Chapter 26
Cece
Rafe's face was carved from stone, all hard angles and tension, so different from the man who'd held me last night that for a moment I wondered if I was looking at a stranger. Sweat darkened his t-shirt, and his hair was wild, nothing like his usual perfect composure. Whatever had happened since he’d left this morning had transformed him into something dangerous.
A predator ready to strike. My stomach immediately twisted into knots.
“Rafe, what's going on?” I glanced toward the door where parents were still gathering their children. “You look like someone died.”
His jaw worked back and forth, the muscle there jumping beneath his skin. His fingers tightened around mine, almost painful in their intensity. “Why didn't you tell me about the notes?”
The question sucked the air from the room. Yanking my hands from his grasp, I took an instinctive step backward. “How do you know about that?”
“Another one came this morning. After you left.” His voice was eerily controlled, so completely at odds with the wild look in his eyes. “A dead rose, Cecelia. Covered in what looked like blood.”
Ice slid down my spine. “It's not blood,” I said automatically. “It's paint. He's done that before.”
“He?” Rafe closed the distance I'd put between us. “So you know who's sending them?”
“No, I just…” I broke off, wrapping my arms around myself. “Did you read it? The note?”
His expression darkened further, if that was even possible. “How long has this been happening? And why the fuck didn't you tell me about it?”
The anger in his voice sparked my own. “Maybe because the last time someone left me a note at your place, you accused me of sleeping around? Remember that, Rafe? The way you assumed I was some lying cheat the moment something suspicious appeared?”
He visibly winced, that perfect jaw of his clenching tighter for a moment before his expression softened fractionally. “That was different.”
“Was it?” Refusing to back down, I held his gaze. “Because from where I'm standing, it feels a lot like you jumping to conclusions before hearing me out.”
“Cecelia.” The way he said my name told me he was restraining himself. “How long?”
Feeling weary, I sighed. “It started after I performed with my previous dance company.”
“And you didn't think this was something I should know?” The hurt beneath his anger surprised me. “That someone is obsessed enough with you to track our movements and leave threatening messages?”
“They haven't all been threatening,” I said, then immediately regretted it when his eyes narrowed dangerously.
“How many, Cecelia?”
“I don't know. A dozen? Maybe more. At first, they were just... admiring. Notes about my performances, flowers left at the stage door. Normal fan stuff.” I clenched and unclenched my fingers. “Then they started showing up at my apartment. Became more... possessive.”
“And you went to the police?”
“Of course I did.” I couldn't keep the bitterness out of my voice. “They said there wasn't much they could do. He hadn't actually done anything, hadn't made any explicit threats. There were no fingerprints, no way to prove who was sending them.”
Rafe raked a hand through his already disheveled hair. “Fucking shit, Cecelia.”
“It died down for a while,” I continued. “After I stopped performing professionally. I thought maybe he'd lost interest when I wasn't on stage anymore.”
“Until now.” Rafe's voice was flat.
“I didn't think it was a big deal,” I said, though the excuse sounded weak even to my ears. “I figured it was just...”
“Just what?” Rafe demanded. “Just someone who knows where we live, where you work, what we do? Just someone who watched us go into a private sex club together?”
My head snapped up at that. “He knows about the club? Was that in the note? The one that came today?”
Instead of answering, Rafe closed the distance between us in three long strides.
Before I could react, his arms were around me and he pulled me tight against his chest. The sudden warmth of him, the solid wall of muscle and the faint scent that expensive cologne he always wore, surrounded me completely.
One of his hands cradled the back of my head, the other wrapped around my waist, holding me as if he could physically shield me from whatever threat lurked outside.
“We'll figure this out,” he murmured against my hair. “But I'm calling Mac.”
“The detective?” I pulled back just enough to look up at him. “Rafe, the police already said—”
“Mac isn't like other cops.” The certainty in his voice left no room for argument. “In the meantime, you don't go anywhere alone. Not to teach, not to the grocery store, nowhere.”
I stiffened in his arms and pushed against his chest, creating space between us. “I'm not going to stop living my life because some creep doesn't understand boundaries.”
Rafe's eyes darkened. “Your stubbornness and independence can be incredibly sexy, Cecelia, but I need you to hear me on this.”
He moved to cup my face, thumbs brushing over my cheekbones with a gentleness that contrasted so sharply with the intensity radiating from him. “I can't let anything happen to you. Do you understand that? I can't.”
Something in his voice silenced the retort that had been forming on my lips. This wasn't just about control or protection. The naked fear in his eyes told a different story, one that made my heart constrict painfully in my chest.
“Okay,” I whispered, reaching up to cover one of his hands with my own. “I won't go anywhere alone.”
The relief that washed over his face was so incredibly profound. “Thank you.”
His mouth crashed to mine in a kiss that felt like drowning and being saved all at once.
Tongue sweeping inside, he claimed me with a desperation that set every nerve ending alight.
I responded instinctively, my body arching into his, hands clutching at his shoulders as if I might float away without his anchoring weight.
When we finally broke apart, both breathing hard, his forehead rested against mine. “Let me take you home.”
I nodded, suddenly exhausted by the whiplash of emotions that had crashed through me in the span of minutes. “Okay. But you need a shower first.” I wrinkled my nose, injecting a teasing note to break the tension. “You stink.”
A ghost of a smile touched his lips and that hint of dimple I'd grown addicted to made a brief appearance. “Brat.”
As we gathered my things and headed for the door, Rafe's hand found the small of my back, a warm, steady pressure that felt both protective and possessive.
The fear that had gripped me at the mention of the stalker was still there, a cold knot in my stomach, but now it was tempered by the knowledge that I wasn't facing this alone anymore.
For better or worse, Rafe and I were in this together. And something told me that whoever was watching me had no idea what they'd unleashed by threatening what Rafael de Luca considered his.