Ras’s lips quirk up. He taps against one of the bars, and the parrot hops over to peck his finger. Something soft bleeds into his expression. “He’s a little Casanova.”
“I have so many questions.” If I’d had to guess what kind of pet a guy like Ras would have, a parrot wouldn’t even make it in the top ten possibilities.
“I’m sure.” There’s that familiar sarcastic lilt to his voice.
“How long have you had him?”
“About three years. He was supposed to be a gift for Mari, but Dem categorically refused to let him live with them.” Ras jingles one of the toys. “I liked the little guy, and I didn’t feel like returning him. He’s an Amazon parrot. They live for fifty, sixty years, and they’re really smart.”
The parrot cocks his yellow head. “Fuck off!”
“And all you taught him is how to swear and compliment women?”
Ras looks down at me, a grin teasing at his lips. “The most critical skills, don’t you think?”
I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling.
Ras checks the watch on his wrist. “I’ve got to pack. Churro will keep you company. Someone’s picking him up in just a few minutes.”
He disappears inside a walk-in closet, and I refocus my attention on the parrot, playing with him for a few minutes by tapping on the cage and jingling his toys. He makes happy little squawks. When he hops down to the feeder and starts to peck at it, I let him eat in peace and resume my study of Ras’s room.
There’s something profoundly intimate about being in a man’s space.
Especially his bedroom.
Especially after I just had his fingers inside my mouth.
A shiver runs down my spine. I like being here, and I shouldn’t. The only man who’s bedroom I should want to be in is my fiancé’s.
God, what’s happening to me? I’m becoming entirely too interested in Ras.
The room smells like him. I walk over to a set of drawers and study the things scattered over the surface. There’s an ornate metal box that I peek inside—cigars—and a leather caddy with some of his jewelry. I put one of his rings on my finger, confirming that Ras’s ring size is nearly twice as large as mine.
I’m about to open a thin black notebook when I stop myself.
What am I doing?
I rub my palms over my arms, suddenly feeling awkward, and walk back out into the living room.
When my gaze lands on the half-empty cup of yogurt, my skin heats.
A sound pulls my attention to the front door just in time to see it open and a woman emerge.
I halt. “Hello?”
She notices me. She’s dressed in a tiny skirt and a bandeau top that reveals a toned tummy and tanned skin. Her blond hair drapes over her chest in full, luxurious curls, the kind that take ages to style.
I stiffen. Who is this?
The woman makes a quick assessment of me, and her red lips curl into a sharp smile. “Hi. Is Ras here? I’m here to pick up Churro.”
“Yeah. He’s in the bedroom.” I gesture at the door behind me.
“Oh, I know where that is. I’ve been here before.”
Irritation crawls up my spine that she felt the need to make sure I knew that. “Sorry, who are you?”
“Isabella,” she says, sauntering toward me, her hand outstretched. “And you must be the sick girl he has to take to New York.”
Is that how Ras described me? I give her a stiff smile. “That’s me.”
“You do look a little rough.” Her nose wrinkles. “It’s not contagious, is it?”
My grip turns crushing. “I guess you’ll know soon enough.”
She jerks her hand back, gives me a scowl, and disappears into the bedroom.
I hear Ras’s voice, deep and rumbling. They exchange greetings, and I try to tune them out, not wanting to intrude on their conversation. But then I hear her laugh, and I can’t help but peek around the corner to catch a glimpse of them.
She’s standing close to Ras, her hand on his chest, and I feel a pang of something unpleasant.
I tear my gaze away. It’s none of my business.
Still, I feel relieved when they appear in the living room only a few moments later, Ras carrying Churro in a smaller cage in one hand and a leather duffel bag in the other.
“Pretty girl! Pretty girl!” Churro squawks at Isabella.
My nose wrinkles. Traitor.
Ras looks at me. “Ready, Peaches?”
That nickname is so unexpected, it renders me momentarily mute. I blink at him. “Yes.”
“I’ll miss you,” Isabella croons, running her fingertips over his biceps. “You’ll let me know as soon as you’re back, right?”
Ras tears his amused gaze away from me and nods at her. “Of course. You know I hate leaving him behind.”
Her face falls. Clearly, that wasn’t the response she was hoping for, but she picks herself back up in a flash. “I’ll take good care of him.” She lifts herself on her tippy-toes and leans toward Ras’s ear. “And when you’re back, I’ll take good care of you too,” she whispers, loud enough for me to hear every word.
My cheeks burn. Are they hooking up?
He gives Isabella a terse smile and hands her Churro’s cage. “Thanks, Bella. Text if anything comes up.”
We make an awkward procession as we head toward the elevator together. Isabella switches to Spanish, whispering something to Ras on the ride down, while I wrack my brain for a good reason to be bothered by any of this.
There’s none.
I’m the one who’s engaged.
The scene in the kitchen suddenly gets colored in a completely different light.
I must be going crazy. What am I doing with him?
He says a quick goodbye to Isabella, and we get into the car.
“Are you okay?” Ras asks as he starts up the engine.
“You never said you have a girlfriend.”
“She’s just a friend.”
I give him a skittish glance and resolve not to probe any further. There’s no point. I can reasonably excuse the confusing events of the last seventy-two hours on being horribly ill. Once we’re in New York, I’m sure I’ll barely even see him.
CHAPTER 14
RAS
Damiano’s plane lands at an FBO in JFK at midnight.
Gemma’s asleep on my shoulder, her dark-brown, nearly black locks splayed over my dress shirt, and her scent in my nose. It usually takes more than that to turn me on, but here I am, sporting a hard-on for the last hour.
What happened in the kitchen might have something to do with it too.
I prop my elbow on the armrest and press my fist to my lips as I recall the memory in excruciating detail.
Fuck me.
Seeing that hot little mouth sucking on my finger was enough to make me forget myself. If it wasn’t for Churro, I’m certain we would have ended up with her splayed on the counter, my mouth between her legs, and my tongue buried deep inside her pussy.
Which would have been really fucking stupid.
But unfortunately, I have a history of doing very stupid things.
Especially when those things look like Gemma Garzolo.
A part of me thought that taking care of her while she’s sick would work the attraction out of me, but if anything, it’s made it stronger.
Those two days with her shook something inside of me. Made me see her in yet another light.