17. DIANA
DIANA
It was too good.
Too much fun.
The opera date with my best friend’s father was not supposed to leave me feeling the elated buzz of having spent time with someone you really like.
Not at all.
I don’t know if it was so good because we’ve already had sex.
Great sex. Okay, it has to be that in part, because my body knows his, and it’s hard to be in his company and not be constantly reminded of that night.
But the fact that he doesn't know who I am is a bit magical. It’s as if I’m being allowed to get to know him all over again.
This different version of him, where he’s a responsible father and businessman, who’s done nothing but support me, which he does, reliably, every evening when he comes home.
It has become our routine, and tonight, I’m making content in my dressing room.
I’m still missing an attractive bookshelf as a backdrop, but the dressing room with the fancy wardrobes and designer clothes hanging in the background has done the trick.
It screams luxury, and that makes people stop scrolling, so for now, I’m happy.
Rafe is leaning against the wardrobe across from me. Lizzie’s gone out for dinner, and I’m not sure how it has come to this, but he’s watching me create content in real time.
His presence is distracting, to say the least. Having him just a few feet away as I perform for the camera, his shirt sleeves rolled up, muscular forearms crossed over his chest as he watches, is as bad as being publicly heckled. I can’t concentrate at all.
But I can’t tell him that.
The fact that my bed is mere feet away from us is a constant refrain in my mind. What we could do on that bed if I were to tell him what we’ve already done…
I focus on the task in hand, continuing to talk about the book I’ve just read and am now reviewing, but I keep stuttering and having to start over. On my fifth try, his phone rings.
He glances at the screen, then silences it.
“You can take it,” I say.
He shakes his head. “No. This is more important. Try again.”
He sounds businesslike, and I can’t help recalling how he hardly looked up from his phone when I first arrived, distracted by work. But now, he’s cancelling calls so he can give his attention to me instead.
I understand what Lizzie meant when she said, ‘when you get his full attention, he’s wonderful’, but I’m not sure I can handle it.
I do as he asks, but my attempt at performing for the camera falls flat again.
“What’s wrong?” he asks. “Is it me? Am I putting you off?”
Yes. Yes, it’s you.
“No, not at all.” I put the books down and switch off the camera. “I guess I’m not feeling it today.”
He assesses me for a moment. “You know what Lizzie and I used to do whenever one of us was feeling off?”
“Tell me.”
“Dance Kitchen,” he says, nodding as if this coupling of words makes complete sense.
“Excuse me?”
“We would dance in the kitchen until we felt better.” A dazzling smile spreads over his mouth, his eyes turning vibrant. “We’d climb right up on the island and perform like it was a stage.”
I break into a grin. This man is so adorable. The idea that he’d be willing to dance around his kitchen to cheer his daughter up delights me. “Really?” I ask.
“Yup.” He slides his phone out of his pocket, scrolls, and a moment later I Wanna Dance with Somebody (Who Loves Me) by Whitney Houston blasts from it.
He places his phone on a shelf nearby and holds his hand out to me. “Come on.”
Whitney croons, and the suggestive lyrics set me alight; I’m hot all over. Did he have to choose this song?
I shake my head, hardly able to believe he’s offering to dance with me at all. Stupidly, I blurt, “But it’s not raining.”
He frowns, but it’s paired with a bemused smile. “It’s never raining inside. I promise, it’ll make you feel better.” He beckons me closer, but I can’t move.
“This isn’t the kitchen. I can’t dance with you in here. Not to this song.”
My gaze drifts to the huge double bed just visible through my open bedroom door.
His eyes widen, and in that split second I know exactly where his mind went.
Where I led it. He reaches for the phone, fumbling to stop the music.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to...” He pauses to drag a hand through his hair. “Awful song choice.”
His obvious embarrassment is even more endearing than his willingness to dance with me; I want to throw my arms around his neck and hug him while apologising profusely for making him uncomfortable.
I can’t let him feel bad for the offer, so I’ll accept it in the spirit it was meant.
“Let’s go to the kitchen. I’ll pick the song,” I say with renewed enthusiasm. “I want to see you climb up on that island.”
He laughs, seemingly relieved that I’ve shifted the tension between us. “I haven’t done that for years. I prefer to stay on the floor.”
My smile is so wide, my cheeks ache. There’s no way he’s escaping now. “Too late. Come on.” I head in the direction of the kitchen, and without a word, he follows.
When we reach the spacious kitchen, the enormity of the island strikes me afresh.
It’s huge, almost as big as two cars parked side-by-side, and the marble surface is satin smooth.
It takes me a moment to hook my phone up to the speaker system, but when I do I Love Rock ‘N Roll by the Joan Jett he’s a man who knows how to use his body—and I feel completely drunk on this moment. I never want it to end.
We’re completely in sync. He’s no longer dancing beside me, but dancing with me.
He takes my hand, and for a second I think he’s going to pull me flush against him, but he doesn’t; he tugs me in a little closer, then spins me out, my skirt flaring round my knees like I’m a jive dancer from the fifties.
“What’s this?” comes Lizzie’s voice, screeching over the music, and we both freeze. She’s standing there in her coat, holding her handbag, all glammed up from whatever dinner she’s been at. I can’t tell if she’s annoyed or shocked, or if she thinks there’s something going on between us.
Rafe puts his hands on his hips. “What does it look like?” he says breathlessly.
She squeals. “Are you doing Dance Kitchen without me?” She yanks off her coat and chucks it over a stool, then kicks off her heels one after the other. Rafe offers her his hand, and she climbs up next to us. “What happened? Who’s sad?” she asks. “Do I need to fight someone?”
I laugh at her readiness to go into battle for one of us. Rafe smiles, catching my eye, and it makes me feel giddy.
I’ve never been part of a family that did anything like this.
“Not really,” I tell Lizzie. “Your dad wanted to cheer me up. I was having an off day.”
Lizzie spies my phone on the corner of the island. “Then I have just the song.” She snatches it up, and a moment later, Britney’s Stronger booms around us, and we dance like idiots until we’re exhausted.
I’m grateful for Lizzie’s appearance because I don’t know what might have happened if she hadn’t shown up. I don’t have a clue how her dad feels about me.
But one thing I do know: I could fall in love with a man like Rafe Bastion. Not only is he amazing to look at and great in bed, but he’s kind, generous, thoughtful. Fun. When I’m with him, I have the best time.
Shit. I might be a little in love with him already.