Sinning in Vegas (Vegas Morellis 2)

That’s not what Rafe said. “How about we drop Marlena for the night?”

“Drop her from where? Somewhere high?” she asks innocently. I bite back a smile, but Laurel is still going like a dog with a bone. “Are you planning to see her again?”

“It’s not really your business, is it?” I ask mildly.

I’m not trying to make her feel shitty; I just really don’t want to talk about it. I don’t know what the hell Rafe is up to with the shitty waitress and I don’t like covering his ass, but it’s already done now. Admitting I couldn’t give less fucks about the waitress would feed Laurel’s hopes that I never wanted to go out with her in the first place. It will feed her dead-end hopes about getting with me, and it will turn her off Rafe to know he was doing whatever shady shit he was doing before I intervened and reminded him not to be a bastard.

This is a fucking mess. I know I helped make it a mess, but fuck, I need to wear a hazmat suit just to wade through all this shit.

“How are things with Rafe?” I ask her.

“That’s none of your business, is it?” she shoots back.

“It kind of is.”

“Doesn’t matter,” she tells me. I wait for further explanation, but I don’t get one.

We eat quietly for a few minutes. Well, she eats. I finish the steak on a stick, but I can’t really eat the rest of it with Skylar sleeping on my chest. I’d put her down, but I don’t know if she’s a light sleeper and I don’t want to wake her up.

Eventually Laurel sighs heavily and catches my attention. She’s giving me a surly look, but she walks over and sits next to me, holding a plate of food and a white plastic spoon.

“Open up,” she tells me.

I lift an eyebrow. “No chance.”

Rolling her eyes, she says, “Don’t be a baby. You can’t hold the plate and eat. Just take a bite.”

“You’re not feeding me,” I inform her.

“Why not?”

“Because I am not 5-months-old.”

Shrugging, she leans forward and puts the plate down on the coffee table. “Fine, starve then.” That lasts three seconds, then she asks, “Want me to take her so you can eat?”

I shake my head. “I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”

“I’m straddling the line between worrying about you and wanting to stab you—would you like me to step back over to the other side?”

“You know you’re only allowed to be possessive of things you actually possess, right?” I ask her, just to be a dick.

It’s mean, so her eyes narrow at me. “Oh, yeah? So you never have any possessive feelings about me then, huh?”

I consider telling that bold-faced lie for a split second, but in the end, I decide not to. It’s too obviously bullshit. Just seeing her sit close to Rafe at the club, knowing he was the one going home with her, made me fucking crazy. After six years of serving this family and never once wavering, since I met this girl, I’ve considered betraying everything I stand for just about every goddamned day.

She doesn’t know any of that, and God help me if she ever figures it out. Her ruthless little ass would probably encourage me, convince me to raise an army against Rafe—and hey, why stop there? Just overthrow the Morelli family altogether and take the reins myself. I certainly know all the important players in this town.

Actually, no, she still doesn’t want me to hurt the fucking bastard, so that’s probably more my fantasy of what Laurel would say than what she would actually say. If it came down to a choice between his safety or mine, I think she would pick mine, but she doesn’t want anyone to get hurt because she likes impossible things.

At least, I’m fairly certain she values my well-being—until she keeps talking.

“When you see Rafe’s hand on my inner thigh, I bet you don’t think about how he could push his long fingers between my legs and touch me right there at the table. You like Marlena now, right? So you don’t care if Rafe finger fucks me right in front of you. You don’t care how many times he makes me come. You don’t care if he takes me home afterward, strips off all my clothes, drags his lips over every inch of my naked body the way you did once. You don’t care if he pushes me down on his bed, climbs on top of me, and drives his cock deep—”

I reach out and grab a fistful of her satin robe, yanking her close. “Stop talking.”

All innocence, she asks, “Why? Feeling possessive?”

“That goddamn mouth of yours is going to get you in trouble one of these days,” I inform her, forcibly unclenching my fist and letting her go.