Page 14 of The Devil’s Feather

I forced myself not to drift away at his touch. “Ever since college, yeah. I need to redo it.”

“What color is next?”

Curiosity overtook me. “You have an artist’s eye. What do you suggest?” Most men had a weird aversion to unnatural colors, but Rafael had taken offense to being ‘most men’. If he said something like brunette or blonde, I’d be disappointed.

He plucked at the strap of my dress. “This blue is lovely on you. Perhaps that or a royal purple? Do not go blonde.”

Huh. “Bad breakup with a blonde?”

A shadow crossed his face. “I have a negative association with a woman with dark roots and bleached hair.”

“If you were anyone else, I’d tell you to fuck off for issuing a command instead of making a suggestion. But I appreciate your honesty.” I shouldn’t have given him a pass for controlling behavior, but I was too fascinated. And maybe a little stupid thanks to his arms around me.

Rafael frowned. “Hmm, yes. Allow me to pay for your next hair color as an apology.”

“No, vivids are too expensive! It might be $600 or more. I’ve just been doing it myself.” I hadn’t paid for a pro color session in years because the price kept skyrocketing. My poor hair was a little fried thanks to my home brews.

“Would you have it professionally colored if money were no object?” Rafael challenged.

“Well, yes…”

His brows lofted. “‘Money-money’, you said. Let me treat you. Please. To assuage my honor.”

Damn, he’d cornered me.

“Ok fine! I’ll go with blue and purple, in that case. Sometimes right after I dye it fresh, I forget how bright my hair is and wonder why people are staring at me.”

Rafael huffed in amusement. “Perhaps they stare because you are beautiful, and the hair color serves as a banner announcement.”

I sputtered, gazing into his piercing eyes. He did not blink. His hands hadn’t drifted anywhere inappropriate, and he hadn’t tested my physical boundaries at all. Was it respect or something else? Sad that my experience with men had trained me to think that way.

There were a few little cues though—his attention to certain things and that comment about intimidating straight men. Enough to ping my pattern recognition.

“You really aren’t like most guys.” I chewed my lip. “I kinda wondered if you might be gay.” Fuck, I did not mean to say that out loud.

A nervous grin split Rafael’s face. “Somewhat right, you could say. I am bisexual.”

Relief washed over me. “Oh, that’s wonderful! No wonder you have nice hair and clothes and a cool house.” Goddammit, how many times was my foot going to shove its way into my mouth? I’d be giving myself pedicures with my tongue at this rate. No, ugh, that was an awful mental image.

But he laughed. The sound reverberated in my ribcage; scratching an itch deep in my brain. I wanted to smash myself against him and beg for more.

“That might be the best response to my sexuality I have ever received.”

“Sorry, just thought I’d add an extra layer of awkward. Really though, I’m relieved you’re not a straight man.”

“So am I. Can you imagine all the terrible songs I would write about cheating because I am just a stupid, weak man, so please, baby, take me back?” He made a gagging noise. “Not that bi people cannot also be cheating dirtbags, but at least we have flair.”

I lost it. I laughed so hard my stomach cramped and the tears came back. Rafael laughed too; a rumble in his chest that made my nerves tingle.

“Stop, you’re gonna make me fall in love with you.” I wiped my face with the back of my hand. God, I’d always been weak for a funny asshole, and he’d perfected the art.

Rafael cupped my chin, and my breath froze in my throat. His already-sharp gaze intensified, nearly glowing.

“If I ask to kiss you, will that strengthen my chances or worsen them?”

I whimpered like a fucking idiot and tangled my hands in his hair. “Strengthen, definitely.”

He brushed my lips with his thumb, and I shivered. Cradling the back of my head, Rafael leaned in. His mouth was unyielding at first. Accustomed to scowling, it was not a generous mouth, nor was it given to ease or softness.