Rafael's One Night Bombshell Read online

  From passion to pregnancy!

  An encounter with Rafael Valentino is brokenhearted Cassandra Larrobee’s chance to live in the moment. It was supposed to be one night only, but the sinfully hot doc has left her with more than just memories...

  Since a heartbreaking decision years ago, Rafe has been determined to remain alone—but when he’s sent to work with Cassie he can’t resist their reckless kisses! When he discovers Cassie’s shocking surprise, can Rafe let her bring light into his shadowed life...and become a daddy to their baby?

  Dear Reader,

  Sometimes the past comes back to haunt us in a thousand different ways: the painful decisions we’ve made, the difficulties we’ve faced...those hard goodbyes we were never quite ready to say. This is exactly the situation epidemiologist Rafael Valentino finds himself in. Until he crosses paths one night with a beautiful neonatologist who challenges every belief he holds. Maybe it’s because Cassie Larrobee has faced her own set of hardships—a set of circumstances which threatens to stand in the way of enduring happiness.

  I dearly loved these two characters. They made me laugh and cry...and hope.

  Thank you for joining Rafe and Cassie as they struggle to overcome emotional barriers that have been many years in the making. And maybe—just maybe—this special couple will find love along the way.

  I hope you enjoy their journey as much as I loved writing about it. Happy reading!

  Love,

  Tina Beckett

  Rafael’s One Night Bombshell

  Tina Beckett

  www.millsandboon.co.uk

  To my family. As always. I love you!

  Three-times Golden Heart® finalist TINA BECKETT learned to pack her suitcases almost before she learned to read. Born to a military family, she has lived in the United States, Puerto Rico, Portugal and Brazil. In addition to travelling, Tina loves to cuddle with her pug, Alex, spend time with her family, and hit the trails on her horse. Learn more about Tina from her website, or ‘friend’ her on Facebook.

  Books by Tina Beckett

  Mills & Boon Medical Romance

  Christmas Miracles in Maternity

  The Nurse’s Christmas Gift

  The Hollywood Hills Clinic

  Winning Back His Doctor Bride

  Her Playboy’s Secret

  Hot Doc from Her Past

  Playboy Doc’s Mistletoe Kiss

  A Daddy for Her Daughter

  Visit the Author Profile page

  at millsandboon.co.uk for more titles.

  Contents

  Cover

  Back Cover Text

  Dear Reader

  Title Page

  Dedication

  About the Author

  Booklist

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  EPILOGUE

  Extract

  Copyright

  PROLOGUE

  THE STRANGER AT the bar was as miserable as she was.

  At least, judging from the three empty shot glasses in front of him, he was. He rolled a fourth glass between his thumb and index finger, staring at the amber contents as if looking for something he’d lost.

  Kind of like she was. Only she hadn’t exactly lost anything. It was more like it had been thrown away. Echoes of her childhood.

  You can do this.

  Taking a deep breath, Cassandra Larrobee unscrewed the huge rock from the ring finger of her left hand and dropped it into her purse. It was better than drowning it in the storm drain just outside the door but not nearly as satisfying. She should have realized long ago that permanent relationships weren’t in the cards for her.

  She scrubbed at the indentation left by the ring, hesitating for the barest second, and then walked across the floor of Mad Ron’s, heading for the only available barstool—the one right next to the stranger.

  Little Heliconia’s go-to bar, Mad Ron’s was named after its eccentric owner and had been one of Miami’s most revered liquor joints for many years. It also happened to be the first one she’d come across during her flight from the scene of the crime.

  Her fiancé’s crime.

  The loud clink of glasses and raucous laughter provided a much-needed refuge. A sanctuary. And if the man at the bar was willing to raise a glass with her, all the better. It would be a brief visit—not long enough to become attached. “Temporary” was a state of being that Cassie knew how to rock. And she could at least blur the memory of what she’d seen tonight, even if she couldn’t blot it out entirely.

  After that, she needed to find a new place to live.

  She slung her purse over her shoulder as she reached her destination and parked her butt on the tall stool. Ron himself appeared in front of her, puffs of white hair and a pink Hawaiian print shirt making her smile.

  Before he could even open his mouth to ask, she said, “I’ll have what he’s having.”

  Where had that come from?

  “Sure thing, chica.” As Ron reached behind the bar for a bottle, the stranger’s head swiveled toward her, his fingers still twirling the tiny glass. And those eyes... Straddling the line between brown and predatory, they caught at her, snatching away whatever clever quip she’d been getting ready to toss his way.

  Clever? That was so not a word Cassie would use to describe herself.

  Capable? Careful? Cautious?

  Yep. Cs—all three of them. Only right now she was none of those things.

  “Do you even know what I’m having?” He held his little glass up, the low lighting in the bar making the amber contents seem darker. More dangerous.

  Or maybe that was the man himself.

  “I’m sure I can handle whatever it is.”

  The bartender set a matching shot glass in front of her. Suddenly she wasn’t quite sure she could handle it. But it was either slink off or gut it out. And Cassie was no quitter. Except when given no other choice.

  She lifted her glass and clinked it against his, before putting it to her lips and chugging the contents down in one swallow.

  There. As easy as taking medici—

  Liquid fire consumed her throat, her abdomen suddenly spasming as the fumes sought escape. She forced her eyes to remain on his as he downed his own drink, somehow managing to suppress the cough building in her chest. Letting out a quick gust of air that she hoped would ease the pain, she thunked her glass down on the bar. Just like in the movies.

  “Another?” Ron held up a half-empty bottle.

  One corner of the stranger’s mouth curved as he continued to watch her, setting his own glass down with a mere whisper of sound. He knew, damn him. Knew that she was a lightweight as far as the drinking game went. Not that she would even try to outdo him. His last drink upped his total to four. She would be passed out on the polished surface of the bar before she got to three.

  So she changed tack. “I’ll have a margarita this time around.”

  Mad Ron was known around Miami for making the best in the area. And it was a drink she could sip—slowly—rather than slug.

  “Rafe? What’ll you have?”

  “I’ll have coffee. Black.”

  What?

  “Coming right up.”

  Damn. She couldn’t even get a stranger to drink with her on this sorry-ass
evening. But she did know the stranger’s name now. Not that it mattered.

  She swiveled her barstool a little to the right to face him. “Too much for you?”

  “I’ll let you know a little bit later.”

  The air caught in her lungs.

  Was he talking about the drinks? Her own head felt a little woozy, but she was pretty sure it had nothing to do with what she’d just drunk and everything to do with the man sitting beside her.

  Well, why the hell not? Her fiancé had played the cheating game, why shouldn’t she?

  Was it still considered cheating if the engagement was over?

  It didn’t matter. She could consider this the denouement of that failed relationship.

  Ron slid a glass toward her. The huge bowl was precariously perched on top of a glass stem, the lime expertly stabbed onto the salted rim.

  Oh, my. She’d forgotten how ginormous these things were. Ron must have seen her indecision because he set Rafe’s coffee in front of him and cocked a brow at her. “Everything okay?”

  “I think I’ve changed my mind. Could I have a coffee as well?”

  “Sure thing, chica.” Ron gave her a wink, picked up her glass and called out to his customers. “Anyone want a margarita? On the house.”

  Within seconds her drink had found a new home, and she had a steaming café con leche in its place. “Thanks.” Maybe the splash of milk would help cool the whiskey that was still sending flames darting through her stomach. Or was that warm licking sensation caused by something else entirely?

  “So,” the stranger said, taking a drink of his coffee, “thanks to Ron, you know my name, but I don’t know yours.”

  And she didn’t want him to. Her thoughts whipped through a couple of sharp responses, rejecting each one. She was never going to see him again, so what did it matter what name she gave him?

  “Bonnie.” She crossed her fingers beneath the bar, hoping her dearest friend would forgive her for pulling her name out of the hat.

  Rafe took another sip, regarding her with inscrutable eyes. “You don’t look like a Bonnie.”

  “No?” She swallowed hard. “What do I look like?”

  “Like a beautiful woman who just got out of a painful relationship.”

  Shock wheeled through her system. “Excuse me?”

  How could he have known that? Or was it just some kind of pickup line?

  His fingers moved to her left hand, which was lying flat on the bar, and slid up her ring finger, rubbing across the base of it. “The ring just came off. I saw you drop it in your purse right before you came over here. Unless you’re just looking for a good time. And you don’t seem like that kind of girl.”

  This time she wasn’t going to lie. “I’m not. So what are you in here for?” She motioned toward the empty glasses. “Or do you simply get hammered every night?”

  “Oh.” His thumb rubbed across her finger again, sending more heat shooting through her veins. “I am not hammered. Not by a long shot.”

  The bartender knew his name, though, so he was a regular. She came in with friends from time to time, but not often enough for Ron to actually know her by name. Thank goodness. Otherwise he might just tell this man what it was. And she didn’t want that.

  “Four whiskeys is a lot to drink at one time.”

  “Maybe. But I’ve celebrated this day at Ron’s for the last eighteen years or so. I think I know my limit.”

  Okay, she had no idea how to respond to that, since his voice hinted that the date didn’t hold good memories. Especially not if he spent the night getting drunk every year.

  Death of a spouse? A child? Divorce?

  Each option went through her head, but there was no way she could voice any of them aloud. The doctor in her came to the surface, however, and she couldn’t help but ask. “You don’t normally drive yourself home, do you?”

  “No. I spend the night at a hotel just around the corner.”

  She blinked. There was something about the way he said those words...

  Oh.

  “You’re not alone when you go there.”

  “No.”

  She glanced at the coffee mug in front of him. Why had he suddenly stopped drinking?

  Maybe for the same reason she’d found her way to this particular barstool and engaged a handsome man in conversation. Was it just to get back at her ex?

  Yes. And why not? Darrin would never know. But she would. And she could show the universe that she too knew how to play the game.

  She lifted her chin. “I wasn’t planning on leaving here alone either.”

  His thumb paused its stroking for just a second. “Did you have your sights on anyone in particular?”

  “I’m talking to him.”

  Cassie couldn’t believe she’d just said that. But why the hell shouldn’t she have a little bit of fun? If he was celebrating something dark and disturbing, then that made two of them.

  Unless he was a serial killer or something. Maybe she should check just to make sure. She blurted out, “So, how do you know Ron?”

  “My family has known him for years. Including mi hermanos.”

  He’d lapsed into Spanish with such ease that he must speak it regularly. He didn’t mention his mother or father, however. Just his brothers. Regardless, it was doubtful he was a Jack the Ripper type if his family and Ron’s were friends. Ron was a great judge of character, from what she’d seen and heard.

  Speaking of the devil, the bartender appeared back in front of them. “How are things?”

  “I think we’re about ready to get out of here.” Rafe pulled out his wallet and dropped some serious-looking cash on the counter.

  “I can pay for my own drink,” she said to cover the disappointment caused by the loss of his touch.

  “You can get them the next time.”

  There wouldn’t be a next time, and they both knew it. But it was either sit there and argue, and possibly ruin the delicious awareness that had been slowly building in her, or let it go.

  She let it go. This lie was one she could overlook. Unlike her fiancé’s declarations that “It wasn’t what it looked like.” Things were normally exactly how they seemed. No longer want a child? Transfer them to another home. Tired of your fiancée? Move on to the next woman.

  Want a temporary fling? Head to Mad Ron’s Bar.

  Yep, she definitely knew how to play.

  “Next time,” she murmured.

  He stood, shoving his wallet into the back pocket of his black jeans.

  For a second she thought he was planning on leaving. Alone. Until he held out his hand.

  There was still time to chicken out. To sit there like she didn’t have a clue what he meant. Except she’d basically told him she wanted to hook up with him.

  So she slid her fingers into his, relishing the way they enfolded hers in a strong grip. Her stomach somersaulted as she allowed her legs to swing to the floor. They shook, but somehow she braced her high-heeled sandals beneath her and remained standing. He said he normally went to a hotel a short distance away, but in little Heliconia there were several places that would fit that description. Some more respectable than others.

  Who needed respectable for what they were about to do?

  Not her, that was for sure.

  Rafe towed her through the crowd and out the door. Twin pots of gardenias flanked the entrance, the breeze lifting the heavy fragrance of the blooms and sending it out into the night. She could hardly believe she was leaving a bar with a total stranger.

  How long had it been since she’d done something so...dangerous?

  And there was no mistaking that the man gripping her hand was dangerous, no matter how well he knew Ron. He was far removed from the world of her financier ex, who was busy building his empire�
��and amassing women as easily as he did money, evidently. Well, he was now down one percentage point. Or maybe since she’d been his fiancée, she was worth a little bit more, maybe a point and a half.

  What had she learned through this experience? A stable career didn’t always translate into a stable life.

  Ha! Who needed stable when there were men like Rafe in the world?

  They were halfway down the block before the man in question stopped to face her. His hands slid up her arms as he gazed into her face. “Are you sure about this?”

  No, but she was not about to admit that. Hadn’t she just said it had been ages since she’d let herself be picked up by a man in a bar? Actually, she’d never done that before. Well, she could now cross “Pick up stranger” off her bucket list.

  Not that it had even been on there in the first place.

  She took a deep breath and then nodded. “Yes. I’m sure. Unless you’ve changed your mind.”

  “About your name not being Bonnie? Or about this?”

  Then his lips found hers and every other thought she’d had vanished.

  * * *

  The second they hit the room at the hotel, his fingers smoothed across her hair, quickly finding the elastic at the back of her head and sliding it over her locks, freeing the messy knot she’d formed before she’d gone out. The whole mass tumbled free, spilling halfway down her back.

  Before she could even cringe over how crazy her waves probably were from the humidity of the day, his voice rumbled above her.

  “Hermosa. Me encanta su cabello.” Even as he murmured it, he wound her hair around his hand, tipping her head back. “Tu novio es un idiota.”

  The flood of Spanish whisked up her spine, her brain scooping up the words and translating them with ease.

  Wow. The man was as hot as they came.

  The fact that he’d called her fiancé an idiot made him even hotter. It also gave her a shot of courage. Winding her arms around his neck, she went up on tiptoe, surprised at how far she had to stretch to get to his lips. Too far. She couldn’t reach, unless he bent down. “No more talking.”