Rafe (Inked Brotherhood 5)

I grimace. Another of those questions nobody else ever asks, because they know—and she doesn’t. “In a week. But I don’t celebrate it.”

“Why not?”

God, it’s almost here. Way too soon. A spasm goes through my muscles, and fuck, I really don’t need this now. Enough madness for one night.

“I don’t wanna talk about it.”

We walk in silence, and she’s not leaning into me anymore. It felt good, having her close, and I fight the urge to put my arm around her and feel every inch of her. Then I realize that she’s in fact pulling away, tugging her hand out of mine, and a pang hits me.

I release her hand, and she crosses her arms over her breasts. Defensive. Putting distance between us.

Here I go, scaring her again. Clamming up and making her feel uncomfortable. She was only trying to make conversation, and I snapped at her—again.

Shit. I wish I could just tell her everything, take it off my chest, but if that doesn’t send her running…

“If you’d rather go home,” I say, slowing down and shoving my hands into my jeans pockets, “just say the word. I know I’m not good company.”

I wasn’t always such an antisocial creep. Hell, until last summer I’m pretty sure I kept a smooth façade. Turns out a look at my family’s murderer was all it took to reveal that for the mask it was. To show I’d been just covering up the cracks and pretending they weren’t getting wider, deeper. Cutting me to the bone.

“Home.” Her voice is low, rich and soft, like velvet. “I don’t know what that word even means.”

I stop and turn to really look at her. She stops, too, shoots me an uncertain look. A shiver goes through her. Her jacket’s too thin, I realize, and her low-heel boots not ideal for walking through the frozen slush that’s covering the sidewalks. A sharp wind is blowing, but I hadn’t even felt it, lost as I was in my thoughts.

“Come here.” I lift my arm, and for a moment I think she’ll refuse. I can see it in the stubborn tilt of her chin, and if possible, it makes me even harder. “Please.”

I see the moment she gives in and burrows under my arm, snug against me. Her arm goes around my back, and I hold her close as we start walking again.

The silence between us feels easier now.

“You’re not bad company,” she says as we approach the restaurant.

I snort. “Yeah, right.”

She squeezes my waist and it surprises a huff out of me. Not used to casual touches. Lately, the only people I let near me are the guys at the gym, and only to fight, every encounter violent and punishing, just like it should be.

“You obviously had a bad day, too,” she says.

More like a bad year, but yeah. “I’m sorry.” I bury my nose in her hair, inhaling the scent of her shampoo—honey and roses. “You deserve better.”

And not just tonight.

“Tonight I was going to go home alone and cry myself to sleep,” she replies as I push the restaurant door open and we enter the warmth and noise. “But you came. You took me to your apartment, took me out to dinner for my birthday.” Her voice lowers, that velvety whisper that gets me every time. “And what we did on the sofa… What you did to me…”

A faint blush colors her tawny cheeks, and my body jolts at the memory. I grin at her, absurdly proud of myself for having pleasured her so well she blushes when she thinks about it.

We look around for a free table. I finally spot a small one in a corner and sit down quickly, to hide my persistent hard-on.

She slides into the chair across from me and her dark lashes do a long sweep along her cheekbones. Sending me a quick, unsure smile, she tucks her hair behind her ears—small, slender ears with silver hoops. Christ, everything about her is fine, beautiful. Damn sexy. How’s a guy supposed to think when faced with such a girl? A girl who’s all woman.

She’s killing me. I stare at the elegant curve of her neck and imagine marking the smooth skin, then sinking my teeth into her earlobe, while my hands move over her full breasts, cupping them.

Fuck… I shift on my chair, trying in vain to get comfortable with what feels like a slab of hot metal between my legs.

I reach blindly for the menu and wonder how the hell I’m supposed to not only eat and drink without choking, but also make intelligent conversation when I can’t take my eyes off her face and body—when the dark shadow of her cleavage holds my gaze captive, and my dick is trying to drill a hole through my pants.

Hot damn. Guess this is gonna be an interesting evening.

***