Taken by Storm

Simone heard the deep, comforting voice mouthing the words she wanted and needed to hear to ease her angst. Looping her arms around Rafe's neck, she fed on the strength emanating from him as naturally as breathing.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled.

Rafe smiled. "What are you apologizing for?"

She pulled back, but didn't break contact. "For losing it."

He stared at the shimmer of unshed tears. "You're allowed, Simone."

Sniffing and smiling, she nodded. "Thank you, Rafe."

Attractive lines deepened around his eyes. "You're welcome."

A slight frown formed between Simone's eyes that were now a vibrant green. "You must think I'm silly—"

"Stop it," Rafe chided softly. "What you went through today would take the nerve of the bravest man, so don't you dare apologize for being human."

"What—what would you've done in my situation?" she asked tentatively.

A muscle tightened his lean jaw. "I would've shot the bastard."

Rafe had said it so matter-of-factly that Simone shivered noticeably, as if cold air had swept over the nape of her neck, and in that instant she wondered if he'd ever killed another human being. She felt herself withdrawing although she hadn't moved.

"Would you have killed him, Rafe?"

He nodded. "I would've if he'd come at me with a knife."

"Did you—have you ever killed someone?"

Rafe smiled at Simone as if she were a small child. "Thankfully I haven't had to."

She returned his smile. "That's good to know."

"Why?"

"Because I'd feel uncomfortable living with you knowing you'd taken someone's life."

Within seconds, Rafe's expression became a mask of stone. "I don't ever want you to forget who or what I am. I'm not a school crossing guard protecting children from motorists who disobey the twenty-mile-per-hour school zone speed limit. I know my living with you is a constant reminder of what you saw this morning, but it's not a permanent arrangement. Think of the Supreme Court Justices who live every day of their lives under the protection of the U.S. Marshals Service."

Simone shook her head. "I don't think I could live like that, knowing that some crazy may be planning to take me out because they don't agree with my decision."

"You wouldn't have a choice if you were confirmed and accepted the position. Don't forget that everything we do or say has either conditions or consequences."

She knew Rafe was right. Easing out of his embrace and off his lap, she flashed a shy smile. "Thank you for your shoulder. I'm okay now."

Pushing off the chair, Rafe studied the too-bright smile and false bravado of the woman who for several minutes had slipped under the professional facade he wore like a badge of honor. Always the consummate professional, he'd never let any witness affect him emotionally.

However, when he'd held Simone he hadn't wanted to acknowledge that she'd felt so right in his arms that he hadn't wanted to let her go. He also hadn't meant to call her baby. He had to be careful, very careful, not to cross the line and risk compromising his assignment.

What he couldn't tell her was that she reminded him of a woman who'd captured his love and passion a year after he'd joined the Marshals Service. But his world came crashing down when she'd informed him that she was carrying another man's child. Although they'd lived together, she'd also been sleeping with another man. Their two-year liaison had ended without incident when he moved out, checked into a motel and submitted a request to his regional director—he wanted to be reassigned to witness security. Traveling kept him busy, and a single-minded focus on protecting witnesses proved advantageous to his emotional healing and growth.

A wry smile twisted his mouth as he walked over to the sink. Simone Whitfield's hair may have reminded him of Dorene, but that was where the similarities ended. The woman under whose roof he would sleep had an in-your-face attitude that said she was no shrinking violet. She'd proven that when she pepper-sprayed Ian Benton.

There was no doubt that if she were in law enforcement, the taxpayers of New York wouldn't have to foot the expense of the thirty-plus thousand a year it cost to incarcerate an inmate. Rafe knew that if Simone had been armed, she would've shot and probably killed Benton.

He gave her a sidelong glance when she stood next to him. "I'll make the dressing tonight. Tomorrow you're on your own."

Simone rolled her eyes at him. "Bully," she said under her breath.

Rafe lifted his eyebrows. "You think?"

She flashed a smile that looked more like a grimace. "I know."

The seconds ticked off as they stared at one another. Rafe was the first to break contact. "I'm going to need some fresh parsley, a green onion and two shallots."

"The parsley's in the second pot on the left on the window ledge. But I'm going to have to get the onion and shallot from the greenhouse." She'd set up one greenhouse to grow her flowers and half of the second one for herbs and vegetables.

Reaching for the keys to the house Simone had left on the window ledge, Rafe slipped them into the pocket of his jeans. "I'm ready whenever you are."

"You're going to have to change your shoes if you're going to the greenhouse."

He glanced down at his boots. "What's wrong with my shoes?"

"I don't want you to track fertilizer and insecticide into the house. There should be a pair of clogs or garden boots in the mudroom that should fit you."

Rafe wanted to ask Simone why she had men's shoes in her house if she wasn't living with a man, but thought the question much too personal. He followed her to the mudroom and discovered a shelf filled with wooden clogs and rubber boots in varying sizes and heights. He found a dark green pair of clogs in his size and slipped into them at the same time Simone pushed her sock-covered feet into a pair of rubber boots.

He waited for her to activate the alarm before they took off, walking side by side down the hill to the greenhouses. For a brief moment of madness, Rafe wondered how it would've been if he'd met Simone under other circumstances. He dismissed the traitorous thought as soon as it came to mind, knowing that if he allowed himself to see her as someone other than a witness, then he would lose his edge.

Ian Benton and the men who'd hired him weren't small-time hoods robbing gas stations and convenience stores for a few dollars. They were a well-organized group of dissidents whose intent was to eliminate anyone who opposed their beliefs.

Unconsciously, he reached out and took Simone's hand. She stiffened momentarily, then relaxed her fingers as she met his unflinching gaze. I'm going to make certain nothing happens to you, said a silent voice. She flashed a shy smile, and he returned it with a confident one of his own.

He'd made her a promise, one that he intended to keep, just like he'd kept the one he made to his mother and sister.

Chapter 4

"Park next to the gray Beemer convertible," Simone instructed Rafe, pointing to the empty parking space in the bowling alley lot. "That's Micah's car," she added when he gave her a questioning look.

"Who's Micah?"

"Micah Sanborn is engaged to my sister Tessa."

"The former NYPD lieutenant and soon-to-be brother-in-law."

Smiling, she nodded. "Yes." Rafe maneuvered the large SUV into the space in one motion and shut off the engine. "I know," Simone drawled when he turned to look at her. "Don't get out until you give me the all-clear signal."

Rafe winked at Simone. "Smart girl. You're a quick learner."

Simone wanted to tell him she wasn't a girl, but didn't want to ruin what had become an undeclared truce between them. She'd recovered from her temporary meltdown to assist Rafe in preparing dinner. His admission that he could cook was grossly underestimated when he concocted an incredibly scrumptious dish—lobster over linguine—with flavors that exploded and tantalized her palate. She'd sat on a stool watching him melt butter in a large skillet to which he added garlic, shallot, mushroom and chicken broth.

When her grandmother had informed her, Tessa and Faith that she was going to teach them to cook the dishes that had been passed down through generations of Whitfield women, it was Simone who always skipped cooking lessons because she had better things to do than stand over a hot stove. Faith and Tessa had become the recipients of an invaluable tradition of secret recipes that were repeated time again when her father and uncle added them to the menu at Whitfield Caterers.

Simone had become the brunt of family jokes when everyone said that if she cooked as well as she designed floral arrangements, then she would be an award-winning chef. She no longer had her grandmother, but what she did have was a live-in replacement: Raphael Madison.

Rafe was a patient teacher when he showed her how to chop green onions and fresh parsley, and dice tomatoes, all which she grew in her greenhouse, with the facility of a professional chef. She was transfixed by the power in his hands when he removed the lobster meat from the tails without using a knife to crack the shells. At that moment, she'd imagined the side of his hand coming down on the back of someone's neck, rendering him unconscious within seconds.

Although they hadn't been together more than twelve hours, Simone found her bodyguard a study in contrasts. He'd warned her never to forget who or what he was—a U.S. Deputy Marshal licensed to carry a firearm and kill, if needed, with deadly force. However, when she'd lost her composure, he'd held her as if she were fragile porcelain, whispering words that calmed her fears, knowing she could trust him with her life. It was only at that moment that she realized that her life was in his charge.

"Why are you so cautious when you've said that only the Feds and a few members of the White Plains Police Department know that I'm the only witness?" she asked Rafe when he helped her out of the Yukon.

Rafe stared at Simone staring up at him. Brilliant gold-red rays from the sun turned her into a statue in shades of umber, honey and henna. Suddenly he found himself transfixed, hypnotized by the petite woman with the mesmerizing eyes and lush mouth who, within a matter of hours, had seeped into a part of him he hadn't known existed. Other than her overt beauty and a sensuality he wasn't certain Simone knew she possessed, he wanted to know what was it about her that made him feel as if he were a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming vehicle.

"Training," he said after an interminable silence. It was training, and the possibility that someone could inadvertently leak her name. Even a file labeled TOP SECRET wasn't that if more than one person was privy to the information.

"Can't you relax just a bit?"

"Why?"

Simone dropped her gaze, staring at the middle of Rafe's chest. "We're never going to fool anyone into thinking we're friends if you act like a bodyguard."

"For the lack of a better word, that is what I am, Simone." He opened the rear door to get the bag with her bowling ball and shoes, but when he closed it he found that she was heading for the ultramodern two-story building. He caught up with her, reaching for her hand. "How relaxed do you want me to be?"

"You don't have to tell me not to get out of the car before you, because that's something that I do with any man."

Rafe gave her fingers a gentle squeeze. "In other words, you want me to pretend that I'm your boyfriend?"

She gave him a sidelong glance. "The operative word is pretend. How am I going to explain you living with me if we don't pretend there's at least something happening between us?"

"Have you taken up with other men other than your husband?"

Simone's eyelids fluttered wildly. It was a question her cousin and sister had asked on occasion, and the answer was always the same. No.

"What do you mean by 'taken up with'?"

"Date."

She thought about a man who bowled with her that she'd recently gone out with. She probably would've consented to see him again if he hadn't talked incessantly about his ex-wife. "I've dated, but the dates never progressed to a man living with me."

"What about men sleeping with you?"

A shock swept through Simone with the power of a sirocco, her retort wedging in her throat. Who the hell did he think he was to ask her something that personal? "That's none of your business." she said, her voice lowering as she struggled to contain her quick temper.

Rafe flashed a devastatingly sexy smile. "The fact that you won't answer the question says you're celibate."

A soft gasp escaped her parted lips. "Whether I'm celibate or not is none of your damn business."

"Oh, but it is, Simone," he said softly. "If you're sleeping with someone, then you'd better tell him that there will be no knocking boots until after I'm gone."

"Oh, now I'm not permitted to date?"

"You can date."

Her smile was dazzling. "Why, thank you."

Rafe sobered quickly. "The only person you'll be dating is me. If you want a pretend boyfriend, then you have one. Let's practice to see if we can get it right."

He dropped her hand and looped an arm around her waist, pulling her flush against his body. Lowering his head, he fastened his mouth to her parted lips, breathing in her breath and deepening the kiss. Rafe hadn't consciously thought of kissing Simone, but he found her sultry mouth was like the open blooms of flowers beckoning insects to taste the sweet nectar within.

Simone tried pushing Rafe away, but she was no match for his superior strength. The shock of his mouth on hers melted away, replaced by a warming that started at her toes and eddied slowly up her legs. Her thighs warmed and the hidden place at the apex throbbed with long-forgotten sensations that threatened to make her faint. Thankfully it ended as quickly as it'd begun.

With wide eyes, she stared at the sardonic grin on his face. He knew! He knew his kiss had affected her more than she wanted it to when his gaze moved down to her heaving chest. She was struggling vainly not to succumb to the delicious sensations coursing throughout her body.

"How did I do?" he asked, winking at her.

"Okay."

Rafe's dark eyebrows lifted slightly. "Just okay? Perhaps I need more practice." He reached for her again, but she stepped nimbly away from him.

"Don't you dare touch me," she said between clenched teeth.

"Are you all right, Simone?"

She whirled around at the sound of a familiar voice. It belonged to one of the police officers in her bowling league. "I'm okay, Mark."

His bright red eyebrows met in a frown, as clear blue eyes shifted between her and Rafe, who'd switched the bowling bag from his left hand to his right. "Are you sure?"

She nodded. "Very sure." The last thing she wanted was for bullets to start flying if the two lawmen drew down on each other. Moving closer to Rafe, she went on tiptoe and brushed a light kiss over his firm mouth. "We were just having a lover's spat."

Mark nodded. "If that's the case, then I'll see you inside."

Waiting until the other man walked away, Simone rounded on Rafe. "What the hell are you trying to do? Get yourself shot?"

"Do you really think he would've drawn a gun on me without identifying himself as a police officer? No, Simone," he said, answering his own question. "By that time, I would've told him the same. Despite what you might think, there is police protocol. Let's go," he continued. "I don't want to make you late for your game."

Simone shot him an angry glare as she waited for him to open the door. Rafe was several steps behind her when she made her way past an area where bowlers were exchanging their street shoes for bowling shoes.

"This place is really nice," Rafe drawled behind her.

"It is," she concurred.

It was nice, but the one her father and uncle planned to put up in Mount Vernon would surpass this one in square footage and other amenities. She spied Tessa and Micah as they sat together at the far end of the building. Simone knew she had to get her sister alone to tell her why she'd come with a strange man in tow.

She placed a hand on Rafe's shoulder. "Let me talk to my sister alone before I make the introductions."

"Okay. I'll be over there." He pointed to a corner where bowlers had left their bags.

Smiling, Simone approached her sister. Tessa's fiancé, Micah Sanborn, stood up and kissed her cheek. "Hey, Simone. How's it going?"

She returned the kiss, smiling at the tall, dark, handsome and incredibly masculine Kings County assistant district attorney whom she'd come to regard as her brother. He was dressed casually in a pair of jeans and a navy-and-white-striped rugby shirt.

"It's all good," she lied smoothly. "How's your family?"

"They're well, thank you. By the way, my folks wanted me to ask you if you're available Sunday to come for a cookout. Faith and Ethan have already committed."

Tessa Whitfield stood up and hugged her sister. Two years younger than Simone, she was taller and darker in coloring and the modified flyway Afro hairstyle she'd worn for years was replaced with a short chic cut that flattered her soft, delicate features. Light caught the sparkle of blue-white prisms in the magnificent cushion-cut center diamond on her left hand.

"Please say you're coming, Simone. Micah and I are spending the night at his parents' house after we leave Faith and Ethan. You can come with us, and that way you won't have to drive back to White Plains just to turn around and come back to Jersey the next day."

Simone met Micah's intense dark gaze, and knew he was waiting for her answer. She gave him a warm smile. "Excuse me, Micah, but I need to tell Tessa something before I commit."

Tessa gave her a perplexed look. "What's the matter?"

"Come with me," she said cryptically. Taking Tessa by the hand, she pulled her away from the people who'd begun crowding into the neighboring lanes. In another fifteen minutes, balls would be hurtled with astonishing speed, drowning out conversations.

Rafe took a step when he saw Simone with a woman who looked enough like her to be her sister, but settled back against the wall when he realized they weren't moving out of his line of vision.

He watched Tessa Whitfield's expression change as Simone whispered close to her ear. After a full minute, both women turned and stared at him. He acknowledged Tessa with a barely perceptible nod before she threw her arms around Simone's neck. He mentally concluded that Simone and Tessa must have incredibly attractive parents to have produced not one, but two beautiful daughters. Straightening to his full height he was ready when Simone led Tessa over to him.

She extended her hand. "Hello, Rafe. I'm Tessa Whitfield, your girlfriend's sister. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Rafe shook her hand. "The pleasure is mine, Tessa." He noticed their voices were similar, but Simone claimed a slightly lower register.

"Come, Rafe. I'd like you to meet my fiancé before we start bowling."

He wasn't certain what Simone had told her sister, but if she was going to pass him off as her boyfriend then he would willingly play out the charade until the game ended. What he didn't want to think about was kissing her again. He knew Simone hadn't been expecting the kiss, but once his mouth touched hers he hadn't wanted to stop.

Rafe's gaze swept over Micah Sanborn. He was tall, slender, with close-cropped dark hair sprinkled with flecks of gray. Although he wasn't in uniform there was something about the way he carried himself that silently blared Cop! Once a cop, always a cop. He wondered if it would be same with him when he retired.

Tessa looped her arm through Micah's. "I'd like you to meet Simone's boyfriend, Raphael Madison. Rafe, my fiancé, Micah Sanborn."

Smiling, Micah gave him a firm handshake. "Nice meeting you, Rafe. Is it Rafe or Raphael?"

"Rafe will do."

Micah's dark, penetrating eyes took in everything about Raphael Madison in one sweeping glance. "Are you on the job?"

Rafe knew he was asking if he was a cop. "How did you know?"

"After putting in twenty years on the force, I can spot one fifty feet away."

"What are you doing now?" Rafe asked, not admitting or denying he was in law enforcement.

"I'm a Kings County ADA."

"I'd like to talk—"

"Yo, Sandy, you guys are short one man tonight," called out Justin Jamison, a short, but solidly built man with a shaved head. "Harris had a collar, so he's stuck at the station with paperwork."

Micah stared at Rafe. "Do you bowl?"

"Not in a while."

"Do you mind filling in tonight?" Micah asked

Rafe preferred bowling to standing around looking and acting like a bodyguard. "I wouldn't mind at all." Placing a hand on Simone's shoulder as she sat changing her shoes, he leaned over her. "I'll be back."

"Where are you going?"

"I'm going to be your bowling partner tonight."

She wrinkled her nose. "If you spoil our winning streak I'm going to hurt you, Rafe Madison." Not only was her team undefeated, but she and Micah had earned highest league scores among the men and women.

"Whatcha gonna do to me, baby?" he whispered.

"You don't want to know." She gave him a sassy grin when he winked at her.

Knowing no one was going to harm Simone with dozens of police officers around her, Rafe went to select a pair of shoes and a ball. It was apparent she'd adjusted to her present situation because she was smiling more than scowling, joking rather than protesting. He'd enjoyed cooking with her, even if he'd done most of it.

Simone was on her feet, her gaze fixed intently on Rafe. Whenever it was his turn to bowl, those in nearby lanes stopped whatever they were doing to watch him. She wasn't certain whether it was technique or luck, but the results were awesome. He'd just bowled his seventh consecutive strike.

"I'm impressed," she said, complimenting him when he sat down. "And I'll have you know that I'm not very easily impressed."

A dazzling smile deepened the lines around his eyes. "Neither am I."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You've impressed me, too."

Simone gave him a skeptical look. "I'm not the one on track to bowl a perfect game."

"Have you ever bowled a three hundred?"

Shaking her head, Simone watched Tessa's follow-through. She'd knocked down her spare. "I've come close. What about you?"

Rafe lifted a broad shoulder. "I've done it once or twice."

NYPD Sergeant Justin Jamison took a long swallow from a bottle of beer, narrowing his gaze at Rafe. "Look, Sandy, you know the rules. No ringers."

Simone popped up like a jack-in-the-box. "Who are you calling a ringer, Justin?"

He'd asked her out once, and she'd accepted. Although divorced, he couldn't stop talking about his ex-wife. And what Justin refused to understand when he called to ask Simone out again was why she'd turned him down. It was apparent he was unable to accept rejection because after that he'd suddenly turned on her as if she were a bitter enemy.

The homicide detective glared at her. "I wasn't talking to you, Curly Sue."

Rafe rose slowly to his feet and took Simone's arm. Even though he didn't need Simone to defend him he wasn't going to stand by and let the obviously inebriated man get in her face.

"Look, man, you need to watch your mouth," he threatened softly.

Micah shot the man a warning look. "And I think you should lay off the beer." A female vice detective forcibly pried the beer bottle from Justin's hand.

The others on Jamison's team groaned in unison while rolling their eyes at him. "What the hell are you looking at?" he asked his teammates.

The vice detective rubbed Jamison's shaved head, then kissed it. "They're spanking us, Sarge, so suck it up."