Rochelle Alers - Taken by Storm

When her grandmother had informed her, Tessa and Faith that she was going to teach them to cook the dishes that had been passed down through generations of Whitfield women, it was Simone who always skipped cooking lessons because she had better things to do than stand over a hot stove. Faith and Tessa had become the recipients of an invaluable tradition of secret recipes that were repeated time again when her father and uncle added them to the menu at Whitfield Caterers.

Simone had become the brunt of family jokes when everyone said that if she cooked as well as she designed floral arrangements, then she would be an award-winning chef. She no longer had her grandmother, but what she did have was a live-in replacement: Raphael Madison.

Rafe was a patient teacher when he showed her how to chop green onions and fresh parsley, and dice tomatoes, all which she grew in her greenhouse, with the facility of a professional chef. She was transfixed by the power in his hands when he removed the lobster meat from the tails without using a knife to crack the shells. At that moment, she'd imagined the side of his hand coming down on the back of someone's neck, rendering him unconscious within seconds.

Although they hadn't been together more than twelve hours, Simone found her bodyguard a study in contrasts. He'd warned her never to forget who or what he was—a U.S. Deputy Marshal licensed to carry a firearm and kill, if needed, with deadly force. However, when she'd lost her composure, he'd held her as if she were fragile porcelain, whispering words that calmed her fears, knowing she could trust him with her life. It was only at that moment that she realized that her life was in his charge.

"Why are you so cautious when you've said that only the Feds and a few members of the White Plains Police Department know that I'm the only witness?" she asked Rafe when he helped her out of the Yukon.

Rafe stared at Simone staring up at him. Brilliant gold-red rays from the sun turned her into a statue in shades of umber, honey and henna. Suddenly he found himself transfixed, hypnotized by the petite woman with the mesmerizing eyes and lush mouth who, within a matter of hours, had seeped into a part of him he hadn't known existed. Other than her overt beauty and a sensuality he wasn't certain Simone knew she possessed, he wanted to know what was it about her that made him feel as if he were a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming vehicle.

"Training," he said after an interminable silence. It was training, and the possibility that someone could inadvertently leak her name. Even a file labeled TOP SECRET wasn't that if more than one person was privy to the information.

"Can't you relax just a bit?"

"Why?"

Simone dropped her gaze, staring at the middle of Rafe's chest. "We're never going to fool anyone into thinking we're friends if you act like a bodyguard."

"For the lack of a better word, that is what I am, Simone." He opened the rear door to get the bag with her bowling ball and shoes, but when he closed it he found that she was heading for the ultramodern two-story building. He caught up with her, reaching for her hand. "How relaxed do you want me to be?"

"You don't have to tell me not to get out of the car before you, because that's something that I do with any man."

Rafe gave her fingers a gentle squeeze. "In other words, you want me to pretend that I'm your boyfriend?"

She gave him a sidelong glance. "The operative word is pretend. How am I going to explain you living with me if we don't pretend there's at least something happening between us?"

"Have you taken up with other men other than your husband?"

Simone's eyelids fluttered wildly. It was a question her cousin and sister had asked on occasion, and the answer was always the same. No.

"What do you mean by 'taken up with'?"

"Date."

She thought about a man who bowled with her that she'd recently gone out with. She probably would've consented to see him again if he hadn't talked incessantly about his ex-wife. "I've dated, but the dates never progressed to a man living with me."

"What about men sleeping with you?"

A shock swept through Simone with the power of a sirocco, her retort wedging in her throat. Who the hell did he think he was to ask her something that personal? "That's none of your business." she said, her voice lowering as she struggled to contain her quick temper.

Rafe flashed a devastatingly sexy smile. "The fact that you won't answer the question says you're celibate."

A soft gasp escaped her parted lips. "Whether I'm celibate or not is none of your damn business."

"Oh, but it is, Simone," he said softly. "If you're sleeping with someone, then you'd better tell him that there will be no knocking boots until after I'm gone."

"Oh, now I'm not permitted to date?"

"You can date."

Her smile was dazzling. "Why, thank you."

Rafe sobered quickly. "The only person you'll be dating is me. If you want a pretend boyfriend, then you have one. Let's practice to see if we can get it right."

He dropped her hand and looped an arm around her waist, pulling her flush against his body. Lowering his head, he fastened his mouth to her parted lips, breathing in her breath and deepening the kiss. Rafe hadn't consciously thought of kissing Simone, but he found her sultry mouth was like the open blooms of flowers beckoning insects to taste the sweet nectar within.

Simone tried pushing Rafe away, but she was no match for his superior strength. The shock of his mouth on hers melted away, replaced by a warming that started at her toes and eddied slowly up her legs. Her thighs warmed and the hidden place at the apex throbbed with long-forgotten sensations that threatened to make her faint. Thankfully it ended as quickly as it'd begun.

With wide eyes, she stared at the sardonic grin on his face. He knew! He knew his kiss had affected her more than she wanted it to when his gaze moved down to her heaving chest. She was struggling vainly not to succumb to the delicious sensations coursing throughout her body.

"How did I do?" he asked, winking at her.

"Okay."

Rafe's dark eyebrows lifted slightly. "Just okay? Perhaps I need more practice." He reached for her again, but she stepped nimbly away from him.

"Don't you dare touch me," she said between clenched teeth.

"Are you all right, Simone?"

She whirled around at the sound of a familiar voice. It belonged to one of the police officers in her bowling league. "I'm okay, Mark."

His bright red eyebrows met in a frown, as clear blue eyes shifted between her and Rafe, who'd switched the bowling bag from his left hand to his right. "Are you sure?"

She nodded. "Very sure." The last thing she wanted was for bullets to start flying if the two lawmen drew down on each other. Moving closer to Rafe, she went on tiptoe and brushed a light kiss over his firm mouth. "We were just having a lover's spat."

Mark nodded. "If that's the case, then I'll see you inside."

Waiting until the other man walked away, Simone rounded on Rafe. "What the hell are you trying to do? Get yourself shot?"

"Do you really think he would've drawn a gun on me without identifying himself as a police officer? No, Simone," he said, answering his own question. "By that time, I would've told him the same. Despite what you might think, there is police protocol. Let's go," he continued. "I don't want to make you late for your game."

Simone shot him an angry glare as she waited for him to open the door. Rafe was several steps behind her when she made her way past an area where bowlers were exchanging their street shoes for bowling shoes.

"This place is really nice," Rafe drawled behind her.

"It is," she concurred.

It was nice, but the one her father and uncle planned to put up in Mount Vernon would surpass this one in square footage and other amenities. She spied Tessa and Micah as they sat together at the far end of the building. Simone knew she had to get her sister alone to tell her why she'd come with a strange man in tow.