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get an erection from dropping coins into a slot machine, and…
Oh God. He thinks I’m pretty. A hot flush rises in my cheeks. I feel like I can do just about anything now—climb a mountain, run across town… Smile without restraint.
Which I do.
Funny thing is, his eyes widen as he watches me, then his own smile ratchets up a notch. Those cute dimples deepen, and it’s breathtakingly sexy.
He turns his gaze back to the street and I’m still staring. I watch the knot in his throat bob as he swallows, his tongue darts out to lick his lips, and heat suffuses me.
I’m in Rafe Vestri’s car. Alone with him, in his car. And he’s taking me to his apartment so he can shower and, oh dear God, that image is almost my undoing. Because, oh hell… Rafe naked under the hot spray, all that muscled flesh and inked skin gleaming wet, his hands running up and down his chest, sliding lower, to grab his—
Holy crap. This is crazy. Stop it.
My face aflame, a maddening throb between my legs, I force my eyes to the road and keep my mouth shut until we reach our destination.
***
I’m dying of curiosity to see Rafe’s pad. I want to find out who he really is, and what’s more personal than one’s home?
Since I met Rafe during my jog through that rich neighborhood, I expected him to stop in front of one of those tall, white houses. Instead, we turned into a nondescript street with rows of massive buildings and not a smidge of green in sight—no trees, no gardens, no grass.
He parks on the street, hops out and again hurries around to open my door and help me out. I can’t help but smile when he offers me his hand.
Hand language.
He tugs on me, lifts me to my feet, then tugs again so that I’m held at his side. “Careful, the snow can be slippery,” he says, his voice a pleasant rasp that makes my skin tingle.
He closes the car door, locks, and starts walking toward the building, his fingers tangled with mine. I wonder if he even notices he’s holding my hand as we climb up three broad steps and he punches a code into a keypad by the door. It clicks and he pushes it open, striding inside. I hurry to match his pace, and he slows down immediately.
We wait for the elevator, and now we’re indoors. No real reason for him to keep his warm fingers around mine.
But when he glances down to our entwined hands, he nods, as if satisfied. It’s funny. And strange. And it warms my heart for reasons I don’t quite understand yet.
As for me, I don’t want him to release me. His touch ignites my blood, sends electricity dancing on my skin. I don’t want to get away from him.
I want to get closer.
The elevator dings, the doors slide open, and we enter the narrow box. It’s so small we barely fit in there together—or maybe it’s Rafe’s broad shoulders that seem to fill the space from side to side.
Then even that thought flees my mind, because all of a sudden we’re mashed together, my breasts crushed to his hard chest, and his arm encircles me, steadying and strong.
His sharp inhale echoes around us, and he shifts his weight, the thick muscles in his thighs bunching against me. He’s quickly hardening where he’s pressed to me, and I stifle a gasp.
“Dammit,” he mutters and steps back, releasing me. The button of each floor lighting up shows me his face, his clenched jaw. He buries his fingers in his short blond hair, pulls, his mouth now hard like the rest of him, pressed into a flat line. “Sorry.”
This boy is confusing the hell out of me.
“Rafe…” I start, but just then, with impeccable timing, the elevator stops and the doors open.
Grabbing my hand, he pulls me out. Swallowing my questions and doubts, I walk with him down a dark corridor lined with doors. This handholding… it’s like a promise, a pact written in Braille, and God, I wish I knew how to read it. Sometimes, I guess, you have to close your eyes and find answers in the dark.
Talking of the dark… There’s a whole lot of that inside Rafaele Vestri, behind the golden eyes and powerful physique. Dark, and storm, and a raging fire that burns through his gaze, through his skin.
Through me, wherever we touch.
His door is indistinguishable from the others down the corridor, and he lets go of me to unlock and open it, ushering me inside.
Holding my breath, I enter. He flips on a corner lamp, and in its soft light, I make out a small living room with a battered sofa and an easy chair. I wander toward them. The coffee table is low and covered in books and empty glasses. A drum set dominates one corner, silver and black. Two tall posters are taped to the opposite wall.
