Page 70 of When She Falls (The Fallen)
“Nonsense,” Ras says. “It would only be a few hours a day. Dem and Vale instructed me to do everything I can to ensure Gemma’s recovery, and if I’m being honest, I think she’s still a bit unwell.”
I glare at him, my eyes communicating that I’m perfectly fine.
“She does look a little pale,” Cleo says.
My irritation spikes. Does Cleo think she’s helping me? Probably. She has no idea what happened between me and Ras. She smiles and pops a piece of croissant into her mouth.
I try again. “Papà—”
“Are you going to be comfortable driving in the city?” he asks Ras, ignoring me.
Ras nods. “Piece of cake. Trust me, I’ll keep her safe.”
“It’s settled then.” Papà gives Ras a close-lipped smile before turning to me. The look on his face tells me his decision is final. “Give your schedule to Ras, Gemma.”
Frustration simmers inside me. Is my opinion completely irrelevant? It’s me he’ll be driving. But I know what’ll happen if I start arguing at the dinner table. Papà will shut me down, and I’ll still be stuck with Ras as my driver.
I clench my fists under the tablecloth. “Tomorrow, I have a private shopping appointment. It’ll probably be super boring and take a long time.”
Ras’s gaze sparks. “Perfect. I need to stock up on clothes. Didn’t pack for an arctic climate.”
Hmm. How convenient.
“What time is the appointment?” he asks.
“Noon. Manhattan.”
Ras reaches inside a bowl on the table and takes a moment to pick out a cup of yogurt.
When he finally decides on one, heat travels down my chest in a slow wave.
Peach.
He glances at me from beneath his brows as he tears open the cup, his expression pure innocence if it weren’t for the flash of wickedness inside his eyes. “We’ll leave at eleven to beat the traffic.”
* * *
The next day, I step through the front door at eleven sharp.
Ras is already waiting inside the car, and when he sees me, he hops out to open the passenger door.
I clench my teeth. A part of me hoped he’d be late so that I could complain to Papà about his punctuality and insist on getting Blind Joe as my driver.
Yes, I’d rather risk an automotive accident than spend the next few weeks in Ras’s orbit.
I’m scared. Scared I’ll do something stupid around him.
Scared that my attraction might develop into a full-grown crush and make the next five weeks even harder than they are already going to be.
No matter how hard I try to tap into my previous dislike of Ras, I can’t seem to do it.
Not after he spent days nursing me back to health.
And not after what happened in his kitchen.
Last night, I had a dream about him. We were on a bed, and I was feverish, my back pressed against his front. He dragged a cool washcloth over my neck and then dipped it down over my chest. It was at that moment in the dream that I realized I wasn’t wearing any clothes. The washcloth slid between my breasts, over my abdomen, and down between my legs where everything felt so sensitive that I couldn’t help but moan. Lips pressed to the side of my neck, and a familiar voice asked. “Are you wet for me, Peaches?”
I woke up then, aroused and sweaty and in desperate need of a release.
