quickly scanned the top sheet. "What's happening in the Bronx tonight?"
"I'm in a bowling league."
"Who do you bowl with?"
"Cops." She smiled when he gave her a stunned look. "My sister and her fiancé, who's a former NYPD lieutenant, are in a bowling league with a group of officers from a Bronx precinct."
"Do you bowl every Wednesday?"
"Yes."
"What about Englewood Cliffs Saturday night?"
"I'm having dinner with my cousin and her husband."
"Can you cancel it?"
"No!"
Rafe reached for the cordless wall phone, handing it to Simone. "I suggest you call your cousin to let her know that you're bringing company. It'd be in poor taste for me to show up unannounced."
A flicker of apprehension swept her as she processed what she'd been instructed to do. She wouldn't be able to go anywhere, see or talk to anyone without Rafe being present. Her life as she knew it was no longer hers.
She closed her eyes, struggling with the gamut of emotions shaking her confidence. Whenever her sister and cousin wanted to do something daring, it was always Simone Whitfield who accepted the dare and came out a winner.
She was the Whitfield girl, not Faith or Tessa, who preferred hanging out with the boys, climbing trees, hopping fences and playing baseball. It was she who had mixed it up with the boys in their Mount Vernon neighborhood, and it was she who had never run from a fight, even if her opponent was older or bigger.
When she'd announced to her family that she was getting married, no one believed her until the day she exchanged vows. The running family joke was they'd expected Tessa or Faith, the Whitfield princesses, to marry before designated family tomboy Simone.
Depressing a button on the speed dial, she rang Faith's cell phone, which she used exclusively for her business. The call was answered after the second ring. "Let Them Eat Cake. Faith speaking."
"Faith, Simone. I'm calling to ask if it's all right if I bring a date Saturday night."
"Why, Simi Whitfield, do you insist on working my nerves? Of course you can bring a guest." A soft chuckle came through the earpiece. "Who is he?"
Simone smiled. Faith was the only person who shortened her name. "You'll see," she said cryptically.
"Simone Whitfield!"
"Goodbye, Mrs. McMillan." Ending the call, she gave Rafe the phone. "She'll be expecting you."
He placed the receiver in its cradle. "You listed a party for Thursday evening. Where is it?"
Crossing her arms under her breasts, Simone leaned against the counter. "Manhattan. I'm doing the floral arrangements for a dinner party."
Rafe gave each item a mental check. "You also listed a consultation for tomorrow at eleven in Central Valley."
"I'm meeting with a prospective bride to discuss her wedding flowers."
"What's Monday in BK?"
"Every other Monday I get together with my sister and cousin. This coming Monday, we're meeting in Brooklyn at Tessa's house. The next meeting will be here, then after that we'll meet in Greenwich Village at Faith's apartment. The only time we don't meet is when one of us is out of town."
"Doesn't Faith live in New Jersey?"
Simone realized that not only did Rafe have a quick mind, but there were probably very few things that would get past him. "She and her husband stay in Manhattan during the week, and spend the weekends in New Jersey."
Rafe fixed his dark blue stare on Simone's delicate features, taken aback by her fragility. He didn't know why, but there was something about her that appealed to his protective instincts that had nothing to do with the assignment.
"How often do you go out of town?"
"Not too often. The last time I left the state for business was when I was commissioned to provide the floral decorations for a charity affair in D.C. Most times it's within the tri-state area."
Scanning the second sheet, he noted she'd listed a number of visits to Mount Vernon. "If you don't mind, I'd like for you to curtail your personal social engagements."
What was he talking about? Simone fumed inwardly. If she didn't bowl on Wednesdays with her sister and future brother-in-law or commit to their bimonthly get-togethers she wouldn't have anything remotely resembling a social life. What if she'd had a boyfriend? Would she have to stop seeing him, too?
"I'll see what I can do to accommodate you. I'm going upstairs to relax." She walked out of the kitchen, leaving Rafe staring at the space where she'd been.
Simone pressed her face into the softness of a mound of pillows on her bed. How could her life have changed with a single incident? Why now, when she was attempting to get her life and head together?
She'd spent years wishing, praying and hoping the man she'd come to love more than she'd loved herself would change. She'd tried over and over to make her marriage work. Even after divorcing Tony she'd attempted reconciling, yet in the end she knew she had to let him go.
Her emotions, vacillating from frustration to fear, made her a prisoner in her own home. If and when she ventured out of doors, she would never be alone, free to walk down to the greenhouses and linger long enough to lose track of time. Even if she were to end her day sitting on the porch, it would be under the sharp gaze of a man whose job it was to see that no harm came to her until the conclusion of the trial of a man charged with attempted murder. Questions assaulted her like missiles, questions to which she had no answers, questions she wanted to ask, but feared the answers to.
What she actually wanted was to go to sleep, then wake up and find it was all a dream. Rolling over on her back, she stared up at the ceiling. Simone knew wishing, hoping or praying wouldn't change the fact that what she was experiencing wasn't a dream, but a reality as real as the man moving around her kitchen as if he belonged there. She closed her eyes, willing her mind blank, and within minutes she succumbed to the comforting embrace of Morpheus.
It felt as if she'd just closed her eyes when she came awake suddenly to find Rafe sitting on the padded bench at the foot of the bed. She popped up like a jack-in-the box. He stood up and came to sit on the side of the mattress; it dipped with his added weight. Lengthening afternoon shadows made it difficult for her to see his face.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong, Simone." Rafe's voice was soft and comforting. He'd come to her bedroom and, not wanting to startle her, sat on the bench, waiting for her to wake up.
She blinked once. "What are you doing here?"
"I came to ask you if you wanted something to eat."
He leaned closer, his warmth and scent sweeping over her; suddenly Simone felt smothered, trapped. Unconsciously she moved back against the mound of pillows propped against the headboard. She wanted to escape from Rafe, but there was no place to go. Was she just now undergoing delayed post traumatic stress?
She shook her head. "I don't think I'll be able to keep anything down."
"You're going to have to eat."
"I know." She closed her eyes for several seconds.
Rafe didn't think he would ever get used to hearing her husky voice. Not only was it sensual, but also hypnotic. "Are you a vegan?"
With wide eyes, she gave him an incredible stare. "No. Why would you ask me that?"
"There was no meat in your freezer."
Simone's expression softened. "I eat red meat three times a week, and this was my week to call in an order to the butcher."
"Do you pick up the order or have it delivered?"
"They deliver."
"That's