47

“It’s more than that, Cara. You have to see that.” “I don’t,” she insisted. “You’ll have to explain it.”

He pushed wet strands of hair back from her face, a smile tugging at his lips. “You want an explanation here? Now?”

“You picked the place,” she pointed out.

“But there are so many more interesting things we could be doing,” he said, his gaze drifting from mouth to breasts, then lower still.

Cara could see the hard bulge of his arousal pressing against soaking wet denim. When he ran a finger along the curve of her breast, then skimmed a nail across the peak, she shuddered. Desire, hot and urgent, slammed through her once more. All thoughts of resolving their differences fled as she reached for the

zipper on his jeans, slid it slowly down, then took the hard thrust of his arousal in her hand.

Rafe moaned, then lifted her until she could straddle him, her back braced against the wall. There, with the shower cascading over them like a waterfall, their bodies slick and hot and hungry, they streaked toward a violent, earth- shattering climax that left them panting and clinging together.

When they could move again, when they had caught their breath, Rafe lowered her to unsteady legs, then reached for the soap and gently washed her. Then he cut off the water, reached for a towel and dried first her, then himself.

“Now then,” he said, his tone sounding deliberately casual. “What do you say we get dressed and go get some dinner?”

Cara knew what he was doing. He wanted to get them onto neutral turf before renewing the discussion of the future.

“I could call Tony’s and have a pizza delivered right here,” she suggested. “Bad idea,” he said at once.

“Why?”

“I seem to be having trouble keeping my hands to myself.”

She regarded him with amusement. “And that’s a problem because…?” “Because I’m starving and you must be, too.”

“A pizza would solve that,” she said.

“So would a nice, quiet dinner in a restaurant where we’d be obligated to behave ourselves. We could have a little wine, a little pleasant conversation.”

“Why do I think that the conversation you have in mind will be anything but pleasant?”

His jaw set stubbornly. “Cara—”

“Okay, say I agree to go out, will you agree not to bring up our relationship?”

He seemed to be torn, but he finally nodded. “And no mention of Bobby?”

“Okay,” he agreed with obvious reluctance. “What’s left?”

She patted his cheek. “I’m sure we’ll think of something. If not, we’ll invite Tony and Francesca to join us. You can help me convince him to take her to Italy while I cover things here for him.”

Rafe paused in pulling on a clean shirt to stare at her. “You’re talking temporarily, right?”

“Yes. Why the resigned look?”

“Because I was hoping that now that we have this agreement, you’d be ready to go back to New York.”

“If you’re anxious to go home, go,” she said, though her heart felt suddenly

empty at the prospect of him leaving. “Emma or I will keep you posted if Bobby turns up.”

Rafe shook his head. “Not that I don’t trust you, but I’ll feel better if I’m around to keep a close eye on you.”

Something in his voice alarmed her. “Because you still don’t trust me?” “No, because we have no way of knowing whether Bobby took that money

because he’s desperate for some reason.” “Desperate? What on earth do you mean?”

“If he’s gotten himself mixed up in something bad, something like gambling debts or big-time drug deals, he could be in danger. I don’t want him dragging you into that.”

The thought of there being any actual danger in all of this had never occurred to Cara. The prospect of losing Café Tuscany had been daunting enough.

“Surely, if there were any danger, he would warn me,” she said slowly but without much conviction. After all, if Bobby had been concerned about her at all, he would never have put her in this position in the first place.

“We can’t be sure of that,” Rafe said, his expression grim.

He brushed a finger across her forehead. “Don’t look so worried. I am not going to let anything happen to you.”

He held out his hand. “Let’s go. I recommend a big plate of pasta and some wine.”

Cara sighed. Normally that was a prescription she would recommend herself. Tonight, though, she had a feeling it was going to take a whole lot more to chase away the sudden butterflies in her stomach.

She was still unnerved when they reached Tony’s. Peg Lafferty, who’d been with Tony since he opened, led them to a table near the kitchen. “I know Tony’s going to be running in and out to talk to you, so this will be more convenient.”

“Where’s Francesca tonight?” Cara asked. “Home. She’s not feeling well.”

“What’s wrong? Do you know?”

“I’m not sure,” Peggy said, her expression filled with concern. “She’s been staying home a lot lately. Tony doesn’t talk much about it, and I haven’t wanted to pry.”

He hadn’t said anything to Cara, either, but she had none of Peggy’s reticence about prying. She intended to get to the bottom of this. “Tell him I’m here, okay?”

“Will do,” Peggy promised. “Everyone’s eating late tonight, it seems. He’s got a half dozen orders going right now, but he’ll be out soon. Can I bring you a

bottle of Chianti while you look over the menu?”

“Chianti would be good,” Rafe told her. When she had gone, he regarded Cara with concern. “Don’t start taking what she said and exaggerating it in your head. Francesca may be perfectly fine. She might just be taking some time off.”

“You don’t know her. She doesn’t take time off, not willingly.” She started to stand up. “Maybe I should go over there to check on her.”

Rafe tugged her back down. “Maybe you should wait and let Tony answer your questions before you go charging over to see her.”

“These are my friends,” she said, “not yours.”

“That doesn’t make my advice any less sensible,” he said mildly.

Cara sighed and relented. “You’re probably right. I’m probably making a mountain out of a molehill. Tony would have told me if it was anything serious.” “Exactly,” he said just as Peggy returned with the wine and a promise that

Tony would join them shortly.

“Do you want to order before that?” she asked.

“No,” Cara said at once. “I want answers before I want food.”

“Speak for yourself,” Rafe said. “How about a plate of antipasto for the time being?”

“You’ve got it,” Peggy said, then went off to check on another group of late arrivals.

When the antipasto arrived, Cara realized that she was ravenous. Since there was nothing she could do until Tony emerged from the kitchen, anyway, she picked up a carrot stick, then a stalk of celery, then reached for the warm garlic bread that Peggy had brought with it. Rafe watched her approvingly.

“That’s better,” he said at last. “You’ve got some color back in your cheeks. I was worried there for a bit. This tendency of yours to take on everyone else’s problems is not a good thing.”

“These are my friends,” she said defensively. “What would you have me do?”

He sighed. “I imagine telling you to maintain a little distance would be a waste of my breath.”

She studied his expression, trying to gauge if he was actually serious. “Can you do that? Can you maintain a nice, safe distance when your friends are in trouble?”

Her question seemed to catch him off guard. “Truthfully, there are not that many people I consider friends.”

Cara stared at him. “Surely you can’t mean that.”

“It’s true. I have business acquaintances. There are dozens of people at my law firm who are colleagues, but friends? People I’d call up just to go out and

have a drink for the fun of it? I haven’t had the time.”

“But that’s awful,” she said without thinking about her own barren social life in New York. Was she any better? “Everyone should have friends, people they can count on, people they would go the extra mile for without question.”

“Well, I don’t.”

“Do you expect me to believe that there is no one important in your life?” “That’s the truth.”