Page 127 of Branded
The song faded, taking second fiddle to the musical quality of Raph’s voice. A velvet rasp that should belong to a rock star, vibrating over my skin, making love to my eardrums, sliding up and between my legs?—
I was on the floor of a bar.
My lids flew open, light and noise assailing me, all of it coming at once, making me realize that I was sprawled across Raph’s lap.
In the middle of CeCe’s.
Oh, fuck.
How freaking embarrassing.
Immediately, I tried to push off him, tried to get to my feet. Fresh air. Wait till I was one hundred percent. Drive home.
Good plan.
Only one problem.
Raph’s hands closed on my shoulders, pressed me back down into that big, broad lap, and he ordered, “Don’t move.”
Already, my head was clearing, as seemed to typically happen with these spells, and I wanted to be up on my feet, out of CeCe’s, and, seeing as how the entire staff seemed to be gathered around me and Raph, peeking around his billboard-wide shoulders, I was planning on avoiding it for the next half-century.
“I’m fine,” I said softly, shifting again, wanting off Raph’s lap.
I knew he didn’t like me.
I knew it wasn’t all just me. Being in Hazel and Pru’s circle meant that I’d learned plenty about the guys over the years, not the least of which was the sad story about Raph and his ex, and it was mainly sad because his ex had been a total bitch who’d faked a pregnancy. Who did that?
See? Bitch. Totally, completely so.
Especially, when I, in my limited experience there in Baltimore (it was before I’d moved to town from NYC) could see that Raph had been excited about being a daddy.
Why someone would lie about that I would never understand.
But Raph hadn’t liked me before his relationship went wrong, before I’d become a surrogate and added salt on a painful wound.
Nope.
I’d felt his dislike from our first meeting.
And I’d done my damndest to get him to change his mind.
I’d been on the boards of charities for a long time, my main gig raising money. I knew how to get people to like me, to like me enough to give me money (and that was a feat in and of itself). But I didn’t know how to get Raph to like me.
I also didn’t know why I kept trying.
Justin Bieber’s Love Yourself began playing through my head, something I really didn’t need right then.
Not with Raph staring down at me, face hard, lips pressed flat. “I said, don’t move.”
Love myself.
Sure.
Right.
More like Trouble by Ray LaMontagne.
My lips parted. Yeah, definitely trouble. Definitely a rasping, rough voice skating over my skin, tingling through my nerve endings, making me do stupid shit like repeatedly throwing myself into his path, hoping that he might like me.
