Page 27 of The Senator: Raphael

“I have a rule too,” she says firmly.

“Shoot.”

“No funny business. I’m not the kind of woman who’s okay with a man making a fool of her by cheating or publicly humiliating her. I will give you my complete loyalty, and I demand the same. You fuck up, I’m gone.” Her resolution burns in her eyes.

“Absolutely. You have my word on that.”

“Good. That means escorts too.”

She knows about Jenny. She probably saw me at the nightclub with her. I can’t tell her what is happening, not without messing everything up. “Okay,” is the only thing I can say.

“Good.” She assesses me for a long moment, then turns around and walks out of the office.

I follow her into the mess of the living room.

“I can’t deal with this right now.” She sighs looking at the boxes.

I approach her from behind and hug her shoulders. She stiffens a bit when I lower my chin and whisper in her ear. I inhale deeply and take in the strawberry and mango scent that is so her.

“The movers are still out back, packing their things. They’re looking through the window,” I explain before she freaks out.

She turns around, putting her hands on my shoulders and smiling at me adoringly. If I didn’t know this is all pretend, I’d believe she has feelings for me. Damn, she’s good. I envelope her waist and hold her against my chest. Her soft curves mold perfectly in my arms.

“Should we practice that kissing?” she asks, surprising me.

“We should,” I whisper when she tiptoes and brushes her nose with mine.

She pecks my lips, once, twice, tentatively. Then she presses her lips firmly on mine and I open for her. Her tongue strokes mine in a sensual way. We may be pretending for the sake of the movers, but it’s no less pleasant than a real kiss. I like it. I like the rhythm we have, her sweet taste, her fingers trailing up until she buries them into my hair.

It surprises me. Damn, this is a good kiss.

A fantastic one.

Damn.

Damn.

That kiss was—wow! It’s been half an hour since our lips parted and mine are still tingling. And the way he hugged my waist—like I’m his and nobody better take me from him?— that was some serious touch-her-and-you-die energy. If this is Raphael pretending, I envy the woman who has a real relationship with him.

“And this is our bedroom,” he says, opening the door to what looks like a master bedroom.

Like the rest of the house, this room is colorful, with salmon walls, reddish wood furniture and a king-size bed against the wall on the right.

“What do you mean,our?” I ask.

“We’ll share the master bedroom,” he explains like it’s the most obvious thing ever.

“No way! You said no sex!” I hiss.

He turns around and closes the door behind us smiling. “And I meant it, but we have to share this room.”

“Why? You have a gazillion bedrooms in this mansion!” It’s already strange living with a man who’s not my husband. But sharing the bed too?

He sits down on the bed and folds his hand on his lap. He’s so calm about it all it freaks me out.

“I have staff that clean my bedroom and make the bed every morning. They’d notice if you slept in a guest room. Think about it, wouldn’t be weird if two people in love don’t spend the night together?”

I can’t argue with his logic. But still. “Well, maybe you snore and I’m a light sleeper,” I mumble, but it’s not convincing.

---