“Why? You were on fire two nights ago.”
Because Mia sets me on fire.
For a split second, Rafe thought of voicing that fact. In the next second, he realized that would turn this mess into a catastrophe.
He took a long drink of water, rested his elbows on his knees, and stared at the concrete. “I don’t know why. When I figure it out, I’ll make sure to notify you, okay?”
“Don’t bother. Just get rid of this asshole attitude before we meet Dad for dinner.”
Tate walked away, and Rafe closed his eyes on a sigh of dread, dropping his head back to his hands. Dinner with Joe.
And Mia.
After he’d played like shit for two days.
God, he hoped Mia’s pattern of no-showing held true through the night.
Not only couldn’t Rafe get lucky enough to have Mia pass on dinner, he couldn’t be lucky enough for her to come in something casual and ordinary. He could have done a decent job of ignoring her curves in jeans and a blouse. A dress would have made it a little harder to focus on dinner, with his mind constantly veering toward sliding his hands up her legs, beneath the skirt, and over her tight ass.
But there was no ignoring all her luscious sexuality in the burgundy number she had on now. From the front door, she set confident strides toward their table. Rafe loved the way she moved—with a little of that model swagger she’d been exposed to on fashion runways and all the confidence of the woman she’d become. Her dress sheered up one side, pulling the soft fabric at angles across her body and accentuating every delicious curve. The sleeveless tank’s neckline and hem were modest, but the way the design showed off her body was sinful. And Rafe couldn’t help but wonder what she had on underneath.
He fisted his hands and clenched his teeth. This dinner was going to last for-fucking-ever.
Mia sauntered to their table, and all three of them stood, something Joe had taught them young. Mia ignored Tate and Rafe and walked straight to Joe with a genuine smile. She gave him a big hug and kissed his cheek.
“Hey, you,” she said, pulling back and sweeping a glance over his casual khakis and button-down. “Someone’s losing weight.”
Joe chuckled and slid a hand over his moderately sized belly. “Down ten pounds.”
“I can tell. And in just, what? Didn’t I see you a month ago?”
Joe traveled for his work as a corporate attorney and often visited Mia in New York. “Five weeks.”
“Congratulations.”
“Thank you, sweetheart. It’s a start.” He kissed her cheek and pulled out her chair. As she sat, he said, “You look beautiful. Is this dress one of yours?”
Rafe glanced at Tate for explanation, but Tate was listening to the conversation.
“It is,” she said. “You like it?”
“One of your what?” Rafe asked.
“Her designs,” Tate answered, equally subdued tonight after losing the game.
“Designs?” Rafe looked back at Mia and Joe. “You designed that dress? Like, from scratch?”
Joe laughed, but Mia didn’t think Rafe’s ignorance was funny. Neither did Rafe. He was annoyed that he was the only one at the table who didn’t know Mia had risen to the level of designing her own clothes under the guidance of a well-known New
York designer. But there was no one to blame for that but himself. That’s what he got for avoiding her all year. For not asking about her work since she’d arrived.
“I did,” she told Joe. “I also designed the dress I was wearing the night I got here.” Her gaze turned on Rafe, and he felt the heat of her stare straight through his body. “Remember, the one I was wearing when I saved you from that date from hell?”
Her get laid dress.
Rafe didn’t answer. All he could remember about that dress was the way it looked sliding off her body. And how goddamned beautiful she’d looked. Like now, with her dark hair falling in loose curls to her shoulders. Her makeup was soft, enhancing her eyes, cheeks, and lips just enough to pop. Just enough to send his mind into fantasy mode.
Joe covered Mia’s hand with his and squeezed, smiling at her. “Sweetheart, you are one talented woman.”