She held his eyes in the darkness and he could feel fear skirt through them. “I’d tell you that you shouldn’t.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t know how to love you back.”
He knew she believed that. But she was wrong—he’d seen it. He’d seen her love when she cared for Jade. She knew how to love. He just needed to remind her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Wrapping her wet hair up in a towel, Fallon walked out of her bathroom and started pulling clothes out of her closet and tossing them onto her bed. She needed to get to the club a little earlier than normal today so she could play catch-up on the payroll paperwork for her accountant. Plus, she missed it. She’d been spending a lot less time at the club lately and more time at her house, and after her trip to New York a couple of weeks ago, she’d been spending a lot of that time with Rafe.
“How do you expect me to watch you walk around your room, naked and wet, and not touch you?” Rafe said from behind her as his fingertips carefully trailed up her spine to her nape.
“Willpower.”
“Babe,” he whispered, his lips fluttering over the wet skin of her hairline. Goose bumps pricked her skin from his warm breath and she absentmindedly rolled her head back onto his shoulder. “I’m learning I have no willpower when it comes to you.”
His deft fingers skidded around her stomach and he pressed her back against him, his bare, hard cock nestling against her butt.
“I’ve gotta get ready for work,” she whimpered, his fingers disappearing between her thighs.
She wiggled from his touch, her body protesting as his fingers withdrew from her sex when she pulled away, backing up against the wall next to her closet.
His dark eyes sparked with an unspoken challenge and she pressed her lips tightly together to keep from smiling. Any other time, she would have reached into her stockpile and pulled out her go-to-hell smile that was one of her favorites to use on a man. But Rafe, she only wanted him. Any way and anywhere she could possible get him.
But he was challenging her. And Fallon was always up for a challenge.
Raking her lustful eyes over his naked body, she shuddered as his arms braced against the wall on either side of her head, imprisoning her between them. Warm, hard body was pressed in close to hers and she yearned to arch her back away from the wall to smooth her breasts against his firm chest.
But she didn’t.
She just smiled and tried like hell not to melt into a sopping puddle on the floor. His eyes alone could have done it. They were her weakness, her undoing. They had been since she first looked into them.
Slowly, deliberately, and unequivocally arrogantly, Rafe pulled the imperfect corner of his lips up slightly. Just enough to cause an instinctive reaction from her body. Clamping her thighs together, she sunk her teeth into her bottom lip.
“Fuck, gorgeous,” he muttered; then he had her wrapped around his waist and pinned to the wall before she could release her lip from her teeth.
• • •
“Okay, now I really have to get ready for work,” she warned, peeling herself from his arms and standing up from the floor. “When’s your leave over?”
“I sign in Sunday at midnight,” he said, situating himself on the bed, pulling his jeans up over his hips. “But I’m gonna check in at headquarters this afternoon, make sure my guys on leave haven’t gotten into any trouble. Then I’ll head to the club tonight.”
Smoothing her dress over her hips, Fallon lifted her eyes to him. “You can’t come to the club anymore,” she said simply. It made complete sense to her, but she could see from the confused and slightly angry expression on Rafe’s face that that was not the case for him.
“Why?”
Sighing heavily, she answered, “Because I don’t know what this is between us, but regardless, I don’t need you there. It’s part of the rules. Boyfriends, husbands, lovers—whatever you want to call them—are not allowed at the club.”
She watched as the muscles beneath his jaw started flexing and an acute awareness spread over her. He was pissed. “You’re still dancing?” he asked.
She laughed. “What do you mean, am I still dancing? Of course I am.”
Sliding his shirt over his head, he reached for his black boots and pulled them on. “I’m not okay with that.” His voice had lowered, trying to inflict some sort of control that he was going to learn real quickly he did not have over her.
Trying to keep her composure, she focused her sights on the shelves of shoes that lined her closet wall. “I’m sorry,” she replied, noticing the derisive tone that had crept into her voice. “I don’t remember asking your permission.”