Emma St. Clair

Never run before dessert. When—if—I’m queen, perhaps I’ll make this my motto.

“I don’t want a chase. No games,” I tell Rafe’s shoulder, blinking back my tears. “I want to be adored. Cherished. I want someone I can trust. I want a chance at love, even if it has to grow from friendship or from duty first. I’ve always wanted Callum. But it’s time to admit that he doesn’t want me back.”

“If you were mine”—Rafe’s arms tighten around me—“I would treasure you. I would adore you. I would cherish you the way you deserve.”

I shake my head and attempt a small smile. “Who is this serious, responsible guy, and what did he do with the playboy devil?”

Rafe’s grin is slow, and it makes my stomach flip. “Aw, Angel. Did you make the mistake of typecasting me into just one role? You should know I can play many parts.”

“I guess I’m starting to see you in a new way. I’m not sure who you are.”

Rafe leans closer, and for just this moment, his breath on my cheek makes me forget all about my pain, my undergarments, and Callum.

“I’ll be anyone you want me to be, Angel.”