“Come here,” she said, spinning around to face him.
One stride closed the distance between them and he stepped into her, his thigh brushing between hers as he tilted his head down so she could reach him. Grabbing his chin in her hands, she turned his face to the side and gently wiped his eye. Water from the paper towel dripped down the side of his face and her thumb brushed across his cheek, catching the drop.
“So I’m a little confused as to why a woman like you, who doesn’t drink alcohol, is buddy-buddy with the bartender at a place like this,” he asked as she continued her cleanup.
He felt the paper towel press against his skin a little harder as she cleaned dried blood from his temple. “I used to work here a few nights a week.”
He tried to move his head to face her, but her grip on his chin tightened. “You used to work here?”
“Yeah, for about a year when I was eighteen. Like I said, I’ve been on my own for a long time.”
Releasing his chin, she threw the paper towel away and stepped to the side. Rafe turned the water back on and ran his hands underneath, washing away the blood he had been unable to remove earlier.
“And how did you end up at the club?” He turned from the sink to face her, and an elated smile spanned across her face.
“I met a woman—”
“Best way to start a story,” he interrupted, resting on the edge of the sink. He folded his arms over his chest and nodded for Fallon to continue.
“She came into the bar looking for Pete, her uncle. She was graceful and elegant. Only a few years older than me and sexy in the most sophisticated way. I was immediately jealous.”
“Jealous? You just described yourself, sweetheart.”
Lifting her brows, she fastened her eyes on his. “Camille was everything my old life represented. She’d looked like she’d just come from one of my mother’s weekly dinner parties. She looked like everything I was raised to be. And the way she claimed a room, demanded respect, and exuded gentle confidence—I wanted that. But there I stood in worn jeans, a tank top, and scuffed patent leather pumps, and I was jealous. And I hated her for it.” Confusion choked the ease of her expression and she paused, looking up at him. “Why am I even telling you all this anyway?”
Rafe captured her chin and stroked her jaw with his thumb. Need crawled in his veins as Fallon’s golden eyes smoldered, swirls of amber beckoning him. “Because I asked,” he said gently. “Why’d you hate her?”
Blinking, she sighed and shook her head, releasing from his grasp, clearing away the intoxicating moment between them. “Because I thought she belonged to the world I spent so much time trying to break free from, only to have it ripped away from me instead.” She lowered her head so he was no longer able to read the contradicting emotions on her face. “She reminded me of the very people I hate, the same people who broke me when they turned their backs on me. But she’s nothing like them.” Fallon cleared her throat. “Long story short, we talked, she took me back to the club, set me up in the apartment above the office, gave me a job, and a few years later the club’s mine.”
Rafe knew that small window had been closed. Whatever had happened in her past, she was doing her best to keep it repressed.
“So the club’s yours?” he repeated.
“Yes,” Fallon said, making her way to the bathroom door. “Camille’s husband was Denver’s very own Hugh Hefner and he left me the club when he died two years ago.”
“Let me get this straight. Camille’s husband left you the club?”
She laughed once. “He left it to both of us. He knew how much I loved it, and Camille wanted to open another one in New York City. So she’s there and I’m here. We co-own both clubs together.”
His hand found its way to the small of her back as they stepped out of the bathroom. She didn’t flinch or step away this time, so he pressed a little more firmly. He molded his palm into the small dip in her back, absorbing the soft, thin fabric against his skin.
Fallon took her spot back at the bar and sipped her Diet Coke. She looked so damn out of place sitting there, yet at the same time she was comfortable. The straps of her red dress hung off her shoulder and the neckline scooped low, giving a subtle show of cleavage, but not enough. Her dress formed against her body, shaping over every curve and hitting just below midthigh. She showed enough to make you look, but not enough to allow you to see. Everything about her was tempting him.
“So what about you there, Rocky? Do you make a habit of beating up politicians?”
Rafe rolled his head back on his neck. “Fuuck, that asshole was a politician?” Dammit, the last thing he needed was for word about his fight to get back to his company.