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“See, I told you he was a gentleman.”
Bustedknuckleswithafeather-light touch. Silky Italian wrapped around callous words. Slow licks, racing hearts. Sweet and sour, hot and cold; contradictions pull at my nerves in a game of tug and war.
I hate that I love every second of it.
A dullthudjolts me awake. I pop my eyes open and realize the sound isAnatomy for Dummiesslipping out of my hand and hitting the cream carpet. In my post-nap haze, it takes a few seconds for my brain to sharpen enough to realize I’m not alone in the library.
Rafe reclines in an armchair across from the sofa, ankle resting on his thigh as he spins a gold poker chip between his thumb and forefinger. Each spin glints in the midday sun, as blinding as his presence.
I didn’t expect him to be back so soon.
His stare traps mine. “You look like an angel when you sleep.” Before the tug of war can start in my chest again, he swipes the vodka glass off the desk and adds, “The snoring, though? Not so angelic.”
I sit up, pulling my knees to my chest in self-preservation. How long has he been sitting there? Watching me? Vulnerability and unease grip me, making me want to shrivel up and wilt under the heat of a sunbeam.
Instead, I opt for picking up the book and walking it to the haphazardly-built bookshelf. It’s hard to ignore how my heart thumps under the weight of Rafe’s eyes tracking me.
I brush my fingers over the yellow spines. “You bought me all theFor Dummiesbooks.”
“Mm. Found a career yet?”
“You trying to get rid of me, or something?”
His dark laugh caresses me like silk. “Or something.”
The room heats with two words left unsaid:thank you.
The chair groans. I don’t need to turn around to know he’s approaching. Each footstep treads up my spine, until his presence brushes my back.
A shudder rolls through me as his hand runs down the length of my braid.
“Did one of the girls braid your hair, Queenie?”
“Why do you call me Queenie?”
His smile is dry. “Your mama never taught you not to answer a question with a question?”
“No, my mother didn’t teach me anything memorable, except that mixing red wine with a whole pack of allergy medicine will make you choke on your own puke.” When Rafe’s hand brushes over my neck, I shake the memory away. “Anyway, Rory did.” I pause. “How did you know I didn’t do it myself?”
The expensive fabric of his slacks touches the backs of my thighs. “You can’t braid, Queenie.”
I frown. “How do you know that?”
He stills, then skims his nose up the curve of my throat, bringing his lips to my ear. “Apologies. I’m thinking of one of my other enemies with benefits.”
Jealousy flashes behind my eyelids. I whip around to push him off, but he tightens his grip on my braid, yanking my head back until it rests below his collar pin. “I’ll have to thank my sister-in-law for giving me a leash.”
Sweet, holy hell.All irritation vaporizes, its steam falling to the gusset of my thong. I swallow, trying to slow my breathing as his other hand trails the chain of my necklace. His fingers skim over the four-leaf clover, then carve a path across my breasts.
Something stirs in his slacks.
“My bedroom, ten minutes.”
And then he releases me. I brace my palms on the splintered bookshelf until the violentclickof the door sounds behind me.
Christ.I exhale shakily, trying to gather my decorum from all four corners of the room. Last night, the excitement of crooning to ABBA and playingUNO!loosened the choke hold this man has on me. But once Rory, Wren, and Tayce left this morning, everything that’s infinitivelyhimsoaked through the sudden silence, bled through the wallpaper, and rubbed my skin raw.
We’re fuck friends, for now,but I know when all is said and done, his rough touch and smooth voice will be impossible to forget.
