Remembering he never answered me—and feeling a little badly about how hard we’re ignoring him—I turn to look over at Sin. “You never said whether or not you’re a blood Morelli.”
“Nope,” Sin replies.
“No, you’re not a Morelli, or no, you didn’t answer me?”
He drags a piece of steak through dark sauce and pops it into his mouth instead of responding.
“He’s not related to me,” Rafe answers for him. “His last name is Sinclair—that’s where the nickname comes from.”
I’m mildly surprised to hea
r that. The fact that he’s mean should make him uglier, but despite his attitude, I’m still quite aware of the physical appeal he holds. I know two things about the Morelli men: 1.) they’re bad, and 2.) they’re super hot. It seemed to follow logically that Sin would be a Morelli. I want to ask how he got tangled up with their family, but if he won’t even share whether or not he’s one of them, it seems highly improbable he’ll tell me his life story.
I turn my attention back to the much easier man on my other side, but Rafe is no longer looking at me. His handsome face is trained on a scantily clad, platinum blonde woman stopped at the head of our table. Her skirt is so tight there’s no way she can breathe, and her breasts are barely covered by a gray strip of fabric. I’m not into girls, and even I can’t help ogling her.
As if the universe seeks to prove what I already know about Rafe’s good looks, the woman practically purrs, “Well, hello, sexy.”
My eyebrows rise at her familiarity. This is not the girl who was half-naked at his house a little bit ago, but some other blonde woman and two of her blondest friends. I assumed he had his fair share of admirers, but seriously?
Oh, cool, now her hand is on his shoulder and she’s leaning forward so we can all see her boobs are about to spill out of her fabric strip. Awesome.
Instead of politely shooing her away, he smiles back at her. Of course he does. He has a whole lot of boobs pushed right in front of his face, and I’m only on the menu tonight. His bed will need warming tomorrow, won’t it? Also, I have nothing on this woman. I thought it was intimidating back in Chicago when Carly had me convinced Rafe had a threesome with Vince’s super hot, super villain cousin and his gorgeous wife, but at least she was married. Even if Rafe wanted another hit of her, he didn’t have the opportunity. Her husband had her on lockdown. The chick standing here now is clearly ready and willing if he is. I don’t like the way it makes my stomach sink, or how homely I suddenly feel in my basic jeans and a shirt. I felt like I was being casually sexy by showing shoulder, but this chick is showing just about everything. All three chicks. They’re all glitzed up like they belong here, manicured and made up like they’re ready for a photo shoot. I look like I’m ready to attend a high school football game with my friends from chemistry class.
I wonder if he prefers the glitzy sex pot look? He’s still letting her touch his shoulder, so he must. Pushing down the cocktail of bad feelings shifting around in my gut, I remind myself Rafe is not mine and I’m not his. We’re both single—he is super single, and he certainly takes advantage of that relationship status.
Still, who does that when a guy is at a table with a girl? And what kind of guy just sits there and makes the girl he’s planning to fuck tonight watch a Playboy bunny flirt with him?
The other thing I can’t help noticing is how Sin is by any traditional standards devastatingly handsome, even in Rafe’s company, but these girls keep a safe distance from him—almost like they’re afraid to get too close. On one hand, I get it. If I didn’t know Rafe is a mobbed up criminal, I wouldn’t guess that looking at him. With his easy charm and slow, sexy smile, he could easily be starring in blockbusters and making women worldwide swoon for him, or maybe carving out a spot on Wall Street, making himself millions using his charisma to sell stocks to wealthy men. Rafe does not look like a criminal. Sin is a different story. If the man hadn’t stuffed at least one lifeless body into his trunk at some point in time, I would be legitimately shocked. There’s darkness and violence rolling off of him, sure, but he’s still physically appealing. If these Barbie dolls are ready to get their bimbo on for Rafe’s attention, I would expect them to at least look twice at Sin.
They don’t even look once.
The man is like a shadow, but he’s right here in plain sight.
Leaning closer to him now, I murmur, “The bimbo brigade isn’t for you, huh?”
He slides a baffled look my way, like I’ve clearly escaped a loony bin to even try chatting with him in low tones like we’re friends. In fairness, I guess that is kind of crazy since he’s expressed nothing but unpleasantness toward me since we met. Still, I can’t help trying to befriend the lonely-looking loners. It’s always been a weakness of mine.
Instead of ignoring me, he responds, “You think you’re better than them?”
“Better?” I hike up an eyebrow in surprise since I was just feeling inferior to these girls, not better than them. “No, of course not. That said, I wouldn’t approach a man I clearly want to sleep with when he looks like he’s on a date with someone else, either.”
“Maybe they think you’re with me.”
I want to laugh, but his tone is so even, I can’t tell if he’s joking. Does Sin joke? In any case, this may not be a joke, and I don’t want to offend him, so instead I nod my head solemnly. “Good point. We clearly have a vibe. If they can’t tell how much we like one another by the joy on your face, then the relative closeness of our bodies is probably a good indicator.”
He studies me for another moment, then—completely without warning—slides his arm around my shoulder and yanks me close. I’m too startled to pull back, but given his upper body strength, I don’t think I could without making a scene, anyway.
One of the chattering ladies notices; her eyes dart our way, almost nervously. Is she nervous for me? She certainly looks uncomfortable.
Her clear distraction causes Rafe to turn his head to investigate the cause. His dark eyes widen, and a flicker of alarm shines on the surface. “What the fuck are you doing?” he asks Sin.
“Cuddling my date,” Sin deadpans. “You’re chatting up this trio of blondes, so Laurel must be here with me, right?”
The sound of my name on his lips sends a chill straight down my spine. His grip on me is tight, but I’m not sure if the physical grip is why I can’t quite breathe properly.
Now all three blondes exchange uncomfortable glances, but they have officially lost Rafe’s attention. He glares at Sin’s arm around me, then his face. I have no idea what to do, so I just sit here smashed against Sin with Rafe glaring daggers and wait for someone to speak. No one does, but after a moment, the arm around my shoulder drops. I feel like I need to run outside and suck air into my lungs, but I settle for scooting away.
“Huh,” Sin murmurs, like he finds something interesting.