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“Vodka.” My shoulders pull taut. “Since when did you start drinking vodka?” “Since you said you wouldn’t kiss me if I drank whiskey.”
“Put some clothes on, Penelope. My men are onboard and I don’t want to kill anyone else today.”
Still in shock from waking up to the sound of Blake’s body bouncing off the hood of Raphael’s car, I don’t have it in me to argue about how if a man sexualizes pajama shorts and a tank top then that’s his own fucking problem.
A bloody grip on my hip keeps me from jumping up. “The clear liquid is saline solution. Soak a cotton pad in it.” He spreads a large, busted paw over the curve of my thigh, sending a fever-like chill through me. “Then clean up my hands.”
hehhehehe
“What did Blake do?” “Pissed me off.” I swallow. “So you killed him.” His palm presses harder into my stomach, and his chin comes to rest on my shoulder. “He was eyeing something up that doesn’t belong to him.”
He glances up at me. “Mine now.” “You fucking my panties, or something?” A hard flick on my clit makes stars flash in front of my eyes. “Or something.”
bahahahahahah
“Do I look like a man who begs, Penelope?”
“You gonna swim home?” The harsh wind carries a cashmere-coated question to my back. My shoulders snap into a tight line. I turn to see Raphael leaning against the frame of the French doors, humor dancing in his eyes. Christ, he looks handsome. Fresh suit, fresh shave. The only sign he’d beaten someone to death a few hours ago are his busted knuckles gripping a kitchen towel. I swallow the rock in my throat. “If I have to.” “Mm. Long way to swim on an empty stomach.” His phone buzzes. He pulls it out of his pocket and turns his attention to the screen. “Get inside, Penelope,” he says, without
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Chew, swallow, repeat. But when a dark shadow shifts over my toast, I realize it’s impossible to be mechanical when Raphael is standing so close. My fork stills mid-air and I swallow, then force my eyes to climb the sharp front crease of his trousers and meet his blistering stare. It doesn’t waiver, even when he rests his palms on the table and dips to steal the egg off my fork.
GIGGLING AND KICKING MY FEEEEEEET
Him swiping my breakfast gave me the same gut-wrenching feeling as his kiss between my shoulder blades did, or his hand against my crown, cushioning the blow of the headboard. Gentle. Thoughtful. Intimate. All my reservations about being here rise to the surface, and suddenly, I need air that doesn’t taste like a…boyfriend.
STOP IT I HAVE NEVER IN MY LIFE YELLED AT A GIRL LIKE THIS
He frowns and motions for me to wait, then he disappears down the stairs. Minutes later, comes back with a Stanford hoodie on a hanger. He holds it up beside me, looks down at the hemline and gives a curt nod of approval, as if he deems it long enough.
Between all the suits, when the fuck does the man wear his college hoodie?
“Blink twice if you’ve been kidnapped.” I pause, then blink twice.
*snorts*
