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Excerpt: Touch Me

Book 2.5: Underbelly Chronicles

“There he is.” Sasha slowed to a stop. “Hey, Ugly.”

She rolled her eyes. Even his sister had to realize that Rafe Sebastiani was a gorgeous specimen of manhood. She'd lost count of how many orgasms she’d had with his face in her mind, his imaginary hands on her body, his phantom tongue—

“Hello.” Rafe bent down to kiss Sasha's cheek, and after a slight hesitation, kissed hers, too.

Her eyelids drifted to half-mast. His body smelled spicy and exotic, like Bedouins striding over desert dunes.

“So, what kind of trouble are you two getting into tonight?”

His low voice dragged over her skin like suede. She couldn't stop her reflexive shiver.

As he and Sasha talked, she unabashedly stared. Rafe wasn't built on Lukas-sized lines, but he wasn’t a small man by any means. Tall, lean, and perfectly proportioned, one didn't realize his true size until you stood right next to him. Skimming up his black-clad, narrow-hipped frame, she stared at his hair, at the outrageous, wheat-colored waves tumbling to his broad shoulders. The style should have looked feminine, absurd, but it most emphatically did not. If anything, the soft hair emphasized his sturdy jaw, strong cheekbones, and slashing eyebrows.

Hell, he made her hormones do the tango even without an assist from the second-hand pheromones flooding the room. He was really too attractive for his own good—or for hers. The sex demon and the preacher’s kid? Yeah, right. It would make an excellent pitch for a wacky TV comedy, but in real life? Yeah, right—


She jumped at the unexpected sound of his voice.

“Are you okay? You look a little flushed.”

She slapped her hands to her burning cheeks, remembering what Jack had revealed about their abilities. He could probably smell her feeble, pitiful yearning. “Sasha, can you—”

“She's gone.”

She glanced to the place where Sasha had just been standing. “Damn it.” Sasha had disappeared, leaving her alone with her delicious sex demon brother.

Bending down, he brought his mouth closer to her ear. When his hair swished over her bare arm, she almost swooned. “Sorry, I couldn't hear you,” he said. “What did you say?”

Even his breath smelled fabulous—not overly minty, just fresh and clean. “Nothing.” She swatted at her earpiece. The voices swarmed in her head like pesky mosquitoes. “Too many—”

“Where's your receiver?”

“Front pocket.”

“Lukas?” Rafe spoke into his own headset. “Bailey and I are going offline for a bit.” After turning off his own receiver, his long, clever fingers dipped into her front pocket, found her receiver, and flicked it off.

Flicked, too close to her—

The orgasm slammed into her like a rogue wave, heaving her up, holding her suspended, and tossing her willy-nilly over the edge. As she tumbled, strong arms reached for her, plucked her from the whitewater froth, holding her steady while time eddied and swirled.

A nearby howl brought her back to the here and now. Blinking owlishly, she locked her wobbly knees and tried to focus. All she could see was a sea of black—Rafe's tailored shirt. Oh my God. Utterly mortified, she dropped her forehead to the soft cotton, trying to hide her face.


His soft murmur skittered straight to her core. “I'm…so sorry.” He was a sex demon; there was no way he hadn't noticed that his painfully platonic touch had triggered the most rocking orgasm she'd had in years. God, she must reek of desperation. Sweeping up the scattered shards of her courage, she gave a wry, self-deprecating chuckle. “Well, that was certainly embarrassing—”


His low, rumbly voice made her stomach leap. Lifting her head from his chest, she saw his clenched jaw, carved cheekbones, and the elegant flare of his nostrils as he inhaled. His tawny, gold-flecked eyes glittered as his long fingers flexed against the curve of her hips.

Subtle as the movement was, she followed its momentum, brushing their hips together. Her breath snagged in her throat.

He was rampantly, outrageously erect.

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