AllFreeNovel
Share Us
The woman immediately became tense again. “I already ate.”
Of course you did.“No problem,” she said, too brightly, taking a single plate from the cupboard. She could feel the other woman’s eyes on her back and wondered why the fuck it left her feeling so judged. She could have easily taken two plates—Madge already knew she had a man up there—but that would have felt like tipping the scales in the other woman’s favor, somehow. It might have been enough to make her feel free enough to ask questions.
Questions that Donni had absolutely zero interest in answering.
She hid in the hallway, clutching the plate, until she got the notification that the delivery had arrived. Then she raced up the stairs with the bag, feeling like an interloper in her own fucking house, while Madge vacuumed up what remained of the pulverized bar.
When she slipped into her room, Rafe was sprawled out on the bed with one of her romance novels.The Pirate’s Captive, it was called. “Put that down,” she said sharply.
“Is she gone?”
“No, she’s not gone. So keep your voice down.”
She went to her vanity and began loading up the plate with egg rolls, rice, beef and broccoli, and orange chicken. He rolled over to watch her, sliding one of his fingers between the pages.
“I hope you didn’t think you could buy your way out of treating me like a back-alley fuck with some Chinese food and a smile. I’m doing you a favor, remember?”
“Do you see a smile on my face?” she asked, too sweetly.
“You might think you’re getting to me,” he said, sitting up, “but all you’re really doing is proving my point. You’re tilting at windmills, trying to see if you can make them shudder.”
She shoved the plate at him. “If you don’t like it, you can leave.”
“It’s not just about sex for me,” he said, in such a level tone that she found herself wanting to shout at him. She snatched the romance novel away instead, turning her back on his amused half-smile. “I’ve always considered myself a romantic.”
Donni scoffed. “That’s why you were a virgin.”
“I wondered how long it would take for you to use that against me.” His voice was a soft rebuke that made her spine stiffen as she filled one of the empty cartons with her own helping. “Let me take you out. Give me a chance to prove to you that I’m not the monster you think I am.”
“Are you—” she stopped, collecting herself. “Are you asking me out? No. Absolutely not.”
“What if it’s not in Riachuelo?” he asked. “What if I took you into the city? You still need a computer to read that flashdrive. We’ll make a day of it.”
Still holding the carton, she folded her arms. “What if I refuse?”
“Then I’ll leave. But first, I might speak to that housekeeper of yours. Ask her if she knows where you might keep anything for all these scratches on my back. I might not be a monster,” he said softly, “but I never claimed to be a gentleman.”
???????
Rafe was used to secrets. He’d been forced to tiptoe around his mother’s illness for years until her breakdowns became too public to ignore. And then he’d been shuttled off to private boarding schools so his father could pretend to be a younger man for his brand-new wife.
When he had found himself feeling things for his stepmother that he’d known he shouldn’t, he had tried to physically force those thoughts away. Just . . . cram them down into all those dark, recessed spaces where he kept all the other things in his life that weren’t allowed to make him feel.
But secrets, like feelings, had a way of bubbling back up. Sometimes with surprising violence.
Donni eventually agreed to let him take her into San Francisco. He could imagine how she’d rationalized it. Nearly fifty miles away, the closest thing to being in a blind room. She wasn’t simple, but she could be very predictable.
The brooding music coming from the rental’s CD player matched the gray autumn skies and filled the expansive silence between them. Donni sat with her purse on her lap, periodically glancing at her phone. She’d made herself up a little, which pleased him. Dark lipstick, smoky eyeshadow. Somewhere between goth and pinup.
There had been talks to make her the host of some late-night show, he remembered. Like Elvira, but modern. Less pinup, morePlayboy. A horror emcee for the TRL generation. But it must have fallen apart, like the rest of her career, when she’d come forth with those allegations.
He took her to a bar called The Bird and Bubble, which was a trendy restaurant that was known for its champagne cocktails and various kinds of cooked chicken. It had black upholstered walls and lots of rose gold-tinted chrome. All of the bar lamps were ocher-colored, and the music playing was bright and poppy. The kind neither of them listened to.
“Have you ever been here?” he asked, already knowing the answer was no.
“No,” she said shortly, looking at him from across the table. She was wearing the dress that had almost made her famous, and the black satin still clung to her curvy body like a glove.
When the waiter came, Rafe ordered bacon-wrapped dates, waffle-battered chicken, and fried calamari. They’d taste good with whatever fruity cocktail or white wine that she’d inevitably decide to order, and when she asked for a lemon drop martini, he had to hide a smile.
