“We had cookies,” Rosalie announces. “I want another cookie for my brother.”
“You had cookies right before bedtime?” Mateo asks, cutting a look at Rafe.
Rafe shrugs. “You get what you get when you make a bachelor babysit. You’re lucky I didn’t pour some cognac into a bottle and give her that.”
Rosalie looks up at him and scowls. “I don’t drink bottles! I not a baby!”
“Yeah,” Mateo agrees. “She drinks her cognac from a sippy cup. Jesus, Rafe, you don’t know anything about kids.”
“We drinked tea,” she tells me more calmly, sticking her pinky out to illustrate.
“Where was Ju when this alleged kidnapping took place?” Mateo asks.
“She was an accomplice. Watched it happen, didn’t lift a finger to help.” Rafe shakes his head, apparently disappointed in the wonton women we allow at Morelli mansion these days.
“In fairness, she probably figured you could handle yourself against a three-year-old,” Mateo points out.
“I never can either,” I tell Rafe, to make him feel better.
Strangely enough, it doesn’t seem to.
“Soft Minnie had tea, too,” Rosalie adds. “I should’ve bringed soft Minnie for my brother to play with.”
Rafe shakes his head. “I need to get out of these domestic crosshairs and go back home.” On that note, his gaze drifts to Mateo. “Can we step out for a minute?”
“Actually, Mia, why don’t you do the bedtime story tonight and I’ll stay in here and talk to Rafe,” Mateo suggests.
I look at Roman on the bed, his little eyes darting around, taking in all the new sights. “You want me to leave him here?”
“Sure.”
“But… he could fall off the bed.”
Mateo rolls his eyes. “He won’t fall off the bed.”
“It would be like falling off a mountain. He’s so tiny.”
Sighing heavily, he comes over and scoops up the newborn, cradling him against his chest. “Better?”
I sigh dreamily, taking in the sight. “So much better.”
Chapter Fifteen
Meg
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Rafe pauses just long enough for my heart to pound out a few beats, then finishes unbuttoning his black dress shirt. My gaze bounces from the tanned, muscular chest he’s uncovering to his face; I’m not sure where to focus my attention. “What the hell does it look like I’m doing?” he asks.
My eyes couldn’t be wider. “Taking your clothes off?”
“Ding, ding, ding. Someone get this woman a prize.” He shucks his shirt and approaches the dresser. He does it calmly, as if it’s part of a nightly routine. The room is dark since I was asleep before Rafe slipped inside. Now I can’t help staring at his bare back as he stands in front of the dresser. I think he’s taking his gun apart or something. I’m not sure what he’s doing, I’m just sure of his impressive biceps and the slight movement of his back muscles as he tinkers. Damn, the Vegas Morelli has back muscles for days.
Are the pants coming off next? I’m torn between wanting to see the muscular ass that likely matches the rest of his impressive physique, and definitely not wanting to see it. I could’ve tapped that ass a few months ago and I didn’t. My brain is confident in that decision, but my eyeballs are beginning to have doubts. “I reiterate, what the fuck are you doing?”
He turns around now, smiling slowly, enjoying my alarm as he leisurely unbuckles his belt, yanks it off, and drags the leather strap across his open palm. “See this? It’s a belt. I just took it off.”
My gaze follows the belt’s journey and I’m suddenly acutely aware of how long it’s been since I’ve had sex. Dammit. Caressing a belt shouldn’t even be sexy.
“I hate you,” I tell him, yanking the blanket up and tugging it around me. “I hate you so much. Get out of my room.”
He deposits the belt on the dresser with his gun and ignores me. At least he doesn’t take his pants off, though. He’s still wearing black dress pants. Instead of stripping those off in front of me, he opens one of the dresser drawers and pulls out what appears to be a pair of pajama pants.
“I’m really confused about what’s happening right now,” I state, just so we’re all on the same page.
“I’m going to take these in the bathroom and put them on, so as not to offend your apparently delicate sensibilities,” Rafe states. Then, waving a hand toward the ceiling, he adds, “And because, if I’m being honest, I don’t want to give Mateo a show.”
He holds my gaze on that remark, reminding me subtly that there are cameras in this room. That grounds me. I’m actually glad he said that; for a moment, I was so completely thrown off by the casual way he was undressing in front of me, I did sort of forget. They put me in a guest room tonight, not the bedroom I was in before, and I hadn’t even thought about the cameras.