was picture what Cora would look like in the morning—rumpled, warm, addictively soft—to feel himself getting aroused. He could see them stretched languorously amid tangled sheets and scattered pillows, exhausted and sated from an arduous night of sizzling, mind-blowing sex. And it would be with her, he knew. It most definitely would be.
He realized that Cora was watching him, saw the heightened color in her face, the awareness in her eyes, and knew she was thinking along similar lines. She didn’t want to, but couldn’t stop herself. A satisfied smile touched his lips. “I hadn’t planned,” he said softly, “on sharing a bathroom.”
The insinuation that he had definitely planned on sharing other things—like a bedroom—wasn’t lost on her. Her color deepened, but she sat perfectly still.
Becky, sweetly oblivious to the undercurrent, was nodding, thoughtful. “You know, Cora. There is the room on the top floor.” She looked at Rafael. “It has a separate entrance,” she explained.
He knew that already. Cora usually rented the room to a student during the regular term. One of the secretaries in the college administration office had revealed that to him. “Does it?” he asked casually.
“Yes,” Becky assured him. “You’d have some privacy that way.”
Privacy wasn’t what he’d planned, but he and Cora could argue about it later. “I’m sure I would.” He kept his tone bland.
Becky turned to Cora. “You haven’t rented it for the summer, have you?”
Cora frowned. “Becky—”
“It could work,” Becky insisted. “You do need help.”
Rafael added, “You’d have more time for research.”
Becky had warmed to the idea. “Think about it, Cora. If you didn’t have to constantly worry about coordinating schedules and transportation, you could work all day.”
“How much time do you lose by not being able to run off to the library for an hour or two because you have to worry about what you’re going to do with the girls?” Rafael asked.
“I’ve worked it out,” Cora said tightly.
“And how many times have you been totally immersed in Abigail’s writing and had to stop to resolve a sibling crisis?” he went on.
“That’s not—”
“There are three of them and one of you.” He pressed his hands to his thighs and leaned forward to drive home his point. “You need help. And I can give it to you.”
“By living with me?”
“I don’t have to.” He watched her closely. “I could live in town and come by during the days, but it suits my purposes better to be here, and it helps you more if I am. We both win.”
She shook her head. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“I do,” Becky said.
“It’s an excellent idea,” Rafael insisted. “I could be there during the day while you’re tied up in classes. And face it, you’ve got to do something with the girls before they drive you crazy.”
“Something like turn them over to you? What could you possibly know about three little girls?”
“I’m the second oldest of thirteen children. I have nine sisters—all younger. I know a lot about girls.” He leaned closer. “Of all ages.”
Cora snorted. “You know, if you ever decide to give up ocean archeology, you might want to consider stand-up comedy. You’ve got a comeback for just about everything, don’t you.”
Becky looked at Cora. “This is the perfect solution, Cora. You know it is.”
She visibly wavered, then looked at Rafael. “This is exactly why I said no to your first letter,” she told him. “I didn’t want this kind of disruption.”
“It’ll work out, Cora. You’ll see,” Becky assured her. “In the long run, if he’s handling the media, you’ll have more time for the diaries. Everyone wins.”
He saw her indecision and realized he was holding his breath. Finally she sighed, a weary sigh of surrender. “Since there’s no reasonable way to stop this now,” she told him, “then I at least want your promise on one thing.” She paused. “I haven’t had the chance to fully examine the diaries, but they’re…intensely personal. I’d prefer not to see Abigail’s private thoughts printed for public consumption without my consent.”
Rafael felt a surge of satisfaction. She had a strong desire, he realized, to protect Abigail’s privacy. Dared he hope that she felt a connection to Abigail and del Flores similar to his own? “Fine,” he agreed.
She held his gaze a moment longer, then dropped her head into her hands. “Oh, God,” she groaned. “What have I done?”
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