Submitting in Vegas (Vegas Morellis 3)

Shrugging, I put Rafe’s plate of salad down in front of him. “People tend to like you more when you’re nice to them than when you prey on them and shake them down.”

His lips curve up faintly. “Go figure.”

I make a non-committal noise and take my seat across from him, scooting in and opening my rolled napkin full of plasticware.

Unrolling his own set of utensils and drawing out a flimsy plastic knife, he advises me, “If I were you, tesorino,” he says a touch mockingly, “I’d lose your new anti-predator attitude. You’re not straddling a line anymore; you’re married to the mob now. You gave up your chance to be one of the good guys. Now you’re one of us.”

I’ll never be one of you.

I don’t say it. I don’t even know where the words come from, but they’re alarming, to say the least. I guess if I didn’t have anti-mob roots to begin with, I would have never put myself at such risk, or spent years preparing myself for a career to take them down. It was my admiration for Rafe that got in the way, that muddled my loyalties, and I’m struggling with that right now.

When I was his waitress, I loved him. Now that I’m his wife, I’m struggling to even be on his side.

Life is weird.

Placing the striped pink bag on Rafe’s neatly made bed, I’m reminded that while my new husband may be a bastard, he’s a sexy bastard. His strong arms wrap around my waist from behind, yanking me back against his hard body. Heat rolls off of him in waves and warms me, relaxing my body even while my mind is torn.

He’s not wearing his jacket or dress shirt anymore, so his strong arms are bare for me to ogle. I love Rafe’s arms. I love the way he moves, the way he holds me. I love the feel of his body pressed against me from behind, the tickle of his breath on my neck as he peeks over my shoulder.

“What kind of goodies did Laurel buy me?”

I crack a smile at the lilt of playfulness in his tone. “She bought them for me, not you.”

He cups my breast through my dress. “Sure she did.”

I lift the white, lace bra and panties out of the bag and hold them up to show him. “White’s not really your color,” I advise him.

“No,” he answers, his tone wry. “You’re the angel in this pairing. Ask anyone.”

I sigh, holding the underwear against my chest and leaning my head back against him. “You’re not really jealous of an old man, are you?”

“I’m not jealous of anyone,” he informs me. “Just possessive of what’s mine, that’s all.” Taking a step back, he catches the zipper on the back of my dress. “Let’s get this funeral garb off. I want to see you in these.”

Once my dress is unzipped and gaping open, I head to the bathroom so I can change. Rafe bringing up his possessiveness, even in jest, reminds me of Felix. When my phone was given back to me without ceremony—left on the nightstand by Rafe’s bed for me to find when I woke up this morning and he was already gone—I immediately checked for any new messages, but the contents of my phone had been more or less cleared. I was only sure it was still my phone—and not a replacement—because there’s a tiny crack on the bottom right corner of my screen, and it’s still there. All of my phone numbers, text messages, photos, and apps were wiped. Adrian probably restored the damn thing to factory settings.

I didn’t feel like dealing with it so I didn’t put any effort into re-downloading apps today, but I checked it every now and then to see if Felix might have reached out again after not hearing from me last night.

He didn’t, and that worries me. Maybe the reason he didn’t reach out is because he couldn’t.

I check my reflection in the big mirror, adjusting the line of the panties across my hips, along my ass. My hair is down, the way Rafe likes. I have my purse with me, so I unzip it and draw out my lip balm, running it across my lips.

Perfect.

I guess I’ll need to move all my toiletries into this bathroom. Even though I can’t imagine Rafe being the sort of man who wants his wife to sleep in a separate room, I thought I might get my own room for my stuff, so Rafe could keep his space his own. When I brought it up at dinner, the blank look he gave me led me to other conclusions.

For now, I just pull my phone out of my purse and push my bag back along the wall, so it’s out of the way. Then I turn and head back to the bedroom.

I expect to see Rafe stripped down when I get back to the bedroom, so I can’t help frowning when I see instead he has changed into black slacks and put on a black dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, no jacket.

I shift uncertainly and wait for him to turn and notice me. He does, his warm gaze raking over my body before returning to my face. “Beautiful.”

“Are we going somewhere?” I ask.

“I am,” he says simply.

“I thought… I mean, it’s technically our wedding night.”

“Duty calls,” he informs me.