks flooded with heat.

“Thanks for the advice, Dad,” Raph threw over his shoulder as we exited the dining room.

It was, I have to admit, the most surreal meal I’ve had. And remember, I’ve eaten at a café with naked people sitting on pedestals.

We walked back to the guesthouse hand in hand. Neither of us spoke for a while. The silence was relaxed and wonderful. In fact, the whole thing was wonderful—Raph’s fingers holding mine, our palms together, his tall presence beside me, that distinctly sweet, fresh scent the air gets after rain…it was perfect.

Raph pulled me to a halt twice. Both times to kiss me. Tender, lingering kisses that filled me with more happiness and contented joy than I thought was possible.

We checked out the stars, and boy were there a lot of them. This far away from the bright lights of civilization, the Milky Way looked like a blanket of twinkling diamonds in the black sky. Raph held me close, spooning me from behind as he pointed out various constellations. He knew the stories behind them all, and I listened, rapt, as he recounted the different Aboriginal legends behind each one.

By the time we made it back to the guesthouse, I was damn near floating. I didn’t think I’d ever been this happy. Ever.

We showered together, making love under the water before moving to the bed. Once again, Raph tied me up. I have to tell you, there is something utterly addictive about being bound to the bed while your lover explores your body with his hands and tongue and lips. This time, Raph blindfolded me, and holy shit, did it make me hot. Who knew I was so kinky?

Afterwards, I took my meds—there was no way I was going to forget them—and we settled down to watch some television.

Somewhere around one a.m., we made love again, but this time
I
was the one who tied Raph up.

Trust me, if you ever get the chance to do that—tie up your partner—do so. That’s all I’m saying.

The sun was high when I woke the next morning.

I lay in Raph’s arms for a long moment, pondering my situation, my life.

Only twenty-four hours ago, I was determined to forget about Raph altogether. I was hell bent on erasing him from my memory even as I accepted it was impossible. I was adamant cutting him from my life was the right thing to do, the only thing to do, and yet here I was now, blissfully happy in his arms.

What did I do about that?

It had always been about knowing my future. From the second the doctor told me I had Parkinson’s disease, I knew what was going to happen in my life. I knew what to expect as the years unfolded before me. I knew what my ultimate fate was going to be.

And then, along comes this guy, this Australian guy with his emotionally detached upbringing, his celebrity status, his stubborn refusal to let me wallow in my own pity, and
bam
, I’m in love and contemplating a future with him in it.

I’d done my best to paint the most horrific image of the life ahead of me in an attempt to scare him off, and it hadn’t worked.

So what did I do now?

What did
we
do now? Given I was returning to Plenty, Ohio, in three weeks? How would that work?

Could it?

“What are you thinking?”

I wriggled in Raph’s arms at his sleepy mumble. “Do penguins have knees?”

He laughed softly at my question, tugged me closer to his body and nuzzled a line of kisses along my shoulder and up to the back of my neck. “What I want to know is, which armrest is yours at a movie theater?”

I closed my eyes, the soft pressure of his lips on my skin sending a shiver of delight into the center of my being. I’d never get tired of his touch. Ever.

God, what would I do if
he
ever got tired of touching
me
?

What would I do when, in years to come, he got fed up with the way I shook in my sleep? Or when my meds started to impact my sex drive? I’d heard Mom tell Dad once that they did, that they not only reduced her tremors but her libido. What would Raph do when that happened? What would I do?

Hot tears pricked the backs of my eyes, taking me by surprise. I bit back a sob, cursing my stupid brain. The moment was too perfect. How could I be ruining it with stupid, horrible, bleak thoughts?

What the hell was wrong with me?

“Hey.” Raph lifted his head from the back of my neck. With a gentle tug, he rolled me onto my back and frowned down at me. “What’s going on, American girl?”

The concern in his voice knotted my stomach. I tried to look away. I didn’t want him to see me like this.

But he wouldn’t let me. Tucking his finger under my chin, he drew my face back to his, his eyes swimming with worry. “Talk to me, Maci,” he said. “I can’t take away your fear if you don’t tell me what it is.”

“I didn’t want to fall in love with you,” I confessed. “It was easier when I knew I’d never have to worry about being a burden to anyone. Now…” I shrugged. “What happens if you realize you can’t deal with what I’ve got? What happens to my stupid heart then?”

He regarded me with a silent gaze for a long moment. He didn’t pull away from me. “There’s a word in the dictionary you might be familiar with,” he finally said, brushing his thumb along my lower lip.

“What’s that?” I asked on a husky whisper.

He smiled. “Unconditional.” And then, eyes twinkling, he started singing the Katy Perry song, his voice woeful, his enthusiasm awesome, and all thoughts of being miserable and scared and worried left me.

I knew the subject needed to be addressed at some point before the weekend was over, it really did, but for now I was willing to lose myself in the pleasure and happiness of this moment, this reality with Raph.

Sometime later, after more…y’know…Raph decided to make breakfast.

“I should warn you,” he said, cracking what I think was the sixth egg into a large bowl, “I’m not the best cook in the world.”

I sniggered. “Can’t be any worse than me. Mom tells me I burn water.”

He chuckled. “So it’s a life of eating take-away and going out for dinner for us then? Excellent. I’ve never been a fan of doing the dishes.”

Pushing myself from the bed, I crossed to where he stood at the kitchen counter, slid my arms around his waist and rested my chin on his broad shoulder. “Then I hope you plan on making lots of money,” I mumbled, letting my hands roam the six-pack of his stomach, “’cause this tree-hugging greenie with a pending degree in environmental sciences is not likely to make any.”

Damn, I loved the feel of his hard body pressed to mine. It helped that both of us were semi-naked. The warmth from his muscular back seeping into my chest and belly was so perfect it made me a little giddy.

“Hey—” he turned his head and dropped a quick kiss to the tip of my nose, “—I plan on being ridiculously rich. Of course, I also plan on being a world famous artist as well, so it’s probably best you don’t hold your breath.”