Page 57 of Raff
“This is insane,” I told Raff as I slid into the leather booth, blocked on both sides by bikers.
Below us, the dance floor was full of bodies moving together as the music blasted from the speakers, the bass forcing my heartbeat to thud in tune.
More champagne appeared, and I took another flute without thinking, needing something to take the sharp edges off my desire as I became acutely aware of each infinitesimal shift of his body.
It was often enough that I started to question if he was doing it on purpose, even if I knew he was just leaning forward to be heard over the music or throwing his head back to laugh.
And the way his arm would casually slide behind me on the top of the couch? Diabolical.
I was completely and utterly overwhelmed by him—his movements, his voice, his smiles, the coconut-lime-rum scent of him.
I’d never felt anything like it before—the way the whole world narrowed to just him. Everything else became background—the other men at the table, the lights, the music.
The rational part of me wanted to blame the alcohol. But even for a very occasional drinker, two small flutes of champagne weren’t going to alter me that much.
When a glass of something red was pushed into my hands, and Raff whispered a “Trust me,” so close to my ear that his lips brushed the shell of it, I immediately brought it up to sip.
The familiar taste of cran-apple-raspberry, mixed with the tang of vodka, exploded over my taste buds.
My head whipped over, and he shot me a knowing smile as he raised his rocks glass to take a sip of something amber.
Moisture glistened on his lower lip afterward, and I had the immediate urge to lean over and lick it off.
Seeming to sense my focus, Raff’s eyes swept over, roamed down me, then back up again.
Gaze still on me, he tipped up his glass, drained it, then settled it on the table.
“You want to dance?”
“You dance?”
He leaned closer, his breath on my cheek. “Does that not fit in with the idea you have of a biker?” he asked.
“I… don’t know.”
I was starting to wonder if I knew anything about myself anymore. This road trip had uncovered parts of me that not only had been long buried, but ones I hadn’t known existed.
And this intense, all-I-could-think-about attraction to Raff was making it difficult to breathe right, let alone focus.
He reached out, touching the bottom of my glass and tipping it up.
I followed the silent instruction, draining my own glass, only to have him take it from me, settle it on the table, stand, then extend his hand toward me.
The sliver of rational thought that still existed tried to convince me that I planted my hand there only because our VIP section was getting a little crowded by gorgeous women the other bikers had literally pointed at, then crooked their fingers at to invite them up.
But I knew it had nothing to do with them. And everything to do with Raff.
The air felt thicker as he pulled me deep into the crowd on the dance floor. It was impossible to tell if it was all the people, or the way his body moved behind mine. The people around us forced him so close that I felt my ass press against his pelvis.
His hand released mine, sliding up my arm. The movement had his sleeve sliding up just a bit to reveal the bracelet I’d made him still around his wrist.
My heart twisted.
Before I was even aware of my brain telling me to do it, my hand was lifting, tracing my finger over the tiny little beads. My head angled backward, glancing up to find him already watching me, something so intense in his gaze that my belly swooped.
Holding his wrist, I moved his hand, gliding it over, then down the side of my breast. His whole body tightened. A muscle pulsed in his cheek. I kept moving his hand, sliding it down my ribs, then settling it on my hip as I did a very deliberate roll of my hips with the music.
The speakers were too close, too loud, so I couldn’t hear it, but I felt the vibration as a sound moved through his chest.
