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“Fine?”
I swallow and steel my jaw, trying—and failing—to ignore the static crackling against my nipples. “That’s what I said.”
He licks his lips, slowly nodding. Then, with a steadying glance to the ceiling, he dips his head and looks at my chest.
Finally. The word pops into my head, unwanted and pathetic, and I clench my teeth in an attempt to rid my brain of it. Since when was I the type of girl who craved men’s attention for any reason other than to get money out of them? But no amount of rationale can stop my head from spinning.
I try to slow my breathing while he runs an objective eye over my breasts, from the hem of my lace bra to my tip money poking out of it. When he lets out a small breath of amusement, I feel its heat flow between my cleavage and settle like a weight between my thighs.
“My patrons seem to like you, at least,” he says softly, dragging his gaze from the faces of Hamilton and Jackson peeking out from beneath my bra to my own. It hardens with something unreadable. “I wonder why.”
Annoyance flares up against the walls of my stomach. What an asshole. I’d rather he just called me a slut than insinuate it in that velvet-and-nails way. He straightens to his full height and takes a step back, but not before turning his palm inward and brushing it over the dip of my hip as he pushes off the counter.
It’s barely a touch, but it snatches my next breath and I press my back harder into the counter to stop myself from swaying. He says something, but I don’t hear it—I’m too distracted by how the ghost of his palm burns.
“What?”
He cocks a brow. I look down to see he’s holding out a fifty-dollar bill in the space between us.
“What’s that for?”
“You lasted all night.” His gaze comes to mine, bored. “Against all odds.”
Jesus, and so I did. It’s veryunlike me to forget about a bet, especially one I was certain I wouldn’t win. I should feel a lot smugger about finessing money out of Raphael Visconti, but the triumphdoesn’t taste as sweet on my tongue tonight. I’m too distracted, too feverish.
I lean against the counter in an attempt to cool my sizzling skin. “Told you I was lucky.”
There’s that displeasure again. Raphael wipes it off his bottom lip with a swipe of his thumb, and shoves out the bill with the other. “Take it,” he says sharply.
A beat of tense silence passes. Swallowing, I lift my palms up on either side of myself. They are coated in Anna’s expensive face cream.
Raphael’s brows draw together in his confusion ashis focus darts from one hand to the other, before settling on the money in my bra. Then realization settles on the planes of his face like a thick blanket of dust.
His jaw tightens. He rakes a hand through his hair and lets out a huff. I, on the other hand, don’t dare breathe. Can’t. I’m too stupefied under the weight of what if and maybe so. My nipples tingle in anticipation, and there’s suddenly a new pulse in my clit, its throb fast and maddening.
But then he gives the tiniest shake of his head. He skims his stare up to meet mine. It’s dark and dangerous, void of any light or humor.
I doubt any good could ever survive in there.
“That wouldn’t be very gentlemanly of me, Penelope.”
“You’re not a gentleman,” I whisper back.
Tension crackles like static. It’s so heavy I could stick my tongue out and fucking taste it.
Raphael rakes his teeth over his bottom lip, stare intensifying. “You seem to be obsessed with the idea of me not being a gentleman.” He takes a slow step forward, still holding the bill out between us. “It’d be wise of you to get that notion out of your head.”
The buttery drawl doesn’t fool me; I know it’s a threat rather than a suggestion.
Still, it slips from my lips before I can consider the consequences. “All right, you are a gentleman then.” My eyes narrow. “To everyone but me.”
He stills. His free hand curls into a fist just before he slides it into the pocket of his slacks.
“Do you wantme to be a gentleman to you, Penelope?”
My heart skips its next beat. I can’t focus, can barely fucking see. The air is too thick and my pulse is too loud. I feel drunk and high at the same time, like I’m spiraling out of control. Maybe that’s why I’m stupid enough to shake my head.
A hiss escapes Raphael’s parted lips. It’s low and slow, and I don’t like the way it sizzles against my skin. But then he swallows. Glances at the ceiling, and lets out a bitter laugh. It rains down like an icy mist, spraying me with both disappointment and humiliation.
