Claire stole a glance their way. “Because I didn’t know. And because you were supposed to meet me later at my house.”
Fallon readjusted on Rafe’s lap, physically offering him a chance to talk to Bridgette and maybe settle some of the obvious tension. Fallon and Rafe seemed to be trapped in a suffocating bubble with Bridgette and Claire, as everyone else around them just stared in confusion.
“I don’t run away from confrontation, Rafe. But if you want to talk to her—”
His fingers bit into the flesh of her hips, prisoning her body to his. “I want you right where you are, gorgeous.” His voice dropped low, grazing her skin with his command, all the while veiling his undeniable plea as he moved his mouth to her shoulder.
That shouldn’t have made her smile, but it did. Being needed, truly needed, for more than someone’s vainglorious reason, spurred open something raw inside her. She could handle whatever shitstorm was silently brewing between Rafe and this Bridgette woman, but she wasn’t confident in her ability to handle the sudden elation she felt from Rafe’s confession. He wanted her with him right now, with so many conflicting emotions clearly tormenting him. And as vulnerable as that made him, it made her defenseless too, heedlessly exposed to him.
An uncharted electric current was crackling between them. She could feel her heart stutter unevenly against her chest while his eyes caressed hers with an unspoken profession that she didn’t understand. But she was powerless to look away from him. She was aware of the isolated moment they were spelled under, and she was aware of the tangible tension penetrating from everyone around them, but Rafe didn’t seem to care. He didn’t seem to mind the attention he’d silently drawn to himself; as if Fallon was the only one of importance at that moment.
She tried to breathe as gracefully as possible, but it was useless. She was suffocating, confused by the desperation in Rafe’s eyes. Confused because, even while she was incapable of looking away from him, she didn’t want to.
His hand lifted slowly, as if she were a feral cat he was trying to capture, as if his movements would startle her. Brushing his thumb over her bottom lip, he smiled. That one dexterous touch melted her. Her body warmed from the inside out.
“I want you,” he whispered, his voice dripping with a desirous hunger as his lips tenderly swept over her jaw. When he raised his head back to look at her, his velvet eyes swam with a heady lust that forced every nerve, every sense to sharpen and bind to him. “Okay?” She helplessly nodded. Whatever hypnotic force had just overcome her, she welcomed it. Rafe chuckled quietly, the vibrations seeping into her as he shook against her. “Good.”
His words reassured her. The look in his eyes told her everything she didn’t know she needed to hear.
The fire crackled and popped, she blinked, and the amorous moment between them receded.
“Fallon?” Dexter said, surprised to see her.
Her teeth ground together at the sound of his voice and she lifted her ireful eyes. “Dexter,” she hissed.
Hearing Dexter and Fallon greet each other, Claire looked at them and frowned. “You know her, baby?” she asked, moving to Dexter’s side and winding her arm around his waist in a hug.
Dexter’s eyes shifted between them and he dipped his chin to his chest, but he didn’t respond.
“Dex?” she asked again.
“Yeah . . . uh . . . I . . . um . . . uh . . . She works with Jade,” he finally mumbled. Had Fallon not been so pissed off, she would have enjoyed his obvious discomfort a little more.
The sound that spilled from Claire’s mouth met her ears like two metal forks rubbing together, causing her muscles to coil. “The stripper? So Fallon’s a stripper too?” She smirked.
Her little attempt at an insult rolled completely over Fallon in one swift gust. If she thought she’d ruffle Fallon’s feathers, she was sadly mistaken. Fallon didn’t need, nor did she want, any sort of approval from that woman.
And if they were going to get down to the nitty-gritty, Fallon made more money than anyone at the cookout could even dream about. She co-owned the most elite club in Denver and was co-owner of the club taking off in New York City. Insulted, no. Proud, definitely. And did her girls strip? Yes. Were they strippers? No. And did she see the necessity in spelling out the difference to the squealer? Hell no.
Rafe sucked the air around them in between his teeth, his fingers digging into her thighs, and her head snapped back to him. His eyes were piercing Dexter and his body had gone tense, as if ready to lunge. “Watch it, Claire,” he warned.
“You’re defending the stripper? How sweet of you.”