The memory that washes over me isn’t visual but physical. Sensory. A throbbing.
“Thirty pieces, wasn’t it?” His brows lift in inquiry, his fingers a brush of velvet against my cheek. “I thought you were going to put sold stickers on every piece.”
That pulse again.But he didn’t really mean it, did he?’
“I should’ve asked how much I owed before now.”
“No need.” I inhale and swing away. “The event was already scheduled. Invites already sent out, wine and nibbles already paid for.”
“Chardonnay?” he purrs.
My body responds like Pavlov’s dog.
“Yeah, the cheap horrible stuff,” I call back as though I don’t rememberthatconversation. Stepping into the oversized closet, I swipe up my clutch from my designated space. Which is neither color coordinated nor tidy. The drawer tops are littered with costume jewelry, and odd shoes are scattered across the floor.
“Need any help?”
“In the closet?” Amusement colors my tone as I turn. His arms are folded, and his head tilts provocatively to one side in a pose I’m coming to recognize. It means I’m hot for you. Let’s spar verbally. Or fuck. Sometimes, let’s verbally sparandfuck.
“Tonight.”
“No need. Everything’s already taken care of.”
“Want a little company, instead?”
I run my finger under my bottom lip, making sure my lip gloss hasn’t bled. “In here or the gallery?” It warrants asking the way we’ve been going at it.At it.At each other. Kissing. Fooling around. Mauling each other. I wonder how much longer I’ll manage to keep him waiting when my body literally throbs for him.
“I like your lipstick.”
My gaze lifts to find him lounging, arms folded, in the doorway.
“Do you?” I roll my lips together, suddenly self-conscious. My lips aren’t my best feature.It takes me ages to apply all my lotions and potions and liners to fill them out.
Raif pushes off from the frame, moving across the space like a tiger through long grass.All stealth and casual menace.“It makes me want to kiss you.”
“But you can’t.” I turn, hooking my thumbs on the dresser shelf behind me. Setting my boobs to their best advantage or keeping myself from touching him? It’s hard to tell. “I’ve just put it on.”
“Challenge accepted.” His voice seems to vibrate under my skin, and I watch as his finger lifts, and he draws it across my collarbone. Back and again. Between my breasts. He bends and presses a kiss there. “I was asking if my wife would like an escort.” Another kiss on my neck. “Maybe I could take you out to dinner afterward.” A breath in my ear. “Take you home and eat you for dessert.”
“Behave yourself,” I whisper. Strange how it sounds more like the opposite.
“I shouldn’t kiss you?” his low voice rumbles as his teasing kisses rain everywhere but my lips. “Or I shouldn’t offer to be your arm candy for the night?”
“Do you want to be, or is it that you don’t trust me around Tod? Because he’ll be there tonight.”
“I’m not worried about Tod. I’ve never been worried about Tod.”
“That’s not what it looked like last time you saw him.”
Why am I bringing that up again? I’ve been trying to forget the emotions that whole scene stirred up. I don’t want him to start asking questions.
“Let’s not rehash. Do you want me there tonight?”
There’s a touch of vulnerability to his question. Or maybe I imagine it. Do I want him there? Yes, in truth. Instead, I say, “I just need to be sure you aren’t going to fly off the handle again.”
“You have my word.”
Poor Tod. He was frightened about Raif before, but he’s going to be bloody terrified now. But I really want him to be there. That’s weird, right?
