“Gemma?”
I blink, snapping out of my trance. Ras is holding the car door open, his hand outstretched, and his expression questioning. He’s probably wondering what’s going through my head. If only he knew.
“We’re here.”
It takes me a moment to process the fact that we’re in an underground parking lot.
“Oh.”
I give him my hand, and his warm grip swallows it for the second it takes me to hop out of the car. Something zings lightly beneath my skin, and I shiver.
“Come on. This will only take a moment.”
I shake out my hand and follow behind him.
As we walk through the lot, we pass by a man with gray hair and a name tag. When he sees Ras, his face breaks into a smile, and he waves. They exchange a few friendly words in Spanish, and Ras laughs at something the man says. The corners of his eyes crinkle, and his whole face lights up.
It’s…devastating.
My heart flips inside my chest.
Jesus Christ. What’s wrong with me? The fact that Ras is handsome has never been lost on me, but I’ve always managed to ignore it. I usually filter that part of him out of my awareness.
The last few days must have broken that filter.
“You coming?”
My head snaps up to see Ras arching a brow at me. “Yep.”
We get to the elevators, and Ras gestures for me to go in first. He uses a fob, presses on the button labeled A, and comes to stand by my side.
“What does the A stand for?”
“Ático.”
“What is that? Penthouse?”
“Yes.”
“Fancy. Have a lot of guests?”
“Used to.”
The elevator moves at a glacial pace, giving me plenty of time to bask in the awkwardness between us. I might no longer hate him, but Ras seems intent on drawing a clear line between us.
I never thought I’d say this, but I miss the banter. It felt far better than this cool indifference.
Ras’s biceps brushes against my arm. His scent fills the tiny space.
Vanilla. Chocolate. Burnt wood.
Something tightens low inside my belly. Why does he have to smell so good?
I roll the hem of my shirt between the tips of my fingers and shoot him a sidelong glance.
He’s not looking at me. He’s focused on the elevator door, and a thick vein pulses in his neck.
When I let go of my shirt and accidentally brush my arm against his again, his jaw tightens.
Ding.
The door opens, and we both move at the same time.
Our bodies collide.
“Shit—”
“Sorry—”
Those big palms wrap around my shoulders, steadying me. Our eyes meet. His flash with some foreign emotion that he quickly blinks away.
“Go ahead.” He nudges me forward with a tap against the small of my back.
I feel lightheaded as we step directly into his place.
My mouth parts. The apartment takes up the entire floor, but it’s not the sprawling size that impresses me. It’s the view. On the other side of the floor-to-ceiling glass windows lies the Mediterranean, and the peninsula of the island wraps around it like a soft embrace.
I walk across the open-plan living room and stop in front of a window. Directly below is a long promenade with bikers and pedestrians weaving through shops. Open-air restaurants pepper the area, and there’s a narrow beach with a few groups of young people drinking beers and soaking up the sun. One guy’s taking photos of his girlfriend while she poses like a centerfold model.
I turn around to see Ras washing his hands at the kitchen sink. “You need to eat something before our flight,” he says, glancing at me.
“I’m not hungry.”
He dries his hands on a checkered kitchen towel before moving to open the fridge and pull out what looks to be a bag full of groceries.
Inside are a bunch of things that he quickly lays out on the counter.
Fruit, granola bars, yogurt, crackers, and a pack of gummy bears. The real ones, not the sugar-free kind Mamma occasionally allows me to buy at the grocery store.
“Pick something.”
I walk up to the counter and take the gummy bears. “Thanks.”
His eyes narrow. “Gemma.”
“What? You said to pick something, and I did.”
He plucks the gummy bears out of my hand. “You can have these, but only after you eat something with nutritional value. You lost a lot of nutrients because of your bug.”
“Does your job description really stretch this far?”
He runs his tongue over his top lip, shaking his head as he opens a drawer and takes a spoon from it. “Yes, unfortunately, it covers all kinds of unusual scenarios.”
He picks up a cup of peach yogurt.
My favorite.
Next thing I know, he’s handing the spoon and the yogurt to me. “Eat this.”
Our eyes clash together, and I can’t stand the way he’s looking at me.
Cold and closed off.
There’s none of the warmness from before, and the thing is, I’ve gotten used to it.
I’ve grown to like it.
And I want it back.
What do I have to do for that to happen? I’ve already apologized.
Frustration bubbles up inside of me. I fold my arms over my chest and shake my head.
“Do you not like this flavor?”
“I love peaches, but like I said, I’m not hungry.”
He observes me with flat-lipped silence before putting the yogurt and the spoon back down on the counter. Then his hands are on my waist, and he lifts me up to sit on it, my bare thighs sliding against the cool quartz.
“Hey!”
“We don’t have time for this,” he growls. He opens the yogurt and brings a spoon of it right up to my mouth. “Open.”
I try to slide sideways from him, but he stops me by placing a heavy palm on my thigh. Warmth spreads over my skin, and my pulse stutters. I wrap my lips over my teeth and shake my head.
Ras glares at me with utter exasperation. “Gemma.”
He touches the spoon to my lips, but I jerk my chin up, and the yogurt goes flying. My eyes widen as it lands in a light orange splatter across his shirt. A beat passes, during which darkness seeps into his gaze. I should be worried, but instead, all I feel is a thrill at breaking past the wall of ice.
It doesn’t suit him.
Slowly, he puts the spoon on the counter, and flattens his palm against the smooth surface, his thumb accidentally brushing against the side of my bare thigh. He steps closer, forcing me to part my knees to make room for him. My head spins from his proximity, and the few inches between us swirl with electricity.
“If your fiancé knew how feral you are, he’d demand a refund,” he growls. His face is so close, I can make out a tiny scar on his right cheek. “He thinks he bought himself an obedient wife, when what he’s really getting is a brat.”
I suck in a breath, searching for a response that will keep him here for a little longer. “I guess it’ll be a nice surprise for him on our wedding night.”
I regret it immediately, because his expression turns deadly.
He reaches for something behind me—the yogurt—and says, “If you insist on acting like a wild animal, I’m going to treat you like one.” He dips his finger inside the cup, brings it to my lips, and squeezes my jaw with his other hand, forcing my mouth to open.
He slides his finger inside my mouth.
A hard pulse appears in my neck before making a slow slide through my body to settle between my legs. The taste of peaches and something more decadent fizzles over my tastebuds, and before I think twice about it, I close my mouth around Ras’s finger and suck.
A slight tremor runs through him, his gaze molten as he watches me. I pull my head back and give the tip of his finger a quick lick as it pops out of my mouth.
He drops his hand to his side and does nothing for a long moment, during which nerves skitter over my spine.
We can only pretend we’re not crossing a line if we’re both in on it. If he points it out right now, there’s a chance I’ll combust and die from embarrassment.
My teeth dig into my bottom lip. “I—”
He doesn’t let me finish. He moves quickly, as if intent not to let me get the next word out, and puts his peach-flavored finger in my mouth again.
The room spins and darkens as I suck the yogurt off him. His mouth parts on a quick breath, his body visibly tense.
“Stronzo! Stronzo!”
The sudden high-pitched noise makes us break apart. He takes his finger out of my mouth and takes a step back as I slide off the counter.
We stare at each other for a long moment.
Finally, I ask, “What the hell is that?”
“That’s Churro,” Ras says, turning away from me before…adjusting his pants?
A thrill zings up my spine.
“My parrot,” he adds.
My mind struggles to catch up. “Your what?”
“My parrot,” he says as he makes his way across the kitchen toward where the noise came from.
I follow. “Why do you have a parrot?”
“He’s a pet.” He glances down and mutters, “I need to get a new shirt.”
I watch as Ras grasps the back of his T-shirt with one hand and pulls it over his head, flashing me his tanned, muscular back before he disappears into another room.
I swallow and keep following him.
The room seems to be his bedroom. The blinds are nearly fully drawn, casting the room in shadows.
Ras grabs a shirt out of a drawer and slips it on. “Churro doesn’t like it when it’s bright, so I keep him here,” he explains nodding toward the corner of the room where there’s a large bird cage.
I look around, still reeling from the last few minutes. There’s a large bed with a modern-looking bed frame, a leather armchair with a stack of books beside it, and a desk.
Ras lifts the blinds a little, and the grays of the room suddenly transform into shades of blue.
I move closer and peer into the bird cage. It’s got multiple levels connected with all sorts of ladders, and toys and feeders hang off the bars. Inside, a green and yellow parrot the size of my forearm stares at me with one orange eye.
“Pretty girl! Pretty girl!”
“He says that to every woman,” Ras says. “Don’t let it get to your head.”
I glare at him. “Why do I have a feeling you’re lying? I’m going to think I’m special until I see evidence proving otherwise, thank you very much.”
Ras’s lips quirk up. He taps against one of the bars, and the parrot hops over to peck his finger. Something soft bleeds into his expression. “He’s a little Casanova.”
“I have so many questions.” If I’d had to guess what kind of pet a guy like Ras would have, a parrot wouldn’t even make it in the top ten possibilities.
“I’m sure.” There’s that familiar sarcastic lilt to his voice.
“How long have you had him?”
“About three years. He was supposed to be a gift for Mari, but Dem categorically refused to let him live with them.” Ras jingles one of the toys. “I liked the little guy, and I didn’t feel like returning him. He’s an Amazon parrot. They live for fifty, sixty years, and they’re really smart.”
The parrot cocks his yellow head. “Fuck off!”
“And all you taught him is how to swear and compliment women?”
Ras looks down at me, a grin teasing at his lips. “The most critical skills, don’t you think?”
I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling.
Ras checks the watch on his wrist. “I’ve got to pack. Churro will keep you company. Someone’s picking him up in just a few minutes.”
He disappears inside a walk-in closet, and I refocus my attention on the parrot, playing with him for a few minutes by tapping on the cage and jingling his toys. He makes happy little squawks. When he hops down to the feeder and starts to peck at it, I let him eat in peace and resume my study of Ras’s room.
There’s something profoundly intimate about being in a man’s space.
Especially his bedroom.
Especially after I just had his fingers inside my mouth.
A shiver runs down my spine. I like being here, and I shouldn’t. The only man who’s bedroom I should want to be in is my fiancé’s.
God, what’s happening to me? I’m becoming entirely too interested in Ras.
The room smells like him. I walk over to a set of drawers and study the things scattered over the surface. There’s an ornate metal box that I peek inside—cigars—and a leather caddy with some of his jewelry. I put one of his rings on my finger, confirming that Ras’s ring size is nearly twice as large as mine.
I’m about to open a thin black notebook when I stop myself.
What am I doing?
I rub my palms over my arms, suddenly feeling awkward, and walk back out into the living room.
When my gaze lands on the half-empty cup of yogurt, my skin heats.
A sound pulls my attention to the front door just in time to see it open and a woman emerge.
I halt. “Hello?”
She notices me. She’s dressed in a tiny skirt and a bandeau top that reveals a toned tummy and tanned skin. Her blond hair drapes over her chest in full, luxurious curls, the kind that take ages to style.
I stiffen. Who is this?
The woman makes a quick assessment of me, and her red lips curl into a sharp smile. “Hi. Is Ras here? I’m here to pick up Churro.”
“Yeah. He’s in the bedroom.” I gesture at the door behind me.
“Oh, I know where that is. I’ve been here before.”
Irritation crawls up my spine that she felt the need to make sure I knew that. “Sorry, who are you?”
“Isabella,” she says, sauntering toward me, her hand outstretched. “And you must be the sick girl he has to take to New York.”
Is that how Ras described me? I give her a stiff smile. “That’s me.”
“You do look a little rough.” Her nose wrinkles. “It’s not contagious, is it?”
My grip turns crushing. “I guess you’ll know soon enough.”
She jerks her hand back, gives me a scowl, and disappears into the bedroom.
I hear Ras’s voice, deep and rumbling. They exchange greetings, and I try to tune them out, not wanting to intrude on their conversation. But then I hear her laugh, and I can’t help but peek around the corner to catch a glimpse of them.
She’s standing close to Ras, her hand on his chest, and I feel a pang of something unpleasant.
I tear my gaze away. It’s none of my business.
Still, I feel relieved when they appear in the living room only a few moments later, Ras carrying Churro in a smaller cage in one hand and a leather duffel bag in the other.
“Pretty girl! Pretty girl!” Churro squawks at Isabella.
My nose wrinkles. Traitor.
Ras looks at me. “Ready, Peaches?”
That nickname is so unexpected, it renders me momentarily mute. I blink at him. “Yes.”
“I’ll miss you,” Isabella croons, running her fingertips over his biceps. “You’ll let me know as soon as you’re back, right?”
Ras tears his amused gaze away from me and nods at her. “Of course. You know I hate leaving him behind.”
Her face falls. Clearly, that wasn’t the response she was hoping for, but she picks herself back up in a flash. “I’ll take good care of him.” She lifts herself on her tippy-toes and leans toward Ras’s ear. “And when you’re back, I’ll take good care of you too,” she whispers, loud enough for me to hear every word.
My cheeks burn. Are they hooking up?
He gives Isabella a terse smile and hands her Churro’s cage. “Thanks, Bella. Text if anything comes up.”
We make an awkward procession as we head toward the elevator together. Isabella switches to Spanish, whispering something to Ras on the ride down, while I wrack my brain for a good reason to be bothered by any of this.
There’s none.
I’m the one who’s engaged.
The scene in the kitchen suddenly gets colored in a completely different light.
I must be going crazy. What am I doing with him?
He says a quick goodbye to Isabella, and we get into the car.
“Are you okay?” Ras asks as he starts up the engine.
“You never said you have a girlfriend.”
“She’s just a friend.”
I give him a skittish glance and resolve not to probe any further. There’s no point. I can reasonably excuse the confusing events of the last seventy-two hours on being horribly ill. Once we’re in New York, I’m sure I’ll barely even see him.
