Lib Novel Page 61
“But nothing came of it?”
“Of course not. Since I separated the bastard from his head.” He starts the vehicle and glances at the purple vine climbing the old wall that’s covered in peeling paint. “Dead bodies make an amazing plant fertilizer.”
With my mouth hanging open, I follow Rafael’s gaze to the blooming bush, then look over at the grandma, who’s gone back to her knitting with a serene smile on her face. “You buried a body next to her front door? Does the poor woman know that?”
“Of course. She even picked the spot.”
The engine roars to life, and pebbles crunch under the massive tires as Rafael reverses, startling the cat sleeping on the doormat. The furball leaps from its napping spot directly onto the blooming bush. Frantically, it climbs the thick vine and squeezes between the branches just above the door.
“Stop!” I reach out, laying my hand over Rafael’s on the steering wheel. “You scared the cat. It went up the tombstone shrub.”
The rumble of the vehicle dies. I turn my head and our gazes collide, making me forget about the chubby calico. Rafael’s eyes are searing mine, holding them captive, and I find myself leaning toward him. I can feel the scar ridges on his hand under my palm, crisscrossing his skin like some bizarre art deco trellis pattern.
“Tombstone shrub?” Rafael’s gaze shifts down, falling on my mouth, and I belatedly realize I may have drawn his attention by worrying my bottom lip between my teeth.
Is he thinking about the kisses we shared last night? The ones he “paid” me for?
Good God, even after that fiasco, I still want to kiss him again. So bad.
“Um, yeah.” I quickly release his hand and look back at the cat. “Do you think it will come down on its own?”
“Yes.”
“It doesn’t look that way to me.” The cat looks terrified, testing the branch before it with one paw, but quickly retreating. “Can you help it down?”
“It will jump down the moment we leave, Vasilisa.”
My heartbeat skyrockets like it always does when he calls me by my name. I take a deep breath and look at him. “Please?”
Rafael lifts his hand and lightly brushes my cheek with his scarred knuckles. The air gets caught in my lungs.
“La mia principessa russa,” he whispers.
Another stroke along my chin before he exits the car and heads toward the house where the distraught cat is still crammed between branches heavy with purple blooms.
Mesmerized, I watch as Rafael jostles the bush limbs and flowers, trying to get his hands on the scaredy cat. The calico might have looked like it was eager to get down, but it’s taking Rafael more than five minutes to grab it because the little thing keeps twisting around the offshoots and foliage. When he finally gets a hold and starts pulling the mewling fluffball out from between the tangled vines, the cat scrambles out of Rafael’s hands and leaps back onto the bush. Then, using one of the thicker branches, it expertly dashes to the ground and runs away.
Laughter bubbles inside me, and by the time Rafael gets into the driver’s seat, I’m laughing so hard that tears stream down my cheeks.
“I guess you were right.” I snort, then fall into another fit of giggles. “Sneaky little thing.”
“Of course I was right.” There’s a small smirk on his lips when he starts the SUV.
Rafael reaches for his sunglasses on the dashboard, and while he’s putting them on, I notice faint red markings on the back of his hand. The surrounding skin is turning fire-engine-red.
“Oh my God, the little rascal scratched you!”
“It wasn’t the cat. That’s a bougainvillea bush.” He meets my gaze. “Its thorns are toxic.”
I stare at him—this dangerous, unscrupulous man, who only minutes ago disclosed that he buried a dead body under that same bush. And then, without protest, he went to “rescue” the cat because I asked him to, all while knowing he’d get hurt in the process.
Warmth swells inside my chest, melting away one of the many layers of protection I’ve been trying to build around my heart. One of my remaining safeguards from Rafael De Santi.
* * *
“What are we doing here?” I ask as we walk down the wooden dock.
On the far end of it, two white yachts lightly sway on the gentle waves. The first one is a huge monstrosity with two levels above the main deck and looks more like an outlandish hotel than a sea vessel, while the other one is significantly smaller but still big enough to dwarf a lot of speedboats I’ve seen zipping around Lake Michigan in Chicago. A guy wearing white shorts and a striped T-shirt is unwinding ropes from the metal hooks bolted to the dock.