23. DIANA
DIANA
The weekend after the movie premiere, I’m working at the kitchen island when I hear Lizzie’s excited squeal.
“Henry! Julian!”
I glance up from my laptop, but from where I’m sitting, I can’t see her. “Hello,” comes a deep voice with a cut glass English accent. “How’s my favourite goddaughter?”
“She’s my favourite,” comes another deep voice, slightly rougher and full of teasing.
“You only have one goddaughter,” says the first voice. “I have six. Therefore, my favouritism means more.”
There’s the sound of deep, masculine laughter, peppered with Lizzie’s giggles, and I push off the kitchen stool, intrigued to see who has her sounding giddy.
Walking into the living room, I find two tall men in suits. Both remarkably handsome.
Shit. It’s the men from that night at Delirium.
They have their arms wrapped around Lizzie like they’re fighting for her, and she’s still laughing.
Over Lizzie’s shoulder, the taller and fairer of the two catches my eye and pauses, pulling out of their ridiculous three-way embrace.
Lizzie glances back at me. “Oh, Diana, come and meet Henry. He’s the naughtiest godfather ever.”
“Absolute slander,” Henry, the taller one, reprimands. “That title definitely belongs to Julian.”
Julian, whom I recognise as the man who tried to get in the lift with me that night, winks at me, but paired with his wide smile, it’s friendly rather than sleazy. If I weren’t so shocked at his appearance here in the Emblem, I’d be grinning back because he looks so friendly.
He approaches and lifts my hand, kissing the back of it, a twinkle in his eye. “Have we met before?”
I draw my hand back, heart racing. “Erm… no, I don’t think so.”
“Diana’s my best friend,” Lizzie explains. “She’s living with us.”
Julian straightens and shoots a teasing look at Rafe, who’s just appeared in the doorway. “Is she now?”
The suggestion in the question is blatant, and Rafe gives a slight shake of the head, paired with a minuscule eye roll that dismisses it.
“I’ve been helping Diana with her business,” he explains.
He makes it sound like no big deal, and I remind myself that he’s been swimming with me too, almost every day, and dancing with me in the kitchen at night.
Rafe might not want me the way I want him, but I’m pretty sure what we have is not just business. Maybe he’s making it sound that way for his friends’ benefit, but I can’t help feeling dismissed.
“Have you indeed?” Henry says, his voice all teasing wonderment, which causes Rafe to repeat his eye roll. Henry turns to me, serious now. “Is he charging you for his time? A consultation with Rafe Bastion doesn’t come cheap.”
My stomach drops. “Oh… no, I…” My eyes flick to Rafe’s. “We haven’t—”
“Costs a fortune to breathe the same air as Rafe Bastion,” Julian says, nodding at me.
“Stop teasing the poor girl,” Rafe says, flicking the back of his hand at his friends.
Poor girl?
Julian laughs. “Sorry, kiddo,” he says to me.
I glance at Rafe to see how the word kiddo struck him, but then it’s no better than poor girl. He’s not looking at me, but his avoidance feels forced, as if he doesn’t want his friends to think we have any sort of relationship beyond a professional one.
Henry bows his head at me. “My apologies.”
“Now,” Julian says, looking back at Rafe and using a tone that tells me he’s about to change the subject.
“I know it’s unorthodox, but I invited Melanie Castow along tonight.
” Rafe opens his mouth to speak, but Julian continues, “Honestly, we know you’ve been resisting it, but Henry and I think it would be a good idea for you to get to know her outside of the bedroom.
” Rafe’s eyes widen, Lizzie squeaks, and Julian coughs affectedly before he continues.
“Boardroom. Apologies. Freudian slip there.”
“I’ll say,” mutters Henry, sounding amused.
Julian glances at him. “We think she might take your mind off”—his eyebrows bounce, and a teasing smile rips his mouth open—“other things.”
Lizzie frowns at me, the two of us lost in this conversation. She turns her focus on her dad. “You should do it. It’s been so long since you’ve taken anyone out.”
“Your dad’s been pining,” Henry says. “Didn’t you know? Met a woman he fell hook, line and sinker for, but she never called him back.”
I freeze, panic swirling through me. I’d often wondered if he was dating anyone, but he never mentioned it, and it didn’t feel like a topic I could safely raise. Against my will, my eyes find his across the room, only to find he’s staring back.
He jerks his gaze away, leaving a warmth infusing my limbs, reaching to my ears and making them burn.
Lizzie’s mouth drops open. “What? Who?”
“A mystery woman,” Julian says with theatrical flair, raising both arms like he’s a circus master announcing the next act. His thick, dark mop of hair flops with the motion. “He gave her his number, and she never used it.”
“Ignore him,” Rafe grumbles. “He’s talking shit.”
Henry leans towards Lizzie, speaking as though he’s telling an exciting story to a young child. “No one knows who she is. Not even your dad.”
Pins and needles spark through my body. How many unidentifiable women has Rafe given his number to? Surely it can’t be many. It might not even be more than one.
My pulse quickens, but I stand very still in case the smallest movement might expose my train of thought.
“It’s hopeless,” Julian agrees. “So, I’ve taken it upon myself to provide an alternative. One that won’t tinker with your father’s mental health.” Rafe makes a tutting sound of disapproval, but Julian only smirks. “She’s coming with us to your farewell party tonight.”
The mention of Lizzie’s farewell party causes a shot of adrenaline to burst through me.
I’ve been trying not to think about the party and Lizzie’s imminent departure, because when Lizzie leaves, I have to leave too.
I’ll have to leave Rafe without ever telling him who I am.
Maybe I’m not the mystery woman he’s been ‘pining’ for.
Maybe he gave his number to someone else who never called him back.
But really, who isn’t calling Rafe Bastion back?
What kind of idiot wouldn’t call that number?
Me. I’m the idiot. But if there’s the tiniest chance it is me, then he’ll never know that the woman he’s been looking for has been right under his nose the whole time.
“Anyway,” Julian says, his arm around Lizzie’s shoulders. “You’ll meet her tonight.”
Rafe begins, “I don’t think—”
“It might help the deal,” Henry interrupts. “So be nice to her.”
I have no idea what deal they’re talking about, but Rafe glares at his friends, offering them the slightest jerk of his chin that looks a lot like a wordless fuck you.
Henry, not in the least disturbed by the vicious glance, snakes an arm around Lizzie’s shoulders from the other side so that, pinned between her godfathers, it looks like they’re about to run a four-legged race.
Henry glances at Rafe. “We’re stealing your daughter for a pre-party celebration, then we’re going to the venue to make sure everything’s set up. I take it you can survive without her?”
“I can.”
“Good,” Henry says, before pointing at me and then Rafe. “And you two can come together?”
The lines around Rafe’s eyes deepen, and he’s quiet for so long that Lizzie throws a questioning look at me. I wish I had an explanation, but I don’t. Maybe the way his friends were teasing him messed with his head. But if there was nothing to it, why would it bother him?
“I can make my own way,” I say to break the tension. “I’ll call a—”
“It’s fine,” Rafe interrupts. “Be ready at seven, and we’ll take the car.”
I glance at the clock—6.50 pm—and I cannot get the stupid zip up on my dress. It’s caught in the silk, and the way it’s caught, the waist is too narrow for me to slide the dress back off and start again.
I’m half-naked, trapped in a cocoon of pink silk. Cocoon is probably an exaggeration, given my legs are exposed and I’m wearing a pair of shimmering pink Erica Lefroy heels, but my midsection is wedged.
A sharp knock sounds on my bedroom door. “Diana?” Oh, shit. Rafe is outside, and he sounds impatient. “It’s time to go.”
“Okay, one minute,” I call back as I pull up the bodice and look in the full-length mirror. I twist the strapless dress around and try to yank the zip up, but it won’t go. I twist it the other way with the same result.
Nothing.
He knocks on the door again. “Diana?”
Adjusting the dress so it’s the right way around, I tug the front up on one side to cover myself. Breathless and harassed, I grab my purse and swing the door open.
Rafe stands in the hall wearing a black tie suit with one of those cream silk scarves hanging loose around his neck. He looks so good that I stall, nearly tripping on my feet.
He looks me up and down, gaze snagging where I’m holding up my dress. His mouth tightens, and there’s that same stiffness I noted in his manner earlier. The playful version of him, who would deliberately splash me in the pool, is gone. “Are you ready?”
As if in answer to his question, the loose side of my bodice flops down, revealing a chunk of boob flesh. Luckily, my nipple stays hidden. I fumble to catch it, dropping my clutch in the process. Rafe bends to collect my purse, glancing up at me from his position by my feet.
The words I do ring loudly in my head, bringing with them an unwelcome flush of heat.
I must be going crazy if Rafe Bastion, momentarily on his knees, has me mentally agreeing to marry him.
“You’re supposed to be putting clothes on,” he says, rising to his feet. “Not taking them off.”
My cheeks grow hot. I can’t tell from his tone if he’s teasing or reprimanding me.
“I had a slight wardrobe malfunction,” I explain. “The zip…” I half turn away from him so he can see the issue. “Could you?”
He hands me my clutch and says, “Turn around. Fully.”
My skin buzzes, and my awareness of him, standing right behind me, reaches a peak. This is the closest he has stood to me for weeks, and certainly the longest he has lingered.
He could bend me over and take me from behind, just like this.
My breaths grow shallow as he shifts my hair from the back of my neck, his touch dusting my skin. A gentle shiver runs down my spine, and my body begins to hum.
He stills behind me. “Your perfume. It’s different.”
“Oh, yeah. I wear a different one during the day. This is my after dark scent. I only wear it when I go out.”
“You didn’t wear it to the opera,” he says, low and thoughtful.
My heart flutters at the thought that he’d notice something like that about me. But then again, it’s perfume. It’s hardly subtle. “Didn’t I? I don’t remember. I wasn’t expecting to go out that night. We were in a rush. I must have forgotten to put it on.”
“You haven’t worn it at all,” he says.
My skin prickles with an awareness I can’t define. Why is he so fixed on my perfume? I can’t think straight with him standing so close. “I can wash it off if you don’t like it.”
“No, don’t.”
He offers no further explanation, but he emits a low hmm as he tucks another strand of my hair over my shoulder and off my back.
“You trapped the fabric,” he whispers, and with a hand on my hip, he pulls me a tiny bit closer as he gently works the silk free from the zip, his knuckles skimming my spine. Heat trickles down my body, pooling between my legs.
I need to get out of this house. Away from this man. Because if I don’t—
“It’s a beautiful dress.” His voice is still low, and his exhalation tickles my neck, sending a shiver tripping down my back.
“Thank you,” I mutter. “It’s an Erica Lefroy.”
“I know.” His breath is suddenly hotter and more concentrated where it hits my skin. I daren’t move. “It suits you. A beautiful dress for a beautiful woman.”
Every muscle in my body clenches as if his compliment is an attack I have to fend off. He’s never said anything like this before, and my defenses are weak and desperate to be breached. A longing, simultaneously painful and sweet, sings in my blood.
I don’t know how much more I can endure.
Rafe doesn’t move away, and for the first time since I came to live with him, it’s clear to me that he wants me. I know it deep in my soul, the truth of it resonating in every particle of my being.
He wants me.
Not me from Delirium, but me, Diana, his daughter’s best friend. I’m almost vibrating with the certainty of it.
I could turn my head and catch his mouth with mine, but we both know I won’t. We’ll balance right here, trapped between lust and its denial, barely touching but driven mad with wanting. It’s toxic, but the high is delicious.
I want to lean into him and let him catch me as I fall.
A tug on my dress has me snapping out of the proximity-induced delirium. I straighten my spine, and the intensity of his breath on my skin fades like he’s moving away.
“There,” he says as the zip eases all the way up.
“Thank you,” I say, my voice unsteady as I turn towards him.
We’re standing face-to-face, inches apart. He doesn’t shift back. His exhalation dusts across my cheeks, and I inhale it and pass him mine in return. I ache for him to touch me, but he doesn’t move. I’m not even sure he’s breathing.
His dark, tormented gaze settles on my lips, and I run my tongue along the bottom one. It’s not deliberate, not some intentional seduction technique, but it makes his eyes flare.
My heart swells, hoping he’ll comment. Hoping he likes what he sees.
He gives me nothing, instead bowing his head and holding out one arm for me to pass through the doorway before him. “Time to go.”