Page 47 of RAKEish

“Fuck, no,” he said, the curse sharp and raw. “But if you’re hell-bent on throwing yourself at someone who’ll never make you burn the way you do with me, then let me at least show you what you’ll be missing.” It was a low blow, even for him, and yet he couldn’t help but lay all his cards on the table. Because if she was going to choose someone, anyone, it sure as hell wasn't going to be Corduroy. Not if he had anything to say about it.

Her mouth formed a perfect O. “Frankie doesn’t want to see us tonight, does she?”

He could only offer a rueful shake of his head. “Monday is soon enough for her.”

She drew back her hand, clearly aiming to slap him, but he was quicker, capturing her wrist and pinning her gently against the brick wall. “You’ll understand later,” he murmured, locking her gaze with an intensity that belied his casual tone. And in that moment, he vowed silently to himself that he’d spare no expense to see her in emeralds, the color that would make her eyes pop—a lavish indulgence, but then, what was the point of wealth if not for grand gestures?

Her response was a hiss. “There won’t be any thanks coming from me.”

Despite her struggle, he held firm, not willing to let her escape just yet. Instead, he pressed against her, allowing her to feel his desire. A move as bold as the one she’d offered last night, yet driven by more than just lust. “Are you certain of that?”

Doc's eye roll was a thing of beauty, even in defiance. “While I’m happy for you, I really am, that my nightmare hasn’t yet come to pass, your chance of showing off your skills with that…thing”—she paused and glanced down between them—“you have proudly pressed into my belly is long gone.”

Her fiery response hung between them, and he couldn’t help but marvel at her spunk even while bristling at her mention of that damn dream. Doc would keep the lucky bastard who eventually married her on his toes. A guy that could never be him. He shoved that thought aside and placed his lips against her ear. “What if I told you why I had to decline last night, and why tonight is different?”

“I know why you said no—I saw you with the twins.”

“But what you don’t know…” He paused, ensuring he had her full attention. “Frankie orchestrated that whole scene. She sent me to that club with a clear directive to be snapped looking like I was up for more than just drinks.”

“Why would she demand such a thing from you, and why would you comply?” There was a note of bewilderment in her voice, mingled with a hint of something softer.

He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Frankie has invested heavily in the rake persona she's crafted for me. She’s not about to let her investment go without a fight. She planned those photos, our cozy little scene at the restaurant, and then juxtaposed it with those taken later with the twins to reinforce that narrative.” Some day he might regret breaking his NDA, but tonight wouldn’t be it.

“That’s a nice tale.” Skepticism laced Doc’s words.

He responded not with words but with a kiss planted softly on the tender skin of her neck, savoring the involuntary shiver he drew from her. “The only person I envisioned in my bed last night was you.”

His confession resulted in her pushing against his chest, her strength surprising him into taking a step back.

“You should have said that last night,” Doc snapped, “instead of leaving me to believe that I’d made an utter fool of myself.”

“I couldn’t, because I’m tied up in an NDA with Naked Runway.”

“Yet here you are revealing it when it’s convenient for you.” The skepticism was back in full force.

Damn. She made a valid point. “Convenient is the last thing it is from my perspective.”

Her eyes searched his, as if hunting for sincerity. When they dimmed, he knew what she’d found—nothing but the echoes of a rakish prince more adept at crafting headlines than holding onto relationships, a truth that sat heavier on his heart than any crown on his head.

“And what perspective is that?” she finally asked.

He took a breath, his mission unwavering. “One of a guy who audaciously believes the woman in front of him deserves a scandalous night with a rake before she settles for a man who thinks corduroy is black-tie appropriate.”

“That would be an error in judgment—one I narrowly escaped last night,” she said with resolution.

The gentleman in him wanted to back off, to respect her stance. But the rake? The rake wanted to push, to persuade. “And what if I were to confess that seeing you with others tonight made me uneasy? In a way I've never experienced before?”

Her nose crinkled adorably. “Are you trying to tell me you were jealous?”

He traced a line down her cheek, a rogue curl yielding to his touch as he tucked it behind her ear. “What I mean is you stir feelings in me that are entirely new.”

Her snort was dismissive. “Probably because I’m the only woman who hasn’t fallen for your rakish charm.”

“I seem to recall you announcing your plan to give me a second glance.”

“Not you. Your column,” she countered. “And I have been.”

“I’ve given you, the person, a second glance, Doc, and I am enthralled with my discovery. Perhaps, if you did the same with me, as a person, not a column, you’d have a similar experience.” The accent he usually kept polished and subtle now twined through his plea, an unintended, yet earnest reveal of his vulnerability.

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