2. June
JUNE
Islip out into the hall several hours later with the ice bucket and make my way to the vending machines.
The hotel room is quiet. Except for Marnie puking and Beth holding her hair, everyone’s passed out. I feel a headache coming on.
I want something cold to press on the back of Marnie’s neck while she yaks up all the alcohol she dumped into her stomach.
The stripper was a hit. Party Bill really did come through.
The guy wasn’t much to look at, but he was funny, high-energy (especially after taking a snort in the bathroom one of Marnie’s party-girl friends offered him), and willing to degrade himself for dollar bills.
His show lasted an hour, then there was the club, and another club, and the lounge, the afterhours bar…
Now we’re back and I’m ready to drop.
In all that mess, I’ve had a total of two drinks. Enough to keep me going, but not enough to get me impaired. Someone had to be sober, and that someone’s usually me.
It’s my job. Or my self-imposed role, anyway. The party mom, the responsible one. Out late and lost your keys? Call June. Got lost and need a ride? Call June.
I’d say I hate it, but I don’t.
It’s who I am. Grandma Hattie taught me young. Or really, forced me to learn.
Someone’s got to take care of everything. And that someone might as well be me.
I reach the machines and scoop ice into the bucket. I feed some cash into the soda machine and push the button for a Diet Coke. It thumps down loudly. I bend over, grab it, and straighten again.
A shadow’s on the far side of the narrow room, blocking the door.
“You never asked my name. Some people might think that was rude.”
I go very, very still.
That voice. That smell. The same cologne. The dull musk, clean and fresh.
I turn and he’s there. Alone this time, lingering close by.
The jacket is gone, though he’s still in a dress shirt, the sleeves rolled to his elbow, the top two buttons undone.
Black tattoos etch every inch of his skin.
What kind of businessman has that much ink?
His watch glitters in the low light. His gray eyes gleam as he drinks me in.
I shiver and that fear comes back, but not as strong this time.
“I’m sorry about that. I mean, about the whole thing.” I plunk the soda into the ice bucket.
“Nunzio thought I should have taught you a lesson. Do you think he was right?”
My eyes widen a fraction. “Who’s Nunzio?”
“The unhappy-looking man who was reaching for a weapon. I know you noticed it.”
I lick my lips. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
The man steps closer. “You still haven’t asked. It’s starting to get rude. Maybe Nunzio was correct.”
“No. I mean, sorry. What’s… what’s your name?”
“I’m Rafe Corvino. It’s very nice to meet you, June Ashworth.” He offers a hand. I stare at the ink on his fingers. A-S-H-E-S.
I’m dizzy as I slip my palm against his. He dwarfs me like I’m nothing. His grip isn’t as menacing this time, though it’s firm. “How did you know my last name?”
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he holds onto me for longer than he should. “I have a room here. I don’t make this offer often, so please don’t be offended, but if you want to get away from your party for some quiet—“ He lets that dangle between us.
“No, I couldn’t, I mean?—“
“How many girls are sharing those beds?”
I think about the six bodies jammed onto the single queen. “Too many.”
“I have plenty of space. More than I know what to do with. Come join me for a drink.”
“I really shouldn’t. Marnie’s getting sick.”
“Your friend won’t miss you. The bride, correct? She’ll hardly remember much tomorrow.”
“I don’t, I mean, how did you?—?”
“Come with me, June. I won’t beg.”
My head spins. This man knows my surname. He knows Marnie’s the bride. What else does he know?
“Were you watching me?” I ask, suddenly sure this wasn’t random, that he didn’t happen to be coming in here at the same time.
His lips quirk. Not quite a smile—I doubt the man’s capable of one. But something like it. “Yes, June. I’ve been watching you all night. The way you steer your friends from trouble. The way they look to you.” He pulls me closer. “Aren’t you tired of doing the right thing all the time?”
I’m breathing fast. His breath smells like mint and whisky. His stormy eyes burn into mine. And I hate it, but he’s right.
I’ve been asking myself that all night.
Other people get away with bad behavior.
They drink too much, act like idiots, nobody cares the next day.
It’s funny, almost, how stupid Cathleen was, or how loud Brittany got, or the way Tracy strung those guys along and got free drinks only to ditch them by running across the street and losing a heel and nearly getting hit by a bus.
But God forbid I let loose.
The world would fall apart, right?
No, June, this isn’t you.
But as Rafe waits patiently for me to say something, I start to wonder.
Why the hell not?
“One drink.” The words bubble out like I can’t control them. “Nothing more.”
He nods slightly like that’s what he expected and turns to leave.
I drift after him like I’m in a dream. The ice bucket and the soda stay tucked under my arm. Rafe takes me to the elevators and steps inside. He hits the button for the penthouse and scans his card.
I stare in alarm and wonder as the doors slide shut and we glide upward.
Rafe watches the numbers change, hardly paying me any attention. He looks like a statue, like a demon built to snare women in his trap. Who is this man? And what does he want with me?
I never should have followed him, but the doors open again and Rafe’s walking into the most beautiful room I’ve ever seen.
I knew this was a luxury hotel, which is why all the girls are packed into a single economy space downstairs. But I didn’t understand what luxury meant.
Everything gleams. There’s a full wetbar, kitchen, sitting area, living room. The fixtures and furniture are modern. Real art hangs on the walls. Stairs lead up to another floor, presumably where the bedrooms are.
Rafe opens a bottle of prosecco with a loud pop. I yelp and drop the ice bucket. It clatters away, scattering ice and sending the soda bottle rolling across the floor.
He doesn’t seem to mind as he pours me a drink. “Your favorite,” he says without explanation.
“How did you know?”
Again, he doesn’t answer, only gets himself something dark brown and goes to stand near the windows.
The view is incredible. Philadelphia glitters at his feet. I linger back, afraid to get too close. It’s not the height that bothers me, but the man. I half expect him not to have a reflection, but he’s still there in the glass, only a man.
A perfect man. Gorgeous beyond reckoning.
“Your dancer,” Rafe says without looking back. “Was he acceptable?”
“Uh, he was okay. I mean, not what I expected, but?—“
Rafe glances at me in the window. “Did you expect someone more like me?”
Another of those ghostly smiles.
I shiver and take a long drink. “No, not at all.”
“That’s a shame.” He swirls his glass, ice clinking.
“Do you dance?”
“I don’t think I ever have.”
“Come on, that can’t be true.” I say it with a smile, but that quickly fades. Looking him over, I start to think it might be. “I’m not much of a dancer either, to be honest.”
“You look good, though. When you let yourself.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your shoulders are tense, June.”
I laugh, but he’s not kidding. I make myself relax them. “I guess I’m not used to following strange men back to their rooms.”
“That’s a good rule of thumb.” He turns his back to the city. “I’m going to make you an offer. I hope you’ll forgive me if I’m being too forward, but I’m not the kind of man who does this often, and I prefer not to waste time with uncertainty.”
“Uh…” I finish the remainder of my glass. “What kind of offer?”
“There are three bedrooms upstairs. You may have your pick. If you want, you can go up there now, brush your teeth, go to sleep, and in the morning I’ll be gone.
You won’t see me again. But if you like, I’ll come with you, and we’ll share the bed together.
You and me, June, just for tonight. I’ll be gone before you wake.
But if I’m right—“ He steps closer and takes the glass from my unsteady fingers. He pours some of his drink into it, tips the glass to my lips, and pours it into my mouth. It’s whisky, or bourbon, or something like that, and it’s very, very good.
I’m trembling with desire, excitement coursing down my skin.
“If I’m right, you won’t stop thinking about me for a very, very long time. ”
I bend my knees and put my glass on the floor. I’m breathing fast, shaking, wondering if I’m really doing this. Why can’t I misbehave? Why can’t I meet beautiful, handsome, scary strangers and do something stupid for once? I watched Marnie and her friends go wild, and why not me?
I take Rafe’s hand, the one holding his drink, and I raise it to my lips.
I kiss his tattooed knuckle. Then I take a sip from his glass.
The sound he makes.
My god.
It’s ecstasy. The softest grunt. Barely the whisper of a moan. Like this man’s holding himself back, a spring twisted to nearly breaking.
“Will you beg?” I ask, not sure what’s coming over me, but thinking, I can be this girl, just once, for one single night, and never, ever again. I meet his gaze and it’s hard for me to hold it. Those stormy gray eyes, filled with hate, desire, blood. “If I ask you to?”
His hand presses against the small of my back and he pulls me against him, crushing his mouth down to mine in a blistering, possessive kiss.
The only answer I need.
No, he won’t beg.
And frankly, I don’t need him to.
I kiss him back in a frenzy, moaning at the taste of his soft, stubbly lips, the power in his shoulders and his arms as he holds me, the warmth of his body, the way he dwarfs me.
I’m average, around five-foot-six, not all that thin, but it’s like I’m a toy in his arms. He eats me, his tongue lapping mine, before pulling back with rage and need etched on his stone-like face.