I won’t make that mistake again.
“I know I’m the one who suggested an engagement,” I say, clasping my hands in my lap. “I’m just not certain how to execute my plan or if it’ll even work. There are so many things that could go wrong.”
He grins at me. “Even the best laid plans can go awry. Some smart person said that and it’s a fact. Nevertheless, you have access to information I want, and I can offer you protection with my name and the men under my authority. We might as well do the quid pro quo thing.” Rafael leans toward me, his lips almost brushing mine. “I have no problem with you scratching my back.”
Ignoring the heat sweeping across my cheeks, I squint up at him. “I have no interest in scratching anything.”
He seizes my hand and brings it to his mouth, only to nibble on the end of my index finger. “That’s a pity,” he murmurs, switching to my middle finger. “It’s going to be crucial to convince people this is a love match.”
I attempt to yank my hand from him, but he tightens his hold. Then Rafael squeezes my fingers just enough for the bones to grind together before relaxing his grip.
A warning given.
A bit of pain received.
A message understood.
“Why would anyone need to think we’re in love?” My words come out shaky and I inwardly berate myself for that show of weakness. “Can’t we just be engaged and have our names linked?”
Rafael shakes his head with deliberate slowness and drags the tip of my ring finger across his lips. “Everyone’s aware I have no interest in marriage, and for me to be engaged it can only mean one of two things: an alliance or love.” He dips part of my finger into his mouth and swirls his tongue around it before pulling my hands away and speaking again. “Which means I need to put a ring on it. You know, make our engagement look official.”
My stomach somersaults but not with nausea. No, it’s a different sensation. I wouldn’t go so far as to say excitement, however I can’t dismiss whatever this is. Placing the blame on my strung-out nerves is logical. There’s no other reason that makes sense.
“Are you sure about this?” I ask.
Rafael laughs and the sound warms my insides, despite my internal struggle. “You asked me to marry you, remember?”
He winks at me and my breath hitches.
With a frown, I snatch my hand away. Only because he lets me.
“That’s fine,” I say, resisting the urge to rub the part of my finger that was in his mouth. “I’ll wear a ring to solidify the ruse. And you’re right about your reputation. A love match is the only thing that’s believable, considering you hate my father.”
“I don’t hate him. He’s just a businessman like me, but I don’t approve of his treatment toward women.”
I scoff, and maybe a little too loudly. “Right, because you treat women so well. I haven’t even been around you long, and even I know the speculations concerning your…feminine conquests are true. I mean, there was a woman here when I arrived for goodness’ sake. And I’m pretty sure she wasn’t a relative.”
Rafael’s lips widen into a smile that speaks of amusement, and the way his nearly black eyes sweep over me cools my indignation as effectively as the night air would.
“No, she definitely wasn’t,” he says. “Since you seem to know so much about my personal life you’d know that any woman I’ve been withneverleaves unsatisfied. If anything, she’ll be back for more. Ergo, if anyone’s being mistreated, it’s me.”
I purse my lips, but with a lot less confidence than I actually feel. This topic is one that I started, but I’m not sure how to navigate it. Why in the world did I bring it up by mentioning that blonde woman? Sex in general is not something I wish to discuss. And sex concerning Rafael? A recipe for disaster.
“Maybe that’s why you’re here.” He taps his chin. “Hmm…that’s an interesting notion. I didn’t think you’d be up for something like that. However, I rarely say no to a beautiful woman.”
I huff. “I don’t doubt that. Be that as it may, this conversation has been significantly derailed and doesn’t have anything to do with why I’m here. Not to mention, you’re wrong about me.” I meet his gaze head on, wanting to drive my point home. “I have no interest in you physically. My only desire is to stay alive.”
He makes a noncommittal noise and I pull in a fortifying breath. Saying that to his face was extremely difficult. Actually, this entire conversation has been. I was attracted to Rafael when I met him at the gala two years ago, but who wouldn’t be? He’s rumored to have angelic blood in his veins and based on his unearthly good looks, I believe it.
But I also believe he has a little demon blood in him as well. I’ve never met a male more mischievous, sinful, or tempting.
Rafael’s entrenchment in the criminal world and proclivity towards bachelorhood—not to mention his many friends of the female variety— ruined my view of him. I don’t see anything wrong with a man living his life, and he’s certainly done that; I just won’t be another name on his—or anyone else’s—long list of sex partners. Nor do I want a husband who has no inkling of how to be faithful and committed to their wife. Maybe I’m naïve, but I find it hard to accredit someone with a past similar to Rafael’s as a person who could be content with one woman.
And that’s assuming I’d get over my trauma enough to ever want a man.
Because after this situation with Rafael, I vow not to ever need one again.
“You say I’m familiar with women and I don’t deny that, but I’m not wrong about you,” he says, scrutinizing me deeply. It takes everything I have to not look away. “Did it occur to you that I’m able to read women well enough to know what they’re generally thinking? To know when they’re lying?” He taps the end of my nose and I glare at him. “And you are fucking lying. You want me just as much as I want you.”
