My stomach is a knotted mess by the time I get him to his bedroom. I’m still carrying this damn mirror and razor blade, and I don’t really know what to do with them. My other hand is full of cheesecake, and the folder is tucked under my arm.
I feel a little out of my league when I consider my weapon of choice to ease his heartache was cheesecake, while Jessica Rabbit (who is probably more on his level) offered cocaine.
Ugh, Rafe.
“Do you remember what you told me?” I ask him, as I put the cheesecake container down on his dresser, then the folder.
“You’re going to have to be more specific, sweetheart,” he tells me.
My stomach falters again, hearing an endearment slip from his lips. I turn to steal a glimpse of him and he’s still so beautiful, his eyes twinkling with amusement. I know he’s easygoing, but dammit, I need him to have enough sense not to do shit that could get him killed.
“The relationship is over, not your life,” I tell him.
His amusement fades fast.
“But doing crazy shit like this because you’re hurting?” I hold up the mirror to make my point. “This could end your life. This is not the right way to exorcise your pain.”
His dark eyes narrow with something like malice. My heart flips over in my chest, the first wave of trepidation I’ve ever experienced around him. Despite knowing his line of work, Rafe has never felt dangerous to me. Sure, he punched my dumb ex in the face once, but that’s not scary. It was awesome.
Right now he moves closer, and his gait is predatory. I’ve never seen it before. Despite myself, despite trusting him, I find myself backing up until my ass hits the dresser.
I can’t breathe properly as he closes in on me. Too much Rafe, too close to me. My heart races so fast, it falls into my stomach, but I refuse to break his gaze.
“Then how should I exorcise my pain, Virginia?” he murmurs, slowly reaching toward my hair. My breath catches as he takes a dark lock between his fingers, rubbing the pad of his thumb over it, as if testing its texture.
Clearing my throat, I debate how best to get out of this moment. Not because I’m afraid of him—I’m not. Sure, the drugs may have lowered his inhibitions, but Rafe wouldn’t hurt me. I believe that with a bone-deep certainty. My faith in him is unwavering, I just don’t want him to do something half-cocked that I’m going to have to remember long after his high wears off.
“Want me to punch her in the face?” I offer.
Surprise registers in his eyes, then he smiles, his predatory look melting into something more like tenderness. “I don’t think you can take her,” he tells me, warmly.
“You might be surprised,” I tell him. Struck by an idea, I hold up a finger. “Wait, I know what will make you feel better.”
He takes a tiny step back, just enough so I can turn and put the mirror down next to the cheesecake. I almost laugh again at the ridiculous difference in our offerings. Stupid crackwhore. If he ever brings her into the restaurant, I’m going to uncap the salt and dump it in her food. She’ll take one bite and want to throw up.
Drawing my phone out of my pocket, I pull up a music app, type in a selection, and a moment later Rafe’s bedroom is filled with the sounds of Christina Aguilera telling us and everyone else in the early 2000’s how to get her genie out of the bottle.
I flash Rafe a teasing smile, shimmying my hips to the beat of the music. “Come on, I know this is your jam.”
Hi
s eyes trail down my body and back up to my face, part heart-stopping interest, part amusement. “You’re wearing too many clothes and you don’t have a protein shake.”
I grin. “You remember that?”
“It was memorable. Not many women mock my masculinity.”
Since this distraction is working, I go ahead and lip sync to the song, playfully trailing a finger down his chest. “Come on, dance with me.”
I don’t expect him to take me up on the offer, and I’m not ready for it when his hands dart out and grab my hips. He yanks my hips against his, slowing down my movements, but sending my heart racing.
My chest tightens as he gazes down at me, suddenly in control. I don’t know how it happened. I could have sworn I had the reins, but right now he places a hand at the small of my back, keeping my body pressed to his, and he makes me dance for him. It definitely didn’t feel sexy when I started playfully dancing around to distract him, but now I’m pressed tightly against his hips, and he is moving with me, and it’s the most erotic thing I’ve ever experienced. Maybe it’s just because he’s him. Maybe it’s because I adore him so much. Then again, he has never lacked female adoration, so it’s probably just him.
As the music plays, he pins me with his gaze, holds me captive with little more than a firm hand pressed to the small of my back and the intensity of his will. I know he wants me to keep moving, so I do. Even if the music stops, I don’t know if I will.
I need to. If the difficulty I’m having simply breathing isn’t warning enough, the reminder that I sent his booty call home is. As it is, I’m never going to be able to turn on this song and not replay this moment. I turned it on as a joke, but it is now the sexiest song I have ever heard in my life because it is attached to this moment. It’s attached to him. Next time I bring him food and drink, it’s going to be so weird. Oh, God, I’m ruining everything. I need to get out of this moment. I don’t want to be the disposable body he buries his pain inside. I want to be around once he recovers and he’s himself again. I’ll never be able to if I let this go any further.
My chest feels thick with dread. I don’t want to leave this moment. I want to stay here in it forever. If I have to listen to Christina Aguilera for the rest of my life, so be it.