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The diner’s yellow glow seeps through the rain on the windshield, and safety in the form of salty French fries and sugary milkshakes awaits.
I pop open my door, and unfortunately Raphael opens his, too.
My shoulders tense. “You’re coming in?”
“No, I’ll just sit here and play with my balls.”
His door slams shut behind him, and a few seconds later he appears in the frame of mine, wearing his suit blazer. He rests his palms against the top of the car and leans in with half-lidded impatience. “Don’t have all night, Penelope.”
Well, then.
In the diner, the doorbell chimes above my head and warmth brushes my face. Standing on the welcome mat, I squint under the harsh strip lights—they’re a stark contrast to the darkness that shrouded me outside.
Speaking of darkness, Raphael’s wet chest presses against the back of my head as he steps in behind me. His lips graze over the shell of my ear and fill it with a hot demand. “Move.”
I sigh into the diner and squelch across checkered tiles. Eyes follow me, but only until a certain point, then they snap to the six-foot-four gentlemandarkening the doorway.
A glance over my shoulder confirms he’s never stepped foot in this diner in his life. Or any food joint that serves food on a plastic tray, probably. He stands on the welcome mat, hands in his pockets, regarding his new surroundings with badly concealed amusement.
A blond girl slides up behind the counter and pins me with wide eyes. “Hello! I’m Libby and I’ll be your server for today.” She’s talking to me, but the angle of her body is tethered to the asshole over my shoulder. “Are you eating or taking away?”
“We’ll eat—”
Raphael’s smooth demand sweeps my answer away. “Takeaway.”
My jaw ticks in annoyance, and a thick dread coats the walls of my chest. Eating in is…safer. The bright lights and the people and cameras make bad things less likely to happen. Instinct and self-preservation tell me I shouldn’t disappear into the dark with Raphael Visconti, even if the nervous excitement buzzing inside me suggests otherwise.
“Takeaway, then,” I grind out.
Libby taps a few keys on the computer. “And what would you like?”
I rattle off the order I’ve made almost every night since moving back to the Coast. With a tiny gulp, the server drags her gaze upward and practically whispers, “And you, Mr. Visconti?”
“Nothing, thank you—”
“He’ll have the double cheeseburger combo. Extra bacon, extra cheese.” I bite my lip in thought, sweeping the back-lit menu above the counter. “And a chocolate milkshake. Extra-large.”
A breathy grunt touches the nape of my neck, making me smile.
“Uh, okay…” More tapping, then she gives me the total, and I swing around to press my back against the counter. Raphael’s gaze trails down the opening of my wet jacket, before snapping back up to my sweet smile.
“Yes?”
“Cough up, sugar daddy.”
Biting back amusement, he tugs out his wallet. His arm brushes mine as he tosses bills onto the counter.
“Plus VAT.”
“Oh, no sir. It already includes VAT—”
“Plus VAT,” I repeat, not taking my eyes off Raphael.
With a slow shake of his head, he slams another twenty on the counter.
“Plus tip.”
“But that’s already much more than—”
