Raphael (Deadly Virtues #1)(28)

Maria stopped when Raphael held up his hand—another silent command. He got to his feet, his tight shirt stretching over his muscled chest to show the toned physique underneath. His head tilted as he studied her makeup-free face. Raphael stalked around where she stood, a full circle. Maria’s legs felt weak, but she remained strong in stature as Raphael drank in his fill. “Sit down on the chair.”

Maria did as instructed. Raphael crossed the room and opened a drawer. Maria’s heart was in her mouth as she wondered what would happen next. If he would touch her. If he would begin his games. If he would bring her pain and take her virginity this very moment.

But when Raphael turned, he held only a hairbrush in his hands. He moved behind her, and with a gentleness she didn’t expect ran the brush through her damp hair. Stroke by stroke, Raphael unknotted every strand until all Maria’s hair was smoothed out. Maria hadn’t dared move the entire time. She had expected sex and roughness. She didn’t expect tenderness. It confused her more than anything else that had happened thus far.

Raphael retrieved a hairdryer and started drying her hair. The hot air relaxed her exhausted body. Her shoulders slumped as sleep began to wrap her in its tight embrace. Maria drifted to a state somewhere between sleep and consciousness. She distantly heard the hairdryer turn off and felt the brush slide through her freshly cleaned hair. She only truly awoke when strong arms lifted her into a warm, hard chest. Maria jumped when she felt the connection of bodies, panicking at being in his embrace. She tried to get down. But Raphael laid her on the bed in the center of the room. “Sleep, little rose,” he murmured with the gentleness of a feather falling on a calm lake. “Time to go to sleep.”

Maria tried to stay awake, but eventually succumbed to the lullaby his deep voice made and closed her eyes, obeying his command without question.

*****

The sound of church bells crept under Maria’s thick blanket of sleep. The comforting dings of the familiar bells made her rise, wiping the sleep from her eyes. It was time for morning prayers before breakfast. Maria moved to throw back her thin convent blanket, but it felt too heavy. Blinking into the low light, Maria cast her tired eyes around her. Her heart sped up; she didn’t recognize her surroundings. She shook her head, memories from the past couple of days beginning to find their place within her mind. The priests, the club, the strangulation . . . Raphael.

Raphael.

Maria jumped from the bed and searched the room. She had no idea what time it was, but the sky was dark beyond the large windows. At first Maria could hear nothing but the heavy pounding of her heart in her ears. Then she detected the sound of the shower.

She spun in the direction of the bathroom and edged toward the door. It was open slightly. Peeking through the inch-wide gap, Maria stared into the huge mirror. The room was freezing, not a patch of steam on the mirror. Her stomach flipped when she saw Raphael in the reflection. Raphael naked, his back toward her. She narrowed her eyes, trying to ignore the quickening of her pulse. Raphael had marks all over his back. The skin was ruined and marred with red.

An odd feeling of kinship tried to invade her mind. Like me . . . a betraying voice whispered. Sympathy flooded her senses, and she couldn’t help but wonder how he had gotten them. Was this why he was like this? Had something happened to him in his life to make him this way?

Maria stepped back from the door when Raphael began to turn, hands soaping his messy dark hair with the shower’s cold water. Her cheeks blazed with heat when she almost caught sight of his groin. She backed away until she hit the edge of the bed. But then her attention was caught by the creak of floorboards outside the room. A thin strip of light slipped underneath the gap at the bottom of the doors. Maria heard the sound of the shower behind her, and before she could convince herself otherwise, her feet were moving to the door.

Do not try to escape . . . you will be punished if you do . . . unbearable pain . . . Maria heard Raphael’s warning clear as day in her mind. But the door and the sounds beyond the room called her name. Raphael hadn’t wanted her to make a noise. That meant there were people close.

People that could maybe help.

In that moment, fear overrode any sense of nunly duty she should offer the sinner in the shower. Mother Superior’s words fled her mind, and self-preservation took the helm. The Maria of old took control, the young girl who had been hurt and tortured . . . and she begged her to run. To not be that girl again. The captive girl who had no fight and just waited to die.

Before she knew it, Maria was quietly unlocking the bolts, and finally she turned the key that sat in the door. Just as the doorknob turned under her hand, the shower turned off and Raphael came through, sweatpants on his bottom half, his damp chest bare and glistening. He stopped dead when he saw her, head shaking slowly from side to side. “Don’t, little rose,” he warned. His voice was soft, placating, but his face had hardened and told her there was not an ounce of gentleness within him right now. His eyes showed a cruelty that scared her to the core.

Maria pulled on the door, and before she could talk herself out of it, she began to run. She heard steady footsteps behind her as she fled down the large hallway. She had no idea where she was running to. But she had to try to escape. “There’s no way out, little rose. There’s nowhere for you to go,” Maria heard from behind her. Her skin broke out in a sweat. Raphael was on her tail. But his voice was distant. He wasn’t running to catch up with her. Instead he was letting her try.