Page 39 of The Princess and the Paparazzi
“Try it with a Marcona almond,” Rafe says, scooping another slightly larger chunk and spooning more honey. He places a nut on top and holds it out for me. The honey is dripping down the sides of his fingers, and when I hesitate before taking it, he says, “Sorry, I’m making a mess. May I?” He raises the bundle toward my lips, as if he means to feed it to me.
When Titanium Man is offering to hand-feed you mouthwatering snacks, you don’t question it. You just go with it. Quick, before you wake up.
Obediently, I part my lips, and Rafe pops it in, catching a drip of honey with one long and slightly sticky finger that lingers on my lower lip for a delicious moment longer than it needs to. Long enough to have me crossing and uncrossing my legs.I want to lick the honey off his fingers.
Rafe licks off the honey, then wipes his hands off on his napkin and resumes eating, like nothing happened.
“How do you know about the cheese?” he asks.
“There are local orgs for the restaurateurs. My uncles’ diner may be less fancy, but we source our supplies from a lot of the same places. It’s kind of cool seeing how they present things here. I’ve never eaten here or been to the spa.”
Or any spa. Not that he needs to know.
Rafe gives me a curious look.
“You know what?” I say, gazing over at the bubbling tub. “I think I’m ready to go in that thing.” I push back from the table.
“Okay.” Rafe drains his wineglass, stands up, and says, “Let’s do it!”
“You don’t have to doeverythingI do,Doug,” I say.
“Oh, but I do,Morticia. I can’t leave you alone for a minute.” His eyes are dancing mischievously.
“What do you think is going to happen? We’re the only ones here,” I say, rolling my eyes.
“I’d rather not let you out of my sight.” Rafe is staring at my robe, which is still tightly closed.
I lean forward, feeling bold. “Rafe, what if I’m not wearing anything under this robe?”
“All the more reason not to let you go in the hot tub alone,” he deadpans. “Can I help you with that?” He reaches out and tugs the sash gently between two fingers.
Our eyes lock, and he raises his eyebrows at me, then shrugs semi-apologetically. “Last one in’s a rotten Zin.” He drops the sash and throws off his own robe.
For a hot second, I hold my breath, hovering between hope and fear about what I’ll see when the fabric falls.
Board shorts. Dammit.
He lowers himself into the steaming, oak barrel-style hot tub and groans in delight. “Get in here, Morty,” he calls out. “It’s practically a religious experience.”
“I know nothing about your religion, Doug.”
“Come on. I’m closing my eyes. I’m like a blind man. Don’t leave me in here alone.” He closes his eyes and makes splashing motions, as if he’s feeling for me. “Is that you, Morty?”
“Fine,” I say, undoing the sash.
“Marco!” he calls out, still splashing and flailing with his eyes closed.
“Polo,” I say. I drop the robe on the railing by the tub’s deck and slide into the water opposite him.
Rafe opens one eye.
“Are you peeking?” I ask him.
“Busted,” he grins. “I had to see if it was safe.”
“And?” I ask.
“The jury is still out on that.”
