Chapter 6 #2
“See something you like?” he taunted.
She blinked, caught. Dammit.
“I was considering the size differential.” To make it believable, she tilted her head, as if assessing him clinically. “Physics has concerns.”
His tongue pressed briefly to the inside of his cheek. “You already know you can take my weight, little Bea. You’ve done it before.”
Oh. No. He. Did. Not.
“Lots of times,” he added softly, as if she needed reminding.
If her face got any hotter, she was filing for diplomatic asylum. She smacked his chest and turned around. “Just get on.”
Laurent pulled his body lithely out of the water. “As the Maid of Honor is tragically absent, I will be officiating,” he announced. “On my count. Three.”
Bea adjusted her stance, planting her feet. Rafael settled his weight, forearms braced against her shoulders.
“Don’t rush,” he murmured. “Short steps.”
She snorted. “Because I can’t take tall ones?”
“Two.”
Naomi bounced once, nearly dumping Charles into the water. “Stop laughing!”
“I can’t,” he cackled. “This is how I die.”
“One.”
“Go!”
The pool erupted.
Isabel took off like she’d been training her whole life for this. Max, who Bea had always thought was the most buttoned-up man alive, let out a roar as though they were charging into battle.
Georgie ploughed forward while Hunter shouted instructions she ignored completely.
Bea pushed forward, legs already burning after a dozen steps. Even buoyed by the water, Rafael felt like a bag of bricks. He kept himself centered, redistributing his weight whenever she needed it without being told. Only Lillian and Cassian trailed behind them.
“You’re doing great,” Rafael complimented, far too relaxed and not at all winded.
“Do not patronize me while I am drowning for sport,” she gritted out.
They reached the turn. Bea pivoted, misjudged the depth by half a step, and her foot slipped backward. She windmilled.
Rafael reacted instantly, feet dropping and arms locking around her to steady her. His hand caught higher than it should have, and took hold of a whole breast.
She gasped, body jerking at the shock of it, fingers flying to the hewn planes of his forearm.
“Sorry, baby,” he murmured. She felt a brief, unmistakable squeeze before he let go. Then, into her ear, “Sorry I didn’t get one in each hand.”
Bea nearly choked on the rush of heat that surged through her. She made a sound that was slight indignation, mostly laughter.
Lillian and Cassian passed them.
Ahead, Georgina wiped out in spectacular fashion, Hunter vanishing beneath the surface, curses muffled by the water.
“We can still beat Georgie,” Bea called back, determination ripping through her. Also spite from that earlier ‘travel-sized’ dig. Definitely spite. “Get on.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Bea hauled them even, chest heaving, triumphant for exactly three seconds. She flashed Georgie a grin. Georgie answered with one back—then powered ahead as if she had access to another gear.
So this was what happened when two years of Pilates met a lifetime of it.
They hit the wall in a tangle of splashes and elbows. The pairs already there whooped as Lillian followed closely with Cassian, whose hair hadn’t even gotten damp.
Bea tipped her head back, lungs burning, cheeks stretched into a wide grin. Rafael came round to face her.
“We lost,” she said.
“Did we?” he asked, rubbing a water droplet gently from her eyelashes. “It felt like winning.”
Plates sat where they’d been left, wineglasses half full, catching the low light. Conversation had unraveled into soft laughter and incomplete thoughts, the kind that only surfaced once the week was officially over.
Charles stood first, fingers sliding into Naomi’s palm. “Excuse us, friends. My wife is tired from all the exercise.”
“What? No I’m—” Naomi began, but he said something low against her ear, and her protest died on her lips. She went still for half a second, then her mouth curved. “Actually, yes. Bedtime. Breakfast will be in the dining room. The staff will make you whatever you want.”
That was the cue. Chairs scraped back. Everyone peeled off in assorted directions, some toward doors, others out onto the terrace with refilled drinks.
Bea stalled. She collected glasses that didn’t need collecting. Stacked napkins. Anything to delay the moment where she would have to choose what this night meant. When she finally turned around, Rafael was there, as if waiting for her had never been in question.
They walked upstairs together. The house was quieter now, their footsteps softened by the carpet.
Bea was aware of him in a way that felt almost too sharp to bear.
The warmth of his arm when their sleeves brushed.
The fact that this was the first night in what felt like eternity that they’d be sharing a bed.
Their door closed.
“You can use the ensuite first,” Rafael said, neutral.
“Thank you,” Bea said a little formally. She dug her clothes out of her bag and shut the bathroom door behind her.
She moved quickly. Brush. Cleanse. Moisturize. Familiar rituals. Then the pink button-up sleep shirt. The one he liked…to unbutton. The one she pretended she hadn’t chosen on purpose, knowing there was at least some chance they’d be sharing a room.
She peered at herself in the mirror, not to check her appearance. Checking whether she was ready to mean this.
Her hand rested on the handle. Walking out meant wanting him again. Letting him close. Letting herself soften without all the answers yet.
She opened the door.
Rafael was sitting at the edge of the bed, wearing a white t-shirt and grey shorts that rode low on his hips. He looked up. No smile, no words, only a slow exhale, as if seeing her knocked the breath from his lungs. His Adam’s apple bobbed.
“Come here, little Bea,” he said, soft as a prayer.
She crossed to him slowly, pulse hammering in places she didn’t want to name. Every step tightened the thrill that was coiled in her belly.
When she was in front of him, he lifted his hands and let them drift down her arms, along the curve of her waist, down past her hips, as though her body were braille and endlessly worth rereading.
She’d missed the way he touched her. Reverent, like she was something precious. Bea pretended to smooth her hair. “Brush your teeth. We should get to bed.”
He nodded without seeming to hear her. Let her go slowly. Only after the door shut behind him did she remember how to breathe.
Bea climbed into bed, nerves still humming beneath her skin. She could still feel where he’d traced her. It wasn’t rest that waited for her, it was desire, unresolved.
Rafael came back minutes later, climbing in behind her. The gap he left was intentional, so obvious it bordered on mocking. It didn’t last.
His arm slid around her waist, strong and sure, and drew her back until she fit where she always had—spine to chest, knees bent.
And then she felt…him. A thick line of pressure against her, so tantalizingly close to where she’d been empty for weeks.
“Rafael,” she said softly. Not alarmed, but not prepared, either.
“Ignore it.”
Bea shifted. Not fully intentional—but not innocent either. Her body was making the decisions. The movement dragged her along him, and he responded. A twitch that made her throat go dry.
His grip locked hard. “No, baby,” he rasped. “Don’t move. I can’t—just stay still.”
The command was hoarse. She obeyed because it wasn’t just him who was close to breaking.
“I want you,” he said, every word ground out. “I’d have to be dead not to. But we agreed no sex until I’m your husband. So tonight I’m just going to hold you.”
Her heart was slamming against her ribs. He was keeping his word, even now.
“I’ve missed this,” she whispered. It sounded like a confession, because it was.
“Me, too.”
When sleep finally took her, it was with his arousal still heavy against her, arms spooning her fully, legs twined with her own.