A Beautiful Distraction(67)
Mornings. There was definitely something to be said about them when they included Rafe.
Looking at the clock on the wall, Fallon slipped her feet back into her purple Prada pumps. It was one thirty. She would just call in the liquor order tomorrow when she got to Camille’s. Tomorrow morning was approaching entirely too fast, and without a certain someone to wake up to, she predicted her early morning would be as unbearably unpleasant as they usually were.
• • •
With his army duffel flung over his shoulder, Rafe wandered into the B terminal after clearing security. Fallon was sitting in one of the hard blue plastic chairs nearby. A cheesy-ass smile took over his face. Her hair was a mess, twisted on top of her head in some sort of ball, and stray waves had fallen loose around that delicate nape of hers he enjoyed pressing his lips to.
Her body was covered in a long gray dress, her arms tucked in a thin white cardigan. Her knees were pulled against her chest, her feet propped up on the edge of her chair. She looked young, sweet. Which she was. But she looked nothing like the woman he was used to seeing. She seemed tired and nervous. Fragile.
“Hey, gorgeous,” he said as he approached.
She lifted her head from her knees and blinked up at him in surprise. “Rafe, what are you doing here?”
Ah, hell. The amazed expression that flashed across her face turned him into a weak fucking man. And there was something else etched in her faint smile, smoothing her eyes—relief. God, what he’d do to see that look cross her face every time she saw him. She was happy, grateful . . . . Beautiful.
“You hate flying.” He shrugged.
He wanted to laugh when her champagne eyes squinted in confusion and she pursed her lips. It had been almost a week since he’d seen her, and now that he had, he was finding it difficult keeping himself from leaning down to catch her lips with his and kiss her. And before long, he would.
She gauged his response, watching him, her head tilting to the side like a curious puppy. “Yeah? So?” she finally said.
Dropping his duffel to the ground, he sat down next to her. “So here I am. My family lives in Philly, so I thought I’d fly to the city with you for moral support and then go visit my dad again.”
This trip was all about her. She was the only reason he’d paid an unfathomable amount of money for a ticket last night. But he was also hoping he could get ahold of Leo’s ass. He was worried about him.
“You bought a plane ticket to New York City just so I didn’t have to fly alone?” Her eyes grew wide in surprise. Was it really that hard to believe? Goddamn, he’d do a hell of a lot more for her than buy a fucking plane ticket.
“Yeah, babe. I did.”
Lowering her feet from the seat, she crossed her legs toward him—in a challenge, almost. Apparently it was that hard to believe. “Why?”
“Because,” he said, pushing a strand of hair away from her face. “There’s a part of me that couldn’t fuckin’ stand the idea of you being afraid and me not being there. Crazy, I know.” He brushed his thumb across her bottom lip briefly, then dropped his hand. “So I’m here.”
Her smile lifted slowly, her evident appreciation wrinkling around her eyes as it grew wide until she was nothing but teeth. “I don’t know whether to hug you or file a restraining order.”
He laughed, lifting his arm around her shoulders and pulling her against his side. “Can’t say I blame you there.”
Her body relaxed into him, and she sighed as she lowered her head into the crook of his shoulder and burrowed in. “Thanks, Rafe,” she said softly, sleepily.
“Anytime, gorgeous. Anytime.”
• • •
“You’re awful fidgety, babe,” he said, his eyes shut, his head resting against the back of the seat.
She grinned as she looked at him. Sitting there with his eyes closed and a faint, amused smile lifting his lips, he exemplified everything a man should be. Strong, sexy, safe. And staying true to the way this man contradicted every way she felt about him, he was intimidating. The way his square, stubbled jaw absentmindedly flexed, the way his powerful arms crossed in front of him, and the way his legs were parted open—it was intimidating. He didn’t look like an approachable man, a man someone would want to disturb. But in the same glance, he looked like comfort. His broad shoulders, his thick thighs, his beautiful mouth. The need to crawl onto his lap and feel his arms secured around her pulsed. But she wasn’t there yet. She wanted to be, but he’d stripped her bare, made her vulnerable, and she couldn’t.
The way he’d held her and caressed her at Stella’s house was the most affection she’d ever experienced. It was different from the way he touched her while their bodies slid naked against each other. It was tender, thoughtful. Claiming.