Page 14 of Raphael
I consider how much to share. "Life. Foster care. Meeting Dante when we were teenagers."
Her eyes widen slightly. "You grew up in foster care?"
"From eight to seventeen," I confirm. "My parents decided parenting wasn't for them. Dropped me off at a state facility one day and never came back."
"That's terrible," she says, her voice soft with genuine outrage on my behalf. "How could anyone do that to their child?"
The fierce protection in her tone catches me off guard. Most people react with pity when they hear my background, but Annie looks like she'd personally hunt down my parents and give them hell if she could.
"Their loss," I say with a shrug that's more casual than I feel. "Made me determined to be a better father to Marco. To never let him feel abandoned the way I was."
"He doesn't," she says with certainty. "That much is obvious. He talks about you constantly, you know. 'My daddy says this' and 'My daddy can do that.' He thinks you hang the moon and stars."
Something tightens in my throat. "I'm not around as much as I should be."
"But when you are here, you're present," Annie points out. "That matters more than quantity of time. My dad wasn't home much either because of his work, but the time we had was quality."
Her understanding eases something in me I didn't realize needed easing. The constant guilt I carry about my work takingme away from Marco, the fear that I'm failing him despite my best efforts.
We fall silent again, but it's comfortable now. The wine has created a warm, intimate atmosphere in the kitchen, softening the edges of a day that ended in violence and death. Looking at Annie across the island, her face slightly flushed from the alcohol, I'm struck again by her beauty. Not just her physical attributes, but the compassion and intelligence that shine through her eyes.
"What?" she asks, catching me staring.
"Nothing," I say, but don't look away. "Just... you're not what I expected when the agency called."
Her lips curve into a smile. "Is that good or bad?"
"Good," I admit. "Definitely good."
I should step back, restore professional distance. Instead, I find myself setting down my glass and moving around the island toward her.
Annie's eyes widen slightly, but she doesn't retreat. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, a gesture that draws my attention to her mouth.
"This is probably a bad idea," I say quietly, stopping just short of touching her.
"Probably," she agrees, but her body sways slightly toward mine. "I don't usually make bad decisions."
"What about tonight?" I ask, giving her every opportunity to back away, to maintain boundaries that I should be maintaining myself.
Instead of answering, she tilts her face up to mine, a clear invitation. I hesitate for one final moment of sanity, then close the distance between us.
Her lips are soft at first, then more confident as I deepen the kiss. I keep my hands at my sides, letting her set the pace, though everything in me wants to pull her against me, to feel those curves pressed full-length against my body.
When she finally pulls back, her cheeks are flushed and her amber eyes have darkened with desire. "That was..."
"A mistake?" I suggest, already preparing myself for her regret.
"I was going to say 'nice,'" she corrects me with a small smile. "But complicated, obviously."
I nod, forcing myself to take a step back. "Very complicated. I'm your employer. I'm older than you. And my life is..." I gesture vaguely, unable to articulate the violence and danger that surrounds me.
"Messy?" she supplies.
"That's one word for it."
Annie slides off the barstool, standing before me, "Raphael, I'm not naive. Well, not completely. I know there's more to your 'driving' job than you're telling me. I know Dante isn't just an importer, and Franco isn't just a friend."
My body tenses. "Annie—"
