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“My home is back that way.”
He speeds up, ignoring me.
“Rafe,” I say as calmly as I can muster, “Turn around.”
“The yacht’s ready.”
“Turn the car around!”
Cursing in Italian, he swings into a pull-off. The engine cuts out, plunging us into tense silence.
He drops his head against the headrest. Runs a hand over his throat. “I groveled,” he says quietly. “Now. Come. Home.”
I stare at his sharp profile, watching the muscle in his jaw twitch. “You groveled for three hours and twenty minutes.”
He rolls his head and pins me with a soft look. “You still hate me, Queenie?”
Despite my throat being thick with the truth, I nod.
He thinks for a moment, then gives a careless shrug and reaches for the ignition. “Hate me on the boat, then.”
“I’ll hate you from my apartment.”
“Or, you can sleep in the car—”
“Rafe.”
Something about my tone cuts him off. He glares out the windshield for the longest time before giving a tight nod and driving me home in silence.
By the time he parks in his signature asshole way outside my apartment, his annoyance has softened. He shifts in his seat to study me, eyes sparkling. “Invite me up for coffee, at least.”
I laugh. “No chance.”
He smiles, reaching out to play with a lock of my hair. “You probably only have that instant shit, anyway.”
I’m about to tell him I don’t even have ‘that instant shit’—there are no drinks in my apartment besides tap water and a multi-pack of orange soda—but then his focus move to my mouth. The car heats, and the topic of coffee is suddenly irrelevant.
His grip on my hair tightens. “I’m getting a goodnight kiss, and that’s non-negotiable.”
I sigh, resisting the urge to twist my face into his palm. It’d be so easy to kiss him. To let his hands roam where they want, then let them yank me into the back seat when the sexual tension spills over.
“It’ll cost you.”
He shakes his head in amusement. “I already paid you a million bucks when I lost the bet. Surely that’ll cover all kisses in this lifetime?”
A hot venom whips through me at the mention of the check. “We both know you didn’t pay me because you lost the bet.”
My heart thumps, echoing in the silence. The memory of waking up to an empty bed strips my throat raw. Fuck, how will I ever not feel sick when I think of it? Rafe can buy me roses I don’t know how to care for and let me eat three deserts on his dime, but how will I ever forgive him for paying me to go away? For only admitting he owns Sinners Anonymous in the hope it would seal my decision to leave?
Rafe frowns, sensing the shift in mood, then realization softens his brow as he skims his thumb over my cheekbone. “Fine, how much?”
“Fifty bucks.”
He laughs, tossing his wallet on my lap. “Sold.”
As he leans in, I press my hand against his chest. “I meant a hundred!”
“Jesus. For a hundred, I want some tongue action.”
