Leanne Banks - From Playboy To Papa!

“That was an interruption I didn’t expect. I’ll have to tell her to give me warning in the future,” Rafe said as he reentered the dining area.

Nicole gave a noncommittal nod.

He glanced at the dining-room table. “You’re finished eating?”

“I’m not hungry anymore. A full day,” she said with a shrug.

“I’m not either,” he said. “Let’s go into the den. I wonder what Aunt Emilia has to say this time. She was my father’s sister. Never married because her fiancé dumped her after the family lost the homeplace.”

“That’s terrible,” she said, curious about the letter. She followed him into the den.

He sat down on the sofa and patted the seat beside him. “Do you want something to drink? I can ask the housekeeper.”

“No, I’m good,” she said, drawing in his scent and feeling a strange combination of arousal and something deeper. Something that bothered her.

He ripped open the envelope and a letter and three photos fell out. “Oh, my God,” he muttered, picking up the photos.

Nicole had never seen Rafe so moved. He covered his mouth with one of his hands as he stared at the photos for a long time. She leaned over to look at them. “They’re holding a baby,” she said. “Your parents?”

He nodded. “That’s me.” He showed her another photo. “That’s my brothers and me with my father.”

Nicole lifted her fingers to the photos and couldn’t help smiling. “You were a beautiful baby.”

He gave a rough laugh then set down the pictures. “Let’s see what crazy Aunt Emilia has to say. Dear Raphael: I am writing you because I know I’m not going to be around forever and I want you to have these photographs of yourself as a bambino. Your father sent me these when you were born and the latter photograph is from one of his last letters to me. He loved you, Damien, Michael and Leonardo very much. All of you have overcome so much. Damien in Las Vegas, you in Miami, Michael in Atlanta and Leonardo in Pennsylvania. I wish that I could have helped you after your father’s death, but I am now thankful that all of you are doing so well. Congratulations on your son, Joel. I know that he and his mother will be a source of unbelievable joy to you. With much love, Emilia.”

Rafe frowned at the letter. “How did she know about Joel? And what is this about Leo? Leo died in the same train accident as my father.” He shook his head. “She must be confused.”

“Is everything else correct?” Nicole asked.

“Yes, but-” He shook his head. “Leo in Pennsylvania. Hmmm.” He looked at the photos again, his gaze hungry. “These are the only photos of my family. What I would give for more.”

The intense emotion in his eyes grabbed at something inside her. Rafe had told her before how much he missed having photos from his family. The way he drank in the sight of those photos cut through her.

“You should make copies of those. You wouldn’t want to lose them.”

He shook his head vehemently. “I’ll scan them, too.” He paused. “You have no idea how many nights I spent wishing for just one photograph of my parents. After they died and my brothers and I were divided up, it was as if my foster family wanted to pretend my other family never existed. After a while, it became like a dream. With no photographs, I had no proof.”

Nicole felt her eyes sting with tears, her throat knot into a well of emotion. “I have something I’d like to give you,” she said. “I’ll be back in a couple of moments.”

Gnawing on her lip, she climbed the stairs and checked on Joel before she went to her suite.

She turned on her laptop and reviewed the report the P.I. had sent her. The assault charges still made her heart stutter, but she realized that Rafe had a good explanation.

She continued through the pdf file and looked at the newspaper article reporting the death of Anthony Medici. A photograph of the Medici family accompanied the article. In it, she saw four boys with dark curly hair standing in front of a tall dark-haired man and a slim woman. She wondered if Rafe even knew this photo existed.

Eyeing the printer on the desk, she printed off the photo and trimmed away the article describing his family tragedy. She took the photo downstairs and gave it to him. He studied the photograph in surprise, then met her gaze.

“Where did you find this?” he asked in a low voice.

She crossed her arms under her chest. “That’s a rather involved story for this time of night.”

“I’m not sleeping and neither are you,” he said, standing and resting one of his hands on his hip.

She dreaded telling him where she’d found the photo, but knew it had to be done. “Do you remember how you paid a P.I. to do a background check on me?”

“Yeah,” he said, studying her and nodding in understanding. “You did the same to me. Learn anything interesting?”

“It mostly just confirmed everything you’ve told me,” she said, resisting a sudden urge to fidget.

“It’s late, so let’s not beat around the bush. What bothered you? That I didn’t graduate from an Ivy League school? That my family didn’t come over on the Mayflower?”

“The assault charges,” she said, tired of hiding her worries.

Realization crossed his face. “From my bouncer days. Yeah. I told you it was my job to escort out-of-control customers from the premises. Unfortunately, by the time they got out of control, they didn’t go willingly. The charges were all dropped,” he said.

“Right,” she said, wishing that was enough to calm all her fears. “But Tabitha told me you were a bully. She said you were controlling.”

“You keep saying that.” He tilted his head as he studied her. “She didn’t tell you that I hit her, did she? I’ve never touched a woman that way. What the hell else did she tell you?”

“She didn’t say you hit her, but she kept calling you a bully,” she said.

“That’s what all these questions about assault have been about all along, right?” he asked, his voice filled with bitterness.

“I had to make sure you wouldn’t hurt Joel. I had to protect him. She said you were like our father,” she finally said.

He shrugged. “What does that mean? The only thing I know about your father is that he’s a snob and a successful businessman. I’m no snob, but I’ve done well with my business.”

“My father abused us,” she said, unable to keep it in any longer. “That’s why I avoid him. It’s why my mother left him. She got a huge settlement if she agreed not to reveal how many times he’d slapped her. Tabitha was much better at playing him than I was. He hit her a few times, but most of the time I was the target.”

He stared at her. “Your father did that? He beat you?” he asked.

Her heart twisted at the disbelief in his voice. “Don’t ask me to prove it. You don’t have to believe me, but it’s true. That’s why I had to make sure you wouldn’t hurt Joel. I would do anything to make sure that didn’t happen to him.”

He met her gaze. “I believe you. I’m not a violent man, but I would like to beat the crap out of him for touching a hair on your head.”

She took a deep breath and felt a sinking sense of relief. “So, now, maybe you understand why I want to make sure that you won’t harm Joel.”

“I would never,” he said, moving toward her. “And I would never harm you. I can’t promise, however, that I wouldn’t hurt someone who threatened Joel or you.”

She took another breath. “Hopefully that won’t happen.”

He lifted her hand to his mouth. “I wish I knew why your sister lied about me.”

Distracted by his touch, Nicole tried to summon a reason for Tabitha’s actions. “I don’t know,” she whispered. “I wish I knew, too.”