Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
The sensor over the door chimed as they stepped into the warmth of Shin Mart.
Bea inhaled luxuriantly. Sesame oil, soy sauce, fishcakes. Memories.
“You’re smiling.”
“Obviously. This place is sacred ground.” She grabbed a red plastic basket. “You’re about to meet the champions of my childhood: shrimp chips, spicy rice cakes that’ll destroy your mouth, and banana milk that’ll save it.”
They started down the first aisle. His bodyguards were already dispersing discreetly, one by the door, another parked by the frozen dumplings. They almost seemed like normal shoppers. Who happened to be trained in tactical takedowns.
They’d been in Toronto a week. Sightseeing with Claire and Marco, a couple more dinners with her parents. He’d given her time alone with them, too, which she knew they’d appreciated.
“Ooo, Claire loves choco pies. Marco’s addicted to Turtle Chips.” Bea scanned the shelves. “I forgot the shrimp crackers. Can you go back and grab them, please?”
“The fluorescent pink ones?” Rafael asked, dubious.
“Those are elite-tier. Don’t question the packaging.”
Rafael went to hunt them down as she wandered into the tetra pack aisle.
A familiar voice rang out. “Bea?”
She turned. “Logan!”
He still exuded that golden-retriever handsomeness that had made him everyone’s favorite at the University of Toronto. Beside him, Maya was looped into his arm, radiant.
“You two are…?”
“Dating,” Maya supplied. “Over a year now.”
“That’s amazing!” Bea said. “I didn’t get to see you last time I was in town.”
And then: “Is this a reunion or something?”
Kate MacAllister.
The it-girl of their U of T cohort. High-school prom queen without the crown. Claire used to call her The Algorithm, because she always knew the precise calculation, the clothes, the timing, to win.
Still stunning. Even in leggings and a puffer, it was as though she’d been airbrushed. Brown waves, glass skin, blue eyes so clear they made you feel smudged.
“Kate!” Bea said with real surprise. She, like every other girl in school, had treated Kate like royalty. But they were adults now. Adults could be cordial with their former high-school celebrities.
“Got them,” came Rafael’s voice, from just over Kate’s shoulder.
He’d rounded the corner before he noticed the group. They all turned to him.
For a moment she saw him as they did: towering, muscular. The winter coat only made him look broader. Together with that bone structure, he was like a portrait that had walked off the wall.
Maya’s eyes widened. “Holy crap,” she whispered. Bea didn’t blame her.
Kate straightened like someone had hit Record, the polite smile upgraded to its premium version. Showtime. She turned toward him, voice smooth. “I don’t think we’ve met. You don’t work here, do you?”
Rafael glanced down at her. “No. Just the snack retriever.”
Kate’s laugh sparkled. “Well, you nailed it. The fluorescent pink ones are the gold standard.”
“Told you,” Bea couldn’t help but say, and Rafael gave her a brief smile.
“Are you visiting?” Kate asked, glancing between Bea and Rafael. “Or did Bea convince someone to move to Canada?”
“I was invited.”
Kate smiled wider. “Well, welcome. Hope she’s showing you the good parts.” Her voice was light, but the way she said it…was Bea imagining it?
Kate angled her body toward him, the way women do when they’ve never had to ask for attention. If he noticed, he didn’t show it.
And then Kate touched his arm. She touched his arm. Just a brush. Fingertips to bicep.
The corner of Maya’s eyebrow twitched up. Logan’s expression stayed neutral.
“I’ve already got the best part,” Rafael said smoothly.
“Oh. You’re…?”
“Bea’s boyfriend,” Rafael said, walking over to Bea and putting his arm around her shoulders. He transferred the loaded basket from her hands to his.
“He’s Rafael,” Bea introduced, looking at Logan and Maya first, then Kate.
Maya perked up immediately. “Rafael. Cool. I’m Maya, this is Logan. We’re Bea’s friends from U of T.”
They all shook hands.
“You guys have New Year’s Eve plans?” Logan asked.
“Nah, staying in. Claire and Marco are coming over. Rafael’s got a spot in the city,” Bea said.
“Well, any man condoning that many snacks is good in my book,” Maya joked.
The aisle was halfway comfortable—until Kate smiled sweetly and said, “Wow, I just remembered last year you were serious with Gage King. Things can change so quickly.”
What. The actual. Hell.
Was she seriously saying that here? Now? In front of Rafael, Logan, and Maya?
“Uh…yeah,” Bea managed. “We broke up.”
“You always had that soft charm, Bea. I guess it works in the UR.”
The words landed like a pat on the head. As though she’d tricked them and Northgate should’ve known better.
Rafael stiffened beside her.
She slid her hand to the side of his thigh and gave the hard muscle there a small squeeze. She looked up. His face was bland, unreadable to anyone else. But she saw it: the glint in his green eyes that spelled trouble—for the person who thought they were being clever.
I’m fine. Don’t engage.
Rafael drew her closer, kissed her hair. “Works on me.”
That cracked the air.
Kate’s eyes flared. “Of course,” she said, breezy again.
“We should go,” Bea said. “Still need to stop by Maria’s tienda before they close.”
Maya leaned in for a quick hug. “I know you probably won’t have time, but if you do, message me, okay?”
Logan shook Rafael’s hand once more. “Nice to meet you, man. Happy New Year.”
Kate didn’t speak again, but her gaze tracked them to the door.
Bea was just about to turn the burner on when he came in.
She wanted redemption after their first meal here went sideways: burnt chicken, a shrieking alarm, the two of them laughing and hungry while she sprinted out for eggs.
In her defense, induction stoves were confusing. Gas showed you when something was about to burn. Induction waited until it already had.
Now, back in Rafael’s rented penthouse kitchen, barefoot in black leggings and a fitted knit top, sleeves shoved up, she whisked hard as if that could undo it.
Rafael didn’t speak, but the hair on her nape lifted. Her body always caught his mood first.
“Won’t take long.” She added a pinch of salt without looking up.
“No, it won’t,” he agreed, voice deep enough to be felt.
Her gaze cut to him. He prowled toward her, like he’d been waiting for this exact moment. So had she.
His hand found her waist, the other pushed the bowl aside. The whisk hit the floor.
They’d traded little more than quick kisses for a week. The days had been full, sweet, necessary. The nights had been…substandard. She’d been pretending that was enough. It wasn’t.
“You kept me hungry,” Rafael said, his mouth at her jaw. “Make up for it.”
One of the eggs rolled, teetered, and burst on the tile. The sound vanished under the rush in her body.
“The egg—”
“Leave it. You have other things to worry about.”
“Don’t you want me to cook?” she asked, tilting her head, a smile teasing her mouth. She could taste the week of restraint between them.
“After.”
Her breath stuttered as he set her on the counter. She leaned back on her hands without being told.
“Know what I think about,” he said against her throat, “when you play hostess and burn lunch?”
Her head tipped back as his thumbs caught her waistband. He tapped her hip; she lifted without hesitation. He peeled her leggings and underwear down in one long move. The knit dragged her thighs, baring her inch by inch until her skin touched the cold marble.
“What?” she breathed.
“This. You. Spread out on my table instead of sitting at it.”
Everything from her navel downward liquified.
His mouth claimed hers, and the kiss felt like a warning she never took seriously enough. Her top twisted as his hand slid up under the knit, palming her breast through lace before pushing higher.
His fingers found her between her thighs, slick and eager. She gasped, the sound catching in her throat as she fought to stay quiet.
“I want every sound, baby,” he said, watching her. “Tell me exactly where you like it.”
Her eyes fluttered open, catching his. His focus never wavered—not from her mouth, not from the way she clenched when his fingers curled just right.
“There,” she whispered. “Right there.”
He worked her until her head dropped to his shoulder and she clutched at him, breathing labored, the counter digging into the bend of her knees.
She broke with a piercing, helpless sound. Shuddering on his hand, shaking, thighs locked hard to his forearm. Her release flooded his fingers, until she pressed weakly at his elbow, gasping for him to stop. She sagged in his grip.
The rasp of his zipper cut through the rush in her ears.
He freed himself, urgency rough in every motion, shoving his pants low on his hips. Then he caught her under her thighs, hauling her off the counter. Her legs wrapped around his waist, back meeting the pantry door a moment later.
“Here, too,” he said, driving into her in one deep, claiming stroke.
The feeling of fullness ripped the air from her lungs, the stretch almost intolerable until it blurred into pleasure. She clung to him.
She’d missed him, craved this. Met the pounding of his hips with quiet mewls, surrender. When he started grinding in that way he knew she loved, she dug her fingernails into his shoulders, and shattered a second time. Took him with her.
His body jolted hard into hers, the sound from his chest guttural, the noise a man only makes when there’s no turning back.
For a long moment they stayed there, her body slack in his arms, the pulsing between them not fully abated. Her leggings were crumpled, bra rucked high beneath her top, proof of how little patience he’d had. Somewhere on the floor, a broken egg still oozed across the tile.
“We have to clean up.” Her voice was part laugh, part shock. She looked around and flushed hard, cheeks heating as reality crept in. “If Claire finds out what we did in here, she’ll call it unsanitary.”