Submitting in Vegas (Vegas Morellis 3)

“That’s not what I’m doing,” I tell her again. “I just… don’t want to hurt you.”

“Then don’t,” she says, like it’s that simple.

28

Virginia

Since kitchen work is kind of my thing, it’s no surprise I end up on food duty when I show up at Laurel’s early to help with Skylar’s birthday.

Thankfully, Mother Nature is being kind and it’s a nice, warm day—as opposed to a scorching, melting, miserable day—with clear skies and a gentle breeze. The sun keeps popping out though, so I’m still a little skeptical about putting this seashell plate full of “gold doubloons” on the food table.

I hear someone enter the kitchen, so as I move aside the tray and ball up the netting the chocolate-filled coins were wrapped in so I can throw it away, I say, “Hey, I’m not sure these should go outside yet. I know it’s not too hot, but the sun might melt the candy. We should wait until we take the cake out.”

I figured it was Vince or Sin, since their pace wasn’t as hurried as Laurel or Carly, who are both rushing around today wearing seashell headbands and mermaid shirts. Instead, Rafe Morelli leans his hip against the counter and smirks at me.

“I don’t believe I’m in charge of the candy.”

Shooting him a playfully annoyed look, I tell him, “You’re not in charge of anything; you didn’t come early to help us set up.”

“Hey, I’m here now,” he offers.

“To help?”

“Nah. I’ll supervise. Virginia, don’t put those gold coins outside, they might melt.” He pauses. “See, I helped already.”

“You are enormously helpful, thank you,” I tell him.

“Anytime.”

Handing him the fistful of yellow netting from the candy coins, I say, “Can you at least throw this away so I can whip up some dip?”

“Sure can.” He takes the netting and throws it away, then saunters back. I feel his eyes on me, so I glance up and see him smirking. “This is some shirt,” he tells me, looking at the purple seashells stamped over my breasts. In lieu of clamshell bras, we have teal tank tops with a printed design. Carly was willing to go full clamshell, but Laurel said it was a bad idea.

I open the refrigerator and grab sour cream. “It’s a mermaid-themed party. Carly and Laurel bought us matching shirts.”

“Isn’t that adorable,” he deadpans.

“It’s a good idea. I figure the shirts are like uniforms so party guests can pick us out in the crowd. If anyone has questions, they’ll know we’re the ladies in charge.”

“Look at you, on mom duty.”

“I’m also on storytelling duty later. Tell your friends.”

“Oh, I will.” Pushing off the counter, he comes around to stand behind me.

My heart kicks up a couple speeds at his closeness, but I focus on my task. “You should go outside and see if the men need help.”

“Vince and Sin have it under control,” he assures me, placing his hands on my hips.

“Hey, buddy,” I say, to remind him of his place. “Hands off the help.”

Instead, he slides a hand into my back pocket. “I know Laurel and Carly made you wear the tank top, but did they make you wear these shorts? You should have worn pants.”

“Don’t want all your relatives looking at my gams, huh?” I tease.

“Don’t want me looking at them,” he says, lightly amused.

Before I can do more than smile to myself, I hear the footfall of someone else entering the kitchen. Rafe glances back to see who it is, but he doesn’t remove his hand from my back pocket, so it must not be anyone important.