Page 122 of Tempted By the Devil

I haven’t been in touch with Jayla since I left last night. She’s probably worried about me. If I don’t reach out soon to let her know I’m okay, she’ll probably let Mom and Dad know I’m missing, and then all hell will break lose.

Ignoring the aches and pains from my body, I crawl out of bed and pad over to the bathroom. A couple minutes of brushing my teeth, washing my face, and admiring the giant puce-colored splotch along my throat later, I go seek out Rafael.

He’s sipping coffee at the sleek, rectangular table in the dining room, framed by the natural light pouring in from the giant floor-to-ceiling window. It’s one of the things I love most about his penthouse apartment—all the huge windows and bright, natural light.

His place is tastefully decorated. Everything is polished and modern with a simple black, white, and gray color palette, thoughtfully put together by a professional interior designer.

He looks up as I walk into the room, a crooked smile canting his lips. His hair’s still rumpled from sleep and he hasn’t changed out of his pajama bottoms or put a shirt on. His chest muscles look ripe and defined, the sparse smattering of hair he has there dark and masculine.

He looks so good, I wouldn’t mind having him for breakfast.

“Morning, beautiful,” he says. “Have a seat. Want some coffee?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever turned down a cup.”

“Mara will bring you some. Did you sleep well?”

“Are you kidding? I didn’t even hear you get out of bed.”

The corner of his mouth quirks. “I did my best not to wake you.”

“Your stealth skills are unmatched. What time did you wake up this morning? Four? Five? Or did you sleep in late ’til six?”

“Sleep in ’til six like a slob? No businessman worth his salt sleeps that late.” He winks at me from over the rim of his coffee cup.

“When I worked the morning news, I used to have to wake up at three just so I could make it to the station at four for hair and makeup. We were out on the streets by five.”

“Now you’re out at all hours of the night investigating the next big scoop.”

“And almost being strangled and drowned,” I say with a short laugh. “Wait ’til Jayla hears about this. She’s going to flip the fuck out.”

“I don’t blame her. She cares about her sister. The same woman I care about.”

“Don’t worry, I think I’ve learned my lesson. No more snooping alone around mafia warehouses. Next time I’ll bring an accomplice.”

“Portia,” he scolds, his dark brows raising.

“It’s a joke. Though, also kind of serious. I’ll put the Bellucci/Tuco thing on the back burner. For now. But the news is the news, Rafael. It doesn’t stop just because journalists are too cowardly to report on it. Someone has to do it.”

He doesn’t seem satisfied with my answer; he doesn’t like that I’ve put myself in danger and my job can be risky.

I reach out and cover his curled hand on the table with my own. Rafael has always had nice hands; they’re large and strong with rounded knuckles and smooth to the touch. But as I slide my fingers over his closed fist, I notice how abraded his skin feels.

I glance down and realize his knuckles are split open. The wounds are fresh, like they’ve happened within the last few hours.

“Where are these from?” I ask.

He pulls his hand back from me and says, “Last night. All the chaos that went on.”

“You had me checked out by the physician, butyouneeded some medical care too.”

“They’ll heal on their own. I’m more concerned about this bruising.” He leans closer to survey how the bruises and swelling look the morning after.

I can feel his anger even looking at them and decide to distract him with a kiss on the lips.

“They’ll heal too. We just have to give it time.”

He nods, though the expression on his face tells me the anger has gone nowhere. I ask him if there’s anything interesting in the newspaper he’s been reading at the table and he shakes his head.

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