Secrets and Sins: Raphael: A Secrets and Sins novel (Entangled Ignite) by Naima Simone Page A

stomach.
    Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. Consciously calm the body. Starting with the toes, legs, chest, arms, fingers. Heart. Head. Relaxation techniques, the doctor assured her, would help with the stress and tension that were probably triggering the migraine attacks and nightmares.
    Groggy, she slowly reclined until her head met the pillow, damp from her sweat and probably tears. She stared at the shadowed ceiling. Frustration and grief swelled, a tidal wave she allowed to crash over her, through her. The faint pulse of the headache she’d hoped to avoid echoed in the back of her head. Leave it. Just leave it for tonight. Tonight other things demanded her attention. A mutilated doll. Rafe. Packing her belongings. Leaving Ethan’s house. Arriving at Rafe’s.
    Falling asleep in the guest bedroom.
    Groaning, she pressed the heels of her palms against her eyes and rubbed. Hard.
    God, she was tired. Stretching across the bed for a short nap was the last thing she recalled. It seemed as if all the worry, dread, and fear of the past four months had crashed down on her shoulders at one time. The onslaught of emotion had dragged her down to the sleigh bed with its simple but pretty white quilt, still numb and shell-shocked over the turn of events at his office. The late afternoon rays that had streamed through the huge bay windows had disappeared, replaced by milky beams and pockets of darkness. When she’d lain down, she’d thought dozing past an hour an impossibility. A restful sleep had been almost nonexistent since her life had morphed into a Snapped episode.
    Maybe it’d been the twenty-five-minute drive from Boston to Rafe’s Chestnut Hill home with its wooded lot and illusion of complete privacy. Maybe it’d been the glimpse of the security system that had appeared complicated and state-of-the-art even to her untrained eye. Probably both. But in that place in her heart where she couldn’t deceive herself, she admitted the distance and Fort Knox system were secondary to the man who owned the home she slept in.
    There was just something about him. Aside from the hair, piercings, and tattoos, because none were particularly unusual. The something surpassed clothing or hairstyle. It was in the ever-moving, alert survey of his surroundings. The loose-limbed, smooth stride that reminded her of a stalking feline—graceful, unhurried, but dangerous. As if he could explode into lethal motion at any given second. Add them all up, and he exuded “fuck with me at your own risk.”
    Yes, maybe she couldn’t exactly define the something . But whatever the elusive thing was, it allowed her to sleep like the baby tucked under her breast. Until the nightmares, that is.
    Gingerly, she scooted back, sitting against the headboard. And groaned again. But not out of fear. Oh, God . She pressed her palms to her stomach as it pitched and rolled in a sickening wave. Greer remained still for several moments, hoping against hope that tonight would be the magic night the sickness disappeared. That if she didn’t move, the churning would calm, and she could go back to sleep. Oh, God. Not happening . She moaned, rolling to the end of the bed as her belly gave a hard lurch. She left the bedroom and swayed down the hallway to the bathroom Rafe had pointed out earlier.
    As soon as she flicked the light switch, her stomach rebelled. She rushed across the white tile and had barely managed to flip the lid before the grilled chicken and salad she’d eaten for lunch made a guest appearance. She shook, flushed and aching. Her stomach wrenched hard as irrational fear for the baby’s safety spiraled through her. No way can this be healthy—
    A cold cloth was pressed to her forehead. She groaned, unable to hold in the grateful moan as blessed coldness combated her heated skin and won. Curling her fingers around the edge of the toilet, she emitted a little sob as another wave hit her, and once more she bent over the bowl.
    “Shh.