Page 7 of Falling for Raine

Graham nodded. “Very good.”

2

RAINE

Iclimbed into the SUV and greeted the driver as I buckled my seat belt and settled against the lush leather upholstery.

“I appreciate this. You wouldn’t believe how much the rideshare apps are charging,” I stated awkwardly.

“Highway robbery, I’m sure.”

“Yeah.” I shifted to face him, wondering how to continue. “Um, hey…I’m sorry about earlier. I’m not in the habit of throwing myself at strangers.”

He raised a hand and cast a sharp look my way. “Don’t apologize. It’s not you. It’s me.”

“That’s a breakup line. Are we breaking up?” I snarked, hoping to add a note of levity.

Graham chuckled. “That would be a shame.”

“Damn right. I’m a catch.” I wrinkled my nose, holding my hand up like a stop sign. “That was a joke. Obviously.”

“I’m sure it’s true. I don’t know you, but I can tell you’re a good person.” He paused a beat. “Too good for me.”

Color me intrigued all over again.

“You’re bad?”

“Very,” he assured me with a solemn nod.

“On a scale from one to ten, how bad are you? One to three forgets to pay parking tickets. Four to six is a scrub…lives with his parents, never has a dime to his name. Seven and eight is a shark…one of those Wall Street money-grubbers who works sixteen-hour days and constantly brags about his extravagant lifestyle with his fancy cars, houses he never visits, and vacations he doesn’t appreciate. He never even stops to pet a dog.Ugh.Or…are you a nine or ten? They’re villainous creepers, felons, and abusers. The worst of the worst.”

Okay, I was a mouse poking a lion. Graham’s features were impassive, and that spark of humor had been replaced with something measured and unyielding. Talk about mixed signals. He’d bought me drinks, chatted for over an hour, and offered me a ride to my hotel…all nice things. However, I suddenly wondered if he reallywasdangerous. I didn’t think he was a nine or ten on my bad-boy scale, but what did I know?

Fuck, I should have stayed in, FaceTimed my mom, double-checked my travel itinerary, and indulged in room service. But no…I’d gone with the impetuous option and ended up with a hot guy who praised me for being “nice” before hitting me with the world’s worst breakup line.

I stared out the window, unseeing, feeling small, impotent, and more aware than ever that I was completely alone again. I had no home, no car, no savings. Just a stubborn hope that a move halfway across the globe would turn my life around.

Not exactly off to a winning start.

A rumbled chuckle yanked me from my reverie. “You’re daft. Or perhaps I am.”

“I’m not daft, I’m cool,” I hissed, sounding incredibly uncool to my own ears. “What the hell does daft even mean?”

He laughed aloud now, his eyes twinkling merrily in between the flashes of bright lights as we neared the Strip. “It doesn’t matter. You’re?—”

“Don’t say nice. I’m tired of being nice,” I intercepted.

“I was going to say lovely.”

“Wow, that’s equally sucky. No one wants to be nice or lovely in Vegas.”

“What doyouwant?” Graham asked, his voice laced with easy humor.

“Your dick,” I snapped.

He sobered immediately.

“Is that so?” he purred in the dark.