Page 16 of The Devil’s Feather

“Stop it. I’m glad you don’t have veneers like everyone else.” I almost added, ‘don’t bullshit a bullshitter’. “Who do I need to fight over the nose job comments?”

“Everyone I have ever worked with in LA.” His broad shoulders slumped. “Regardless of whether you find me attractive, I scare people away. You will see.”

I took his hand. “Don’t run me off before I have the chance to decide for myself, ok? So far, I really like what I’ve seen.”

Quieted, he led me downstairs to a small home theater with large, comfortable seats. “This is where I do final screenings of movies and games before release.”

“Do you watch TV in here too? That’s gotta be an experience.” I ran my hand across the dark velvet wall panels. It was like a cushy cave.

“I watch little of it in general, but there is a TV in a lift cabinet in the den for casual viewing.”

Next was his home gym. Rather than a fancy build with tons of expensive equipment, it resembled a scrappy fighting gym in a garage. Nice padding lined the floor, and mirrors took up one wall, but simple weights, some wall attachments, and a heavy bag made up most of the rest. Notably, unlike other gyms, it did not smell like foot.

I spun in a slow circle. “You must work out a lot. Can you bench press me?” Stupid, stupid. Why did I keep doing this?

“Easily.”

Well, that was cocky. “You don’t know how much I weigh!”

Rafael grinned. “My personal record is 230 kilos—about 507 pounds. I can safely assume you are nowhere near that.”

“Jesus Christ. I bet nobody likes you when you’re angry.”

“Correct.” Next thing I knew, a powerful arm scooped me up and hoisted me into the air. I windmilled to catch my balance. Rafael clamped my thighs firmly under his hand. I caught sight of us in the mirror—he’d perched me neatly on his rocky bicep. He stared smugly up at me.

This man would be the death of me. And I would welcome it.

“Well, goddamn. I am fucking impressed. Can’t say any other dude has ever done this.” Please body slam me right now before I soak through your sleeve. Thank god I wore shapewear instead of a thong. “Has anyone ever told you that you have trickster god energy⁠2? Like Loki?”

“Yes. Şeytan tüyü, we say in Turkish.”

I blinked. “SHAY-tahn too yoo?”

“Close enough. Means ‘the devil’s feather’.” His eyes glittered. “Someone with a mysterious, devilish charm.” Rafael slid me down from his shoulder, catching and cradling me in his arms. “There, is this better?”

With my head against his chest, that vocal vibration threatened to undo me. “Fuck, I have never felt so safe.” I leaned back to catch his eye. “If I’m ever having a meltdown and you need to calm me, just do this and hum or something. Best stim ever with that resonant voice of yours.”

He huffed through his nose. “Noted.”

“With all the fighting stuff, aren’t you worried you’ll break your hands?”

Rafael set me on my feet. “It happens. But I am a fast healer, and pain does not stop me.”

I felt bereft without his body heat. “What does stop you?”

His lips thinned. “Myself, mostly.” Rafael glanced at the stairwell branching off from the corner. “My bedroom is up there. I will show it to you some other time.”

I drooped as we walked to the elevator.

He stopped me. “I am not rejecting you; I am trying to move slowly. Will you join me here for dinner on Sunday?” There were a thousand thoughts behind those eyes. “It is getting late, and I do not want your housemates to call the cops thinking I have murdered you.”

“I would love to—and that’s a solid point.”

He opened the car door for me, and I climbed in. I tilted my chin up and closed my eyes, expecting another toe-curling kiss. But he simply took my hand and pressed my knuckles to his lips. Surprisingly erotic.

“Rafael, I…” I didn’t know what I’d meant to say.

He crouched, leaning down until his breath tickled my ear. “Think of me when you go home and touch yourself.”