Page 41 of Give & Take

I’m half horrified, half delighted. I watch this exchange like a train wreck happening before my eyes.

Daniel, for his part, sputters, bringing me back to my senses.

“Okay,” I say, giving my head a shake. I step between them, my back to Daniel.

I press my hands to Raphael’s chest. “Enough.”

But Raphael only looks down, to where my fingers are splayed on his chest. I follow, as for a brief, terrible moment, I’m distracted by the heat under his worn t-shirt. By the way, when I look back up at him, I see he’s tipped his chin to look down at me, his eyes stormy. He’s really truly affronted. On my behalf.

His look asks questions as clearly as his mouth would.Are you okay? Should I toss him down the stairs? Or keep tying him up in word salad and making him look like more of an idiot? Because that would be easy, too.

I drop my eyes, because looking at those eyes is making my insides jittery and hot. But I didn’t look far enough, because in the faint light from the streetlamp, I see his skin pulsing at his throat. And out of nowhere, I have the strangest, clearest urge.

I want to know what that part of him feels like under my touch.

Maybe under my lips.

I want to inhale his scent up close and?—

Horrified, I give his chest a shove. “Go home,” I say, my words tight.

Raphael’s jaw is tight. “I’ll go when I know he’s gone.”

“No.” The word is hard. Final. “Now.”

Raphael crosses his arms over his chest, the punctuation to his sentence. His eyes burn as he stares at Daniel. He does a fake step forward and Daniel flinches.

“Oh my God,” Ibreathe.

But when Raph looks back at me, the anger that’s been fueling me releases, hissing out like a pressure valve. Raphael’s hearing me loud and clear. He wants to do what I’m asking, but he’s fighting some kind of inner battle. Over Daniel. He looks at the older man again.

But I reach up and gently take hold of Raphael’s chin, turning his face back down toward me. His stubble is sandpaper under my fingers. And goddammit, if even that touch doesn’t make my insides feel like butter sliding off a warm knife.

I swallow. Then I meet his eyes.

“Go.” I say, my voice softer now.

Raphael’s throat bobs. But his eyes on me linger, and I’m certain now that I’m right about the silent conversation passing between us.

I won’t.

You will.

I won’t.

Yes, you will. For me.

Finally he lets out a puff of air. Then he shoves his hands in his pockets and storms down the steps, rounding the path toward the garage, out of sight.

It feels like a whole minute passes before Daniel speaks, reminding me he’s still here.

“Who the hell is that, Lana?”

“The babysitter.”

“Really? You hired the local punk to look after your kids?”

Now my ire isn’t reserved solely for Raphael. I pin it on Daniel. “He’s not a punk. And yes, I did.”

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