Page 38 of Just Trouble

That’s why I sent Rafe a text first thing, asking him to meet me for lunch. We were best friends in law school and articled together at the same firm. We definitely should have been rivals. Instead, we became really good friends. Rafe always tells me the truth, even if he knows it will hurt. He’s the one who told me about Justin cheating. (I didn’t believe him, but he didn’t let it go until I did.) He’s a friend who goes above and beyond, and I need a bit of that today.

I always called him ‘the pirate king.’ It was one of those jokes that stuck. (I also told him he could make a fortune posing for romance novel covers, but he didn’t find that as funny.) I watch him approach as I wait outside the restaurant he’s chosen and am reassured that I had it right.

Rafe Rossetti is a beautiful man, with his dark hair and dark eyes. He could have posed for a Renaissance sculptor, andtaught any one of them a bit about life’s fleeting pleasures. It’s obvious that success agrees with him—even in a bespoke Italian suit, a white shirt with French cuffs, shoes that undoubtedly have leather soles and a massive diamond solitaire in place of the gold earring that prompted my moniker, Rafe looks expensive, reckless and completely irresistible. He could be running guns for a dictator or defending hitmen. Who cares? He’s such serious male eye candy that women turn to stare after him in awe.

I can tell by the way his eyes are dancing that he loves every minute of it. He’s the adored baby boy of his family, the only son with four older sisters who doted upon him and a mom who thinks he hung the stars and the moon. Rafe has no lack of confidence, and yet, he’s a very sweet man.

It’s good to have some fixed variables in your world, and Rafe is one of mine.

“The glorious Daphne,” he purrs, seizing my hands then kissing my cheeks in turn. He smells really good and he winks at me, up close and personal, still bent over my hand, when I take a deep appreciative breath.

“Who is she?” I ask.

“On what evidence have you based this conclusion?”

“You changed colognes. I thought that would never happen.”

“Doesn’t matter. She’s gone but it’s not.” He spins me around outside the restaurant, making me laugh and women gawk. “Look at you! I love this suit on you. So chic. Why are you in town? Job interview?”

“Work.”

He lifts a brow.

“An errand.”

Rafe makes a skeptical sound. “With that bra? I don’t think so.”

I glance down. “You can’t see it.”

“Underwires.” He cups his hands and makes an appreciative growl. “The shape…Mmm.” He shakes his head. He’s having too much fun and I’m blushing to my toes. Apparently, Luke isn’t the only male with a fondness for lingerie. “I have it on good authority that you only tolerate underwires for special occasions.”

“Where did you hear such a scandalous rumor?”

“From you.” He guides me to the restaurant. The maître d’ is watching with a gleam of indulgence in his eyes that tells me Rafe is a regular.

“Maybe I changed my mind.”

“Mmm hmm.” He leans down to whisper in my ear. “Maybe you’re getting some.”

I laugh at him to deflect the question. “Jealous?”

“How could I not be?”

“That must be because you aren’t getting any.”

He raises a hand to his heart as if I’ve dealt a fatal blow, and the maître d’ guides us to a table. It’s a corner table near the front, as if we’re being displayed to prospective diners, and I smile because we probably are.

“Damn, we look good together,” Rafe says playfully. “Think of the beautiful babies we’d have.”

“We?” I demand, just as I always do. “You stop by for the fun part then I get all the work? Thanks, but no.”

He winks. “I’d be diligent about the fun part.”

“It can’t possibly make up for the next twenty-some years.”

He pretends to pout. “I keep hoping you’ll change your mind.”

“No, you don’t. I’d make you change the diapers in the middle of the night. You want someone you can wrap around your finger.”

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