Page 33 of Give & Take

His own children. Babysitting.

I shake my head to clear Mike from my mind.

Raphael frowns.

“It’s fine,” I say quickly. “I’m on my break. Thank you for checking. I just…wanted to talk to you. About us. I mean, the job.”

I’ve already made things awkward the way I’ve announced this. It feels worse just standing here next to him, like I’m his server. So I slide into the chair next to him. Only these stupid bar chairs are much too close, and in order to face him, my knees brush against his.

A skittering of electricity dances up my thighs. “Shoot,” I say.

Raphael’s mouth curves up, his eyes twinkling again. He’s caught my nervousness, and it’s like heknowshe has the upper hand again. “Shoot?”

“Yes, shoot,” I say, trying to shift away from him. “It’s just…this was a bad place to sit.”

“I don’t agree,” he says.

A frisson of nerves scatter up my belly at that. Too late, I realize the skin of both of our legs are bare—I’m wearing a skirt, the hem resting above my knees, and him khaki shorts. I try to angle my knees even further away, but that makes my body twist so I’m facing the bar. I overcompensate and twist back, panicking slightly as our knees brush yet again.

Before I can do anything about it though, Raphael lowers both hands on either one of my knees. The shock of his touch is so intense, the heat of his hands practically melting the bones from my body, I turn mute as he guides my swivel stool back toward him. “Here,” he says. “Let’s do this.”

My breath catches. I have no idea why I don’t resist as Raphael’s hands are suddenly wrapped around my knees. The heat of his skin against mine is electric; nearly unbearable. But even that isn’t as intense as his thumbs, grazing the sensitive skin of my inner thighs as he gentlyparts my legs, causing my skirt to shift just a slight inch farther up my thigh. It’s hardly anything, but my heart rate ratchets up to double time like he’s sliding my skirt up on purpose. But just as I feel like I have to interrupt this volatile, liquid heat rolling through me, Raphael drops his knee between mine. We’re interlocked, but not touching.

At least not our legs.

His hands still rest on my thighs, burning holes through me.

I think, randomly, of the dildo that sat on those thighs only a few minutes ago.

“Good?” he asks.

I’m sure that when I respond it’ll come out as a strangled, breathy sound.

But I manage to say “Fine.” As if yes, this is totally fine, when no, this is very Not Good. Thinking of the sex toy—and now the closeness of Raphael here—this position feels as intimate as if I were sitting on his lap.

I breathe, trying to control the intense heat I’m sure is rippling off of me. My body reacts to his in a way I’m so unprepared for it makes it hard to breathe, let alone talk.

I should be used to it by now. I should remember how wrong that reaction is. Instead, my insides kind of bottom out with this level of proximity.

Raphael must notice how tongue tied and not fine I’ve become, because he removes his hands from my legs.

While this is a much better development, my traitorous hormones scream inside of me, protesting this non-touching state.

At least I can breathe. I focus myself by staring at his hands as he rests them on his own thighs.

He has such beautiful hands.

And now I’m staring.

I close my eyes, breathing hard through my nostrils.Fucking focus, Lana!

That helps. When I open my eyes again, Raphael’s brow is furrowed. I can’t tell if he’s amused by me or just confused because I’ve turned into a blubbering pile of cells.

It still takes me a moment to find my voice. “Okay!” I exclaim. “Good.”

Great. Very sensical, Lana.

Raphael smiles then, which only makes me more flustered. He leans back, his hand resting on his knee, his thumb inches from the bare skin of my thigh once more, setting off a warning alarm in my head. His other arm rests along the bar. He doesn’t seem to notice or be bothered in the least by any of what’s going on here.

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