Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 100277 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100277 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
I couldn’t make their party because I’d promised Rafe I’d attend a weekend party at his parents’ house. He said they hosted it every year and it would look strange if he didn’t attend with his girlfriend.
The thought of maintaining our ruse for an entire weekend had me a little nervous, but I promised myself I could handle it. What I couldn’t handle was opening my apartment door to Rafe that Saturday morning and him staring at me as if he hadn’t seen me in a year, only for him to say in gravelly tones, “You look beautiful.”
Before I could think of a response to the unexpected compliment, he took hold of my small suitcase. “I’ll take this down to the car.”
I checked myself in my full-length mirror before I left the apartment. During the shopping trip with Kendall, I’d been pleased that I’d bought clothes I knew I’d wear when my deal with Rafe ended. My current dress was one I’d bought at Anthropologie. It was blue with a pale pink print, strapless with a sweetheart neckline, and it fell to my ankles from beneath my boobs in a handkerchief hem. Kendall told me to wear my hair up because she said I had great collarbones and shoulders, whatever that meant, and this dress showed off all of that. The dress itself wasn’t overly bohemian, but I had a gold bracelet around my left biceps. I wore a gold crystal and floral headpiece, and I decorated almost every one of my fingers with a slender gold ring of a unique style. My ears were bare because, hey, I was wearing what amounted to a crown, and earrings would be overkill. My reflection told me I’d deliberately chosen to be exactly myself today, to remind me, to remind Rafe of who I was.
I was not East Coast society chic.
I was Star Shine Meadows and I enjoyed dressing like I was a half-fae princess.
Yet Rafe had taken one look and said, “You look beautiful.”
And he’d meant it?
What the actual heck?
Butterflies roiled in my belly as I grabbed my purse and stepped out of my apartment to lock up. That small suitcase Rafe carried downstairs was filled with two more outfits, just like this one. Not that it mattered, apparently, because Rafe didn’t seem to care.
Warm air hit me as I stepped outside. It was only ten in the morning, but heavy heat already pressed against my skin, which meant we could look forward to a scorcher this afternoon. My mind quickly abandoned any thought of the weather as I took in Rafe leaning against his Pontiac.
In all the “You look beautiful” stuff, I hadn’t processed what he was wearing. Surprising, since he was something to see, leaning against his car, his arms crossed over his chest, wearing a lightweight cotton shirt in a blue that probably brought out his eyes, but I wouldn’t know because he was wearing cool-as-hell sunglasses. The shirt definitely brought out his muscles. It was fitted. He’d rolled the sleeves up to his elbows, and he wore it loose over his light gray dress pants. A few buttons were left undone at the collar, showing off his strong, tan throat.
Holy hotness, Superman.
Dammit.
As if he knew exactly what I was thinking, Rafe’s lips curled upward slightly in an arrogant smirk that was also too hot for my own good. I couldn’t see his eyes behind his sunglasses, which reminded me to pull mine out of my purse as I approached him. It gave me a reason to stop ogling him.
He stepped away from the car, but only to open the passenger-side door.
Always the gentleman.
“Thanks,” I murmured.
As I moved to get into the car, Rafe touched my lower back and brought his lips so close to my ear I felt them brush my skin. “Did I mention you look beautiful?”
Goose bumps prickled my arms as I glanced up at him in surprise. He’d pulled his head up, but his body crowded mine and, while I couldn’t see his eyes, I could have sworn he was smoldering at me.
What was going on? “Um . . . thanks?”
Rafe grinned as if my response was hilarious, and a riot of butterflies exploded in my belly. I must have gaped too long, because he chuckled, “Are you getting in or are we celebrating the Fourth on your sidewalk?”
“Oh, right. Fourth. Party. House. Harrison.” I dove into the car, my mind reeling.
Was . . . Rafe Whitman flirting with me?
But why? There was no one around to see it. It was just us.
Confused, I didn’t speak as he got into the car and pulled out onto the street. Once we were off the island, we hit pretty heavy midmorning traffic heading upstate. Looked like we weren’t the only ones leaving the city for the weekend celebrations.