Chapter 22
Don murmured, “You’re okay, I’ve got you, you’re fine,” and then had to laugh. “I thought, that first time you showed up in jeans, that those boots looked like something you’d wear to a sex club…”
“Sometimes they are.” Raine’s expression was beautiful: uncertain but hopeful, broken open, revealed; and Don did not know how anyone, himself included, had ever thought Raine could be cold and sharp and brittle, when everything in the world lay bare and pleading and vulnerable just beneath the surface. “I thought you hated those jeans.”
“Wow. No. The opposite.”
“Really?”
“Would’ve dragged you into my office and ravished you on my desk, if I’d thought you’d be into it.” He stroked his thumb over Raine’s cheek, learning the smoothness, the warmth, the feel of his Cupid’s skin. “I’ve wanted you since…I don’t even know. The first day you walked in and looked at everything on the menu and said, can I just have coffee, please, ifyou can handle that—”