I leaned against the back of the stool. “I’ll bet.”
“It’s not like that, Beanpole.”
“Come on, Rafe. She splits LA, dumps you for some B-level movie producer, and you’re flying three thousand miles because she’s homesick?”
More silence. But this time his eyes locked on mine. I tried not to squirm under his hard gaze.
“I think you’re making a mistake is all,” I said, caving in to my discomfort and dropping my eyes.
“I’m not the one making a mistake. Trust me.”
“Right. Look, it’s none of my business. Sorry.”
I didn’t bother reminding him that he’d called me when the paparazzi swarm got to be too much. We’d shared a bottle of wine on Venice Beach, and we’d talked about anything and everything while the Pacific Ocean crashed along the shore.
I’d always thought Rafe was a cad, but that night I learned that Reesie was an idiot to let him go.
That was the night I learned that he wanted to make a move behind the scenes—scouting new artists, producing albums. I learned that Vince and Grimm made vague promises but never carried them through. I learned that Reesie had begged him to take her to Grimm, but when he hadn’t made the deal fast enough, she opted for New York.
See? Idiot.
I cleared my throat. “No, wait, sorry not sorry. She did you wrong, Rafe. Why are you jumping on a plane when she snaps her fingers?”
His rich brown eyes went stormy. “First, she did not snap her fingers. And second, I am not jumping on shit. You don’t know the situation.”
“So tell me.”
“Not your business, is it?” he asked.
I scowled at my wine, because he was right. “Whatever. Just trying to be a friend.”
His expression softened. “You can be a friend by taking my bed while I’m away, yeah?”
“Sure. Thanks,” I said to his back as he headed toward the door.
He turned. “Look, I’ll hit up Fiorella and text you the deets once I talk to her. Okay?”
“Sure, thanks.”
“Hey, you okay?”
“Yeah, just… weird being here. That’s all.”
“Once you crash in my bed, you’ll be so comfortable you’ll forget to freak.” He winked and opened the door. “Later, kid.”
Kid? Did he just call me kid?
“Have a pleasant flight, I guess,” I muttered to the closed door.
6
Rafe’s bed was so comfortable that I didn’t feel a thing until a sturdy arm reached around me and yanked me into a hard body.
“What the fuck are you wearing?” Rafe growled, his fingers gliding over the soft silk of my slip.
I scrambled away at the feel of something hardening against my ass. Bolting upright, I twisted to switch on the bedside lamp.
Okay, so for all of Rafe’s talk about my baggy jeans and T-shirts, I had a weakness for girlie jammies. I liked the feeling of soft silk and lace on my body. Some were even a little risqué, but in a refined, luxurious way, I swear. Tonight I wore my La Perla Maison slip. The body-skimming cut gave my normally pencil-straight figure a feminine silhouette. Even my small breasts looked good against the hand-embroidered silver-blue lace that edged my chest. The underwear was also a deep blue, but it was made of the same soft lace that decorated the slip. It wasn’t a thong, but it was Brazilian cut, so it showed off a bit of cheek.
It was elegant. It was sexy. It made me feel pretty.
But no one—not even my sisters—ever saw me in my pretty undies. They were for me and me alone.
And now Rafe was running his guitar-string-calloused fingers against that exposed bit of my ass while I lay on my side to turn on the light.
“Rafe,” I snapped, sitting up and dragging the blankets back on top of me. I pressed them against my chest. “What are you doing here?”
“It’s my bed,” he said.
“You’re in New York,” I reminded him acidly.
“I was in New York. Now I’m not,” he said.
“You were gone for”—I reached over to the bedside table and looked at my phone—“barely twenty-four hours. Who even does that?”
“People with private planes, Beanpole.”
“You don’t have a private plane.”
“Grimm does.”
“And he just let you use it to go to New York to see Reesie?”
“New York was business,” he said.
“Right,” I muttered. More like Reesie was getting the business. I pulled the blankets up higher.
“I don’t want to talk about work,” he said. Agitation had slipped over his face for a moment. He replaced it with a mischievous smile. “Let’s talk about the nightie you’re wearing,” he said, pulling back the blankets.
I yanked them back over me. “Let’s not.”
“What’s up with this? You only wore sweats on tour,” he said.
“We were on a tour bus with a gaggle of people, including you and Dion and Devlin,” I hissed. “What do you think I would wear?”
“It looks good on you,” he said.
“Get out,” I said.
“My bed, babe,” he said, stretching out beside me.
While his body relaxed, mine coiled tighter. “You are unbelievable.”
“You wanna hear my news?”
“No,” I said.
He told me anyway. “Well, first I got ahold of Fiorella. She said you should hit Parma somewhere between ten and eleven tomorrow morning. Said she’d sort you out.”
“Oh,” I said, biting my lip.
“You need a ride?” he asked.
“I’ll walk.”
“Are you crazy? That’s, like, two miles.”
“I can manage.”
“Okay, but don’t show up sweaty,” he said. “Fiorella won’t like that.”
“Why are you here again?”
“We’re getting to that,” he said. “Had a conference call with Dion and Nik. We worked through some shit with the album.”
I leaned cautiously against the pillows, my curiosity besting my discomfort at being in bed with Rafe in my skimpy pajamas. “What shit?”
“Grimm shit,” he said. He didn’t look happy.
“What sort of Grimm shit?” I asked, my chest squeezing in panic. “Is Nik in over her head?”
“Nik’s fine, babe. Dion won’t let her be anything but fine.” He inhaled deeply and stared at the ceiling. “I was supposed to produce this one.”
Pushing aside my anger, I rolled onto my side so I could face him. “You’re producing the album? That’s amazing. It’s what you wanted.” His expression remained blank. “Right?”
“I’d worked it all out with Vince. He’d be in the room, offer suggestions, but this was supposed to be me. My vision. Dion was behind it. Nik too.” His profile became tense.
“Shit, Rafe. What happened?”
“Fucking Grimm, that’s what happened.” He rolled onto his side to face me too, the pain and frustration in his eyes laid bare. “Grimm squelched the whole fucking thing.”