But if there was a chasm of misunderstanding between Rafe and their father, the same could not be said for Rafe and Mariella. Their mother and Rafe were exceptionally close, able to communicate with a look or a laugh. Of all of them, Mariella loved Rafe with a depth of feeling she’d never quite managed with him or their sister, Elana. No matter how much Luc tried to impress his mother, from exceptional report cards and success at any sport he tried to defending his brother from schoolyard bullies and his sister from bad boys—or any boys—Mariella never looked at Luc the same way she looked at Rafe, or even Gabe, his cousin.
He wished...oh, hell, he wished for so much. That his family was normal, that Rafe could find something or someone that made him happy, that Elana wasn’t such high maintenance, that the love of his life would...
Luc scrubbed his hands over his face. No point in going there.
Knowing that he needed to be strong, Luc pushed his shoulders back, walked over to Rafe and placed a hand on his shoulder. Rafe turned his head to look at him, anguish in his face and his eyes. “And?”
“He’s in a coma. He has a traumatic brain injury and a bruised spleen, various broken bones. It’s the TBI the doctors are most concerned about. The surgery relieved most of the pressure, but they have to wait for the swelling to subside before they can make a judgment call on his future. All I can say is that he’s in very bad shape and the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours are crucial. If he survives the night and tomorrow night, he has a slim chance.”
Rafe swore, and Luc caught the shimmer of tears in his eyes. “Goddammit,” he whispered.
Luc turned as the door to the waiting room opened. A nurse dressed in scrubs held a clipboard and sent them a quick, distracted smile. Luc frowned and looked around. “Rafe?”
“Yeah?”
“Where the fuck is Elana?”
A good orgasm was when her vision started to fade, her head spun and her body shook. It was a blend of bungee jumping and skydiving, hot and sexy, heart-stopping, body-melting volcanic fun. Jarrod Jones, Elana decided as she floated back to the earth, gave her the best, and the most intense, orgasms. Ever.
It was no wonder that she was addicted to him.
Ignoring her ringing cell phone on the far bedside table, Elana yawned. Fighting sleep, feeling like he’d turned her inside out, Elana watched as he pushed himself off her and stalked, bare-ass naked, toward the en-suite bathroom across the room. Idly wondering if she should follow him into the shower and go another round—they seldom needed much time to recover—Elana looked upward and smiled at her reflection in the newly installed mirror above the bed. She looked good, she decided, dreamy and well loved. Very well loved. In her opinion she never looked better than she did when she still radiated that orgasmic glow. That was saying something, since she looked pretty damn fine all the time.
Long dark brown hair, huge expressive brown eyes, a peachy glow to her flawless skin. A body that rocked...
Her looks and body were her greatest asset, closely followed by her charm. She might not have Luc’s brains or Rafe’s talent, but she looked spectacular and she could, as her mother frequently commented, sell ice to Eskimos. That was why Mariella tolerated her presence at MSM Event Planning, where she worked as a party planner. She wasn’t as dedicated or enthusiastic as her co-workers and didn’t put in the hours like her colleagues. Instead she took on projects that interested her, worked only with people whom she liked, and she did a fantastic job, if the project ran smoothly. If not, she relied on Gabe, her cousin, to keep her on some sort of track. She also relied on him to pull her admittedly delicious ass out of the fire when she lost track of a detail or a deadline.
Gabe was smart and focused and dedicated. So Elana didn’t have to be.
Elana bit her bottom lip and stared at her orange toenails, her thoughts a million miles away from the expensive pedicure she’d acquired the day before. Looks and charm were all good and well, but she’d swap them in a heartbeat to be more like the rest of her high-flying family. The reality was that she was the family screwup. Like her world-famous chef and hotelier father and her ridiculously accomplished and smart mother, Luc, Rafe and Gabe made success look so damn easy, they’d never had a moment’s doubt that they’d conquer anything they turned their attention to. She hadn’t been that lucky.
Elana’s ringing phone pulled her out of her introspection. She rolled over, scooped up the flashy red device and looked down at the screen. Ten missed calls—Luc, Gabe, her mother, Thom. Gabe and Mariella were, no doubt, calling her to complain that she was late for work, and Thom would want to know where she was and what she was doing. Who knew what Luc was calling about. Elana winced at the number of text messages; she wasn’t in the mood for an ass-kicking from anybody. She needed another bout of fabulous sex and two cups of coffee before she could face the world that existed outside this luxury apartment.
Being with Jarrod was an integral part of her fantasy world, one she needed as much, or possibly more, than her real world. Damn that ringing phone! Elana saw that Thom was calling her—again—and let the call go to voice mail. Besides, she’d far prefer to think about her very sexy lover.
It had been a couple of months since she’d laid eyes on Jarrod at a party in Beverly Hills. From the moment their eyes met, electricity had crackled between them. He’d introduced himself, and Elana instantly knew that it wouldn’t be long before they saw each other naked. Jarrod was involved in the film industry, and there were rumors about a casting couch—or desk—and about his voracious sexual appetite. Elana listened to the gossip and immediately shrugged off the comments. It meant nothing to her—she wasn’t an actress looking for a break or a paycheck, and she obviously didn’t need his influence or money...
Jarrod was her fantasy man, a way for her to step out of her increasingly complicated life. He was her escape, her dalliance, her drug...
The phone in her hand rang again, and Elana grinned when she saw the name on the display. Yeah, Cassie was the one person she could talk to. Unlike her family and Thom, Cassie didn’t nag.
“One word, a simple hello, and I can tell that you’ve had a fabulous night. Where did he take you, what did you do?” Cassie drawled. “El Acantilado? The Polo Club? Swoosh?”
“Nowhere,” Elana answered. “We stayed in and screwed each other stupid.”
“I’m so jealous,” Cassie answered on a forlorn sigh. “Listen, I need to know if you’re going to come with me to Mark and Alex’s fashion show in New York next week.”
“I don’t know yet.” Elana shrugged. “I’m waiting to hear whether Jarrod has plans with Finola.”
“Does the ever-so-beautiful, stupid-talented and intellectual Oscar winner know that you are having an affair with her husband?”
Elana shrugged. “Jarrod doesn’t seem to be worried, so I’m not. Besides, I’m playing with fire, too.”
“Don’t get burned,” Cassie said, uncharacteristically serious.
“You know me, Cass, I’m fire and bombproof. I always land on my feet,” Elana assured her before disconnecting the call. She didn’t like intense conversations that made her examine her life or her motivations. She liked to keep her affairs simple.
And it was simple: Finola was Jarrod’s sun, and Elana was his moon. She and Jarrod saw each other when they could, and they were completely sexually compatible. They had fun together—she was allowed to have some fun, wasn’t she?
Jarrod walked back into the bedroom, a blindingly white towel wrapped around his hips, artfully tied to show off the ridge of abdominal muscles. Broad shoulders, long legs, slicked-back hair and predatory eyes. Damn right, she could have some fun! God, he was hot, and he had a way of looking at