I peered into the pocket. He’d tucked the knot into the crease where it was almost invisible. “Yeah?”
“If you make the stitches shallow, they won’t even show on top.”
That didn’t mean a thing to me. But whatevs. Rafe bent over my jacket for, oh, about seventeen seconds before tying another knot and asking me for scissors.
“Aren’t these scissors?” I asked, pulling a tiny pair from the sewing kit.
He grinned. “My pinky finger won’t even fit into those. You’ll have to do it.”
He passed me the jacket, and I bent down to find the torn seam now lying flat against the fabric in almost the same way it had before it ripped. Rafe had zipped the tear shut as if by magic. I opened the pocket to find a pristine row of stitches almost too small to be seen with the naked eye. “Holy crap. How did you do that?”
“I’m good with my hands,” Rafe said, a flare in his dark eyes.
The expression on his face made heat blossom in my belly. Oh, baby. I loved a boy who could turn my own jokes back on me. I wondered what he would do if I kissed him. My pulse kicked up a notch just thinking about it. “Thank you, Rafe. Really.”
He shrugged, folding his arms over his chest. Even though he was wearing a dress shirt, I could see the outline of his biceps flaring against the fabric. “It’s the only part of your shitty story that I can fix,” he said in a low voice.
Oh, this guy! How any girl could cheat on him was beyond me. You had to wonder if the girl also kicked puppies just for fun. Without thinking it through, I lifted a hand to the muscle joining his neck to his shoulder, giving him a little squeeze.
Beside me, Rafe stopped breathing.
My fingers drifted upwards, past the collar of his dress shirt and onto his neck. He was warm and solid, and I didn’t want to stop touching him.
Rafe turned his chin two or three tiny degrees in my direction, improving the contact with my hand.
I rose onto my knees, the jacket sliding onto the floor, forgotten. Rafe watched me, and the moment stretched out between us. I loved this part — the crackling tension when “will we or won’t we” became the only question in the room. “Rafe,” I whispered. “Maybe there’s a part of your shitty day that I can fix.”
He swallowed roughly, and his gaze dropped to my mouth, but he didn’t make a move. Instead, time seemed to slow down, and I saw Rafe’s awareness of me engulf him. His body went quiet, and his eyes darkened.
For several beats of my heart, I let him get used to the idea. When I slowly put my other hand on his chest, he made a small grunt of surprise. Still, he didn’t move a muscle. He just watched me with hungry eyes.
“I’ve always thought you were sexy,” I whispered, pressing my palm against his pec. “Seems like a good time to tell you.” It was the God’s honest truth. And the truth, I’d learned by now, was the sexiest thing ever.
He obviously agreed with me. Because that handsome face dipped closer. And then Rafe’s surprisingly soft lips skimmed mine on a sigh. He stopped at the sensitive corner of my mouth, his lips making the gentlest nibble on mine, before he pressed, warm and firm, against my mouth.
My heart practically stopped at the way he’d silently asserted control. Holy macaroni. He didn’t grab me or anything. He didn’t need to. It was a subtle takeover. I received a slow, insistent kiss. And then another. His chest shifted ever so slightly toward mine until I could feel the heat pouring off his body, and I had no choice but to press my breasts against him as he deepened the kiss.
I heard a rather eager little moan. And realized it had come from me.
Two of Rafe’s fingers cupped my jaw. His other hand whispered onto my waist with a pressure so light I almost didn’t know it was there.
The man was barely touching me, and I was already feeling a little desperate for him. I parted my lips beneath his. And the first glide of his tongue over mine made me even achier with longing. He tasted like good wine and sex. My fingers gripped the cotton of his dress shirt. Slow down, I coached myself. But the intense vibe I was getting from Rafe made that difficult. We’d both had a bad day. It only made sense we’d both want to work that out with some energetic sex.
Who wouldn’t?
Smiling against his mouth, I shifted onto his lap. As I relaxed my body onto his, he let loose a groan of longing.
I felt it everywhere.
“Bella,” he rasped between kisses. “Me matas.” Anyone who grew up in New York could translate that. You’re killing me.
Holy hell. I wanted him to whisper like that again. Maybe all night. My mind filled with erotic ideas. Rafe uttering Spanish curses into my ear while he pressed me up against the shower wall. Rafe’s tan hands on my pale breasts…