Raffaele: Taming His Tempestuous Virgin

She didn’t answer. She wouldn’t even meet his eyes. Something was wrong, but Rafe had no idea what that something was.

“Chiara.”

He put his hand under his wife’s chin and lifted her face to his. Yes. She was troubled. So was he. Something had changed inside him, during the long night. It had to do with their making love but there was more to it than that. He wished to hell he knew what it was, but whatever had changed, whatever he felt, was just out of reach.

He only knew that he was happy.

Incredibly happy.

He said Chiara’s name again, bent his head and kissed her. At first she didn’t respond. Then she sighed and kissed him back.

He smiled. “Good morning, sweetheart,” he said softly.

Her smile was tremulous. “Good morning, Raffaele.”

His eyes moved over her face. As always, it was bare of makeup and it hit him that he couldn’t recall seeing a woman without makeup, even after a long night in bed. Falco joked about it. The 5:00 a.m. face, he called it, because it was always freshly painted on by the time a man opened his eyes. Women were programmed, Falco said, to wake at dawn so they’d have time to scrub off last night’s war paint and put on today’s.

Chiara had put nothing on her face. She hadn’t fixed her hair, either, as women always did. It went with the 5:00 a.m. face—the perfect straight fall or the artfully tumbled curls.

Not his wife. Her hair was a dark nimbus of silk.

Rafe’s gut clenched. It was tough to decide what he wanted most right now. To carry her back to bed and make love to her, or simply to hold her close in his arms.

And there it was again, that sad expression in her lovely eyes. Did she regret their long, wonderful night?

“Sweetheart?” He hesitated. “Are you sorry we made love?”

He’d expected a quick answer, a smile and a no, and maybe a touch of her lips against his. But the seconds slipped past, and just when he thought he was going to go crazy, she shook her head and melted against him.

“The thing is,” she said, in a small voice, “the thing is, I do not understand any of this.”

His sense of relief was enormous. He pulled back, just far enough so he could see her face, and flashed a wicked, sexy grin.

“Which part don’t you understand, baby? I’ll be happy to help.”

“I am serious, Raffaele. I mean, we hardly know each other. Our marriage is not…” She couldn’t say it, and wasn’t that silly? “Our marriage is not a normal one. We are only together because you were my Sir Galahad.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, but I doubt if Galahad’s armor was as tarnished as mine.”

“And that is another thing.” Her voice was low. “Your…your occupation.”

His eyebrows rose. “Well, I’ll admit, lots of people don’t think much of guys in my business right now, but—”

“You have been so good to me. So gentle.” Her eyes searched his. “So how could you be one of them?”

“One of who?”

“You know. You are part of…of—What is it called here? My father’s organization. Your father’s. How could you be you and be part of that, as well?”

It took a couple of seconds before he figured it out. She still thought he was a hoodlum. He would have laughed, but he sensed that this wasn’t really funny.

“Okay,” he said briskly, “here’s what we’re gonna do. Shower. Get dressed. Then we’ll go out for breakfast and after that, I’ll show you what it is I do for a living. What I really do for a living, sweetheart, as opposed to what you think I do.”

“I know what you do, Raffaele. Didn’t I just tell you that?”

“Yes. You did.” He kissed her. Just for good measure, he kissed her again. “And,” he said softly, “I can see that it really matters to you.”

“Of course it matters,” she said with indignation. “I—You and I—we did things…”

“Amazing things,” he said huskily. “Incredible things.” He gave her a slow, tender kiss. “And we’ll do them again, sweetheart, but first I’m going to show you who I really am.”

“I keep telling you—”

He silenced her with another kiss. “I know you do,” he said gently. “And now, I’m telling you, baby. Give me the benefit of the doubt, okay?”

Chiara nodded. “Okay,” she murmured, because maybe she was wrong about him. She had to be wrong. How could she, of all people, have made love with a man who was as evil as her father?

How could she have lain in his arms?

Most of all, she thought, most of all…