I fled to the bedroom and the moment the door closed behind me, my composure cracked. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking. The silence pressed in heavy and suffocating, the kind that left too much room for thought. For fear. For the whisper of what if.
I pressed a hand to my chest, trying to steady my breathing, but all I could feel was the frantic hammering of my heart. I wanted to call Rafe. I wanted to tell him everything. But I didn’t want to risk our new-found truce.
And dinner with his grandparents was in less than two hours.
So I did what I always did.
I straightened my shoulders.
And pretended I wasn’t falling apart.
Chapter 12
Rafe
Iloosened my tie the second I stepped into the elevator, rolling my shoulders to release the tension that had built up over hours of tense negotiations with clients too stupid to understand their own best interests.
The penthouse doors slid open, and I stepped inside, my carefully constructed thoughts scattering like birds when I saw my wife standing in the living room.
Holy fuck.
Cecelia stood with her back to me, gazing out the floor-to-ceiling windows. She hadn't heard me enter, which gave me a moment to take her in—and holy fucking hell, I needed that moment.
The black dress she wore clung to every curve of her body, the fabric hugging her waist before flowing over her hips in a way that made my mouth go dry. Her dark hair tumbled down her back in waves that made my fingers itch to tangle themselves in the strands, to pull just hard enough to expose the vulnerable arch of her throat.
She turned at the sound of the door closing, and the breath left my body in one fell swoop. The front of the dress was worse—or better, depending on your perspective. The neckline dipped just low enough to suggest rather than reveal. The material hugged the curves of her breasts before tapering to her narrow waist. It was elegant, sophisticated. And still somehow the most erotic thing I'd seen.
My cock stiffened instantly, pressing painfully against my zipper, and I shifted my briefcase to hide the evidence. Unbidden, images flashed through my mind—that dress pushed up around her waist as I bent her over the dining table, that dress pooled on my bedroom floor as I spread her out across my sheets, that dress torn off entirely as I pinned her against the wall.
"I thought you’d be here later." Her voice cut through my inappropriate fantasies.
I forced myself to breathe, to walk forward, to act like a fucking adult instead of a teenager seeing tits for the first time. "Traffic was lighter than expected."
"Is this okay?" She gestured to the dress, unaware of the inferno her appearance had ignited. "For meeting your grandparents, I mean."
I set my briefcase down with deliberate care, buying time to gather the tattered remains of my self-control. "It's perfect. You look..." Beautiful? Stunning? Fuckable? "Appropriate."
Seriously? Appropriate? What the fuck was wrong with me?
Her lips quirked in that way they did when she was trying not to show irritation. "High praise. I'll add that to my collection of lukewarm compliments."
I closed the distance between us, moving on autopilot while my brain short-circuited from her proximity. The scent of her perfume wrapped around me, something with jasmine and vanilla that made me want to bury my face in her neck andinhale for days. My hands ached to touch her, to test if that dress felt as smooth as it looked, to discover what she wore underneath it—if anything.
"You look beautiful," I amended. "More than beautiful."
For a split second surprise flickered in her eyes before she schooled her features and gave me a tight-lipped smile. "Thank you."
I realized we were standing too close, close enough that I could see the flecks of darker green in her eyes, close enough that her breath ghosted across my lips when she exhaled. My fingers clenched into fists at my sides, nails digging into my palms to keep from reaching for her.
"We should go." I stepped back, needing distance before I did something stupid. "I don’t want to be late."
She nodded and gathered a small clutch from the coffee table. "So I finally get to see where the great Rafael de Luca comes from."
If only she knew how wrong that statement was. My grandparents were everything my parents were not—warm, genuine, loving. The only good parts of me came from them, not from the cold-blooded sharks who'd raised me to be a perfect corporate weapon.
"Ready?" I asked, moving toward the door in my desperate attempt to escape the pull of her before I gave in to it.
Edward appeared with impeccable timing, holding Cecelia's coat. "The temperature has dropped, Mrs. de Luca. You may need this."
