Chapter Four
R afe doesn’t comment on my music again for the rest of the flight, though I’m pretty sure I catch him reading over my shoulder during one of the spicier scenes in my book. I glare at him, annoyed that he’s interrupting my daydreams about a broody fae prince.
Rafe’s knee keeps bumping mine throughout the flight despite the ample space in the cabin. I chalk it up to his very long legs and am proud of myself for withholding a comment on his extravagant manspreading. I can be mature about things.
We both reach for our glasses on the console between our armrests, and as his hand brushes mine for the eleven-hundredth time, I stuff down the little swoop in my stomach. I keep having to breathe through my mouth, so I don’t accidentally inhale the essence of Rafe. Just another hour or so before we make it to the hotel, and I can pretend he doesn’t exist for the next three weeks.
We’re now soaring over the islands, circling in for our landing, and I’m glad I insisted on the window. The water is breathtaking—the most clear, vivid blue I’ve ever seen.
Rafe leans over to see out the window. I flatten myself to the seat, attempting to give him a clearer view. His response is to eye me with suspicion. Why am I being agreeable? There’s no need to fight about everything, I reason. Soon, he’ll be a very tall and very distant memory. I can let him have this.
He leans in farther, and I slip and accidentally breathe through my nose, inhaling a whiff of the same smell I remember from our photo together. Clean and fresh, like the guy bathing in a waterfall in a soap commercial. His breath is warm as it skates across the exposed skin of my collarbone. My skin erupts into gooseflesh, and I clamp my eyes shut, holding my breath as I curse my body for being such a horny, traitorous bitch.
Finally, he sits back up and I let out a long hiss, my head swimming from a lack of oxygen. Mercifully, he stays in place as we coast to the earth, landing with a soft bump.
Once on the ground, we collect our suitcases and head for the ride-share pickup. Rafe swipes the screen on his phone a few times and stuffs it back in his pocket. “Our Uber should be here in a minute.”
“Great,” I say, inhaling a deep breath and rolling my shoulders.
We’re surrounded by tourists and exhaust fumes, but the air has an entirely different quality from the one we left behind. It’s warm and humid and makes my limbs soft. I can already picture myself standing on my balcony, enjoying the ocean breeze.
Rafe gestures to my monogrammed suitcases. “Those are some fancy bags, Malik. My father really approved those?”
I glance down at the luggage in question and give one a little twirl—they really are so beautiful. “He told you about that?”
Rafe shrugs. “He mentioned you had a few travel requests, but he’s not usually big on generous acts unless it gets him something he wants.” His eyes narrow the slightest bit. “What did you do to earn such favors?”
My eyebrow arches, and my head tips. “He didn’t tell you why?”
Rafe’s eyes darken to the shade of an autumn storm. “No, why?”
“You should really ask him ,” I reply with a shrug as Rafe’s brows draw together with confusion.
Thankfully, I’m saved from further explanation by our car’s arrival. I have zero desire to relive that exchange in Charles’s office with anyone ever again, least of all Rafe.
We load our suitcases into the trunk, and I take a seat in the back. Rafe pauses outside the opposite door and then opens the front.
“Mind if I join you?” he asks.
The driver waves him in. “Not at all.”
I watch Rafe drop into the front seat and try not to be offended. This is weird, right? Who sits in the front of an Uber? Was he so over sitting next to me that he literally couldn’t stand it for the duration of this ride?
The driver pulls away from the curb, and immediately, Rafe strikes up a conversation, asking questions about the area, the man himself—who’s native to the island—and the problems plaguing Hawaii’s oversaturated tourism industry.
They laugh and joke like they’re old friends, and I hate how jealous I am that Rafe has such an easy rapport with this stranger. Maybe I’m envious of his gift that puts everyone at ease, or maybe I’m annoyed that he seems to have that effortless camaraderie with everyone but me.
Instead, he uses my name like it’s a swear word.
By the time we arrive at the hotel, they’re practically braiding each other’s hair while I’m stewing in annoyance. However, most of my ire melts away as we pull up into the circle in front of the sprawling white building.
Everything is gorgeous—even better than the photos. Massive fountains spray in graceful arcs, and tall marble columns stand sentinel on either side of massive glass doors. It’s stunning. It’s breathtaking.
A giddy smile spreads across my face, picturing three weeks of cocktails with paper umbrellas and the sea and the surf and all the fresh seafood I can eat.
After exiting the car, we roll our luggage along marble tiles through the ostentatious lobby. The soaring ceiling ends in a massive stained-glass dome that filters warm Hawaiian sun into prisms of colored light that dance across the floor.
We wait at the reception desk, and a smiling woman gestures us over.
Rafe and I step forward simultaneously, nearly colliding, and then grind to a halt.
“You go,” I say with a wave. “From this moment on, I don’t want to see you, hear you, or even remember you exist. Have a delightful time.”
Rafe presses his lips together, and I notice they’re rather plush and full, and I wonder what it would be like to— No. Stop. I don’t wonder anything.
“Ladies first,” he replies.
“That is so sexist.”
“Then I’ll go first.”
“No, you won’t.”
He makes an exasperated sound, and at this point, I don’t care who goes first, I just want to see how far I can push before he ends up rocking himself in a corner.
With one last glare tossed in his direction, I head for the desk and give the woman my name. Kalena (according to her nametag) taps away on her computer, the smile never leaving her face.
“Ah, we have you here for three weeks with WMC Purcell, Ms. Trishara Malik and Mr. Rafe Gallagher.” She looks up from her screen and gives me an owlish blink. “Will you be needing two keys?”
“Excuse me?” I ask, not sure what she’s getting at.
“Two keys? Usually, each guest likes to have one. I’m happy to create as many as you need.”
“There is only one guest,” I say, my pulse kicking up.
“We have you in the Orchid Suite for the duration of your stay for two people. You’ll love it. It has the best views in the hotel.” She pauses, indecision seeping into her expression as she watches me slowly dissolve into a pile of horrified silt. “I’ll get you two keys. You can always get more if you need them.”
My heart throbs in my throat.
Why does she keep talking about keys?
Why would I need so many keys?
“No, there’s been a mistake,” I finally gasp.
I notice Rafe standing a few feet away with another desk clerk also tapping at his keyboard, a line drawn between his brows.
The clerk looks up and makes his way over to Kalena before their heads bend together in a universal gesture of something is up . The two confer quietly for a moment, and then the man gestures Rafe towards our end of the counter.
“There is a mistake,” I say again. “It’s supposed to be two rooms. One for each of us. A suite for me. Check again. Please. ”
Kalena resumes tapping at her computer, her steady smile dipping at the corners. I feel Rafe approaching, his big body stopping just behind me as we manifest a set of pleading stares directed at the hotel clerk who now holds the fate of our entire world in her hands.
This can’t be happening.
Kalena finally looks up. “I’m so sorry, Ms. Malik, Mr. Gallagher, but we only have one room booked under your names.”
“Okay, he’ll take another room then,” I say, pointing to Rafe with a bit more flourish than necessary. When my knuckles accidentally connect with his stomach, he grunts and glares at me as I offer him an apologetic look over my shoulder. Geez, his stomach is hard. My hand is throbbing. Is he wearing a steel undershirt?
Kalena leans over the counter and lowers her voice, clearly worried I’m about to make a scene. “I’m sorry, but we are completely booked up. There are no more rooms.”
My eyes dart around the sprawling lobby. “There has to be. This hotel is massive. You must keep some on reserve for emergencies.”
She nods, and I breathe a sigh of relief.
“Normally we do, yes, but it’s an extremely busy week, and even those are gone.”
“How can that be?”
“We have several weddings and conferences booked,” she says in a way that suggests it should explain everything.
“He’ll take anything.” I gesture to Rafe again, this time being sure to avoid his knuckle-bruising abs of iron.
“Excuse me? I will not,” Rafe interjects, stepping up to the desk.
I attempt to silence him with a look, but he rests an elbow on the counter and flashes that hundred-watt smile he saves for everyone else.
But wait, this is good. No one with a beating heart could fail to be moved by that smile.
“There must be something else?” he says, smoother than the velvet lining of a jewelry case.
Kalena starts in on her keyboard again, her fingers flying.
“I’m really sorry,” she says after another minute, and I sympathize because she seems genuinely distraught about disappointing him.
“A broom closet. A sofa in the lobby. A towel on the beach. Anything,” I beg as Rafe gives me increasingly incredulous looks I choose to ignore. I’m starting to lose it. Rafe’s standing too close. His scent and his heat are confusing me as I try to find a way around this. I’m hot and dizzy, and why does everything smell like Irish Spring?
Kalena hits a few more keys and then crisply slides two small cardboard envelopes across the desk with definite purpose. “I’m sorry. This is all we have. I can call around, but every hotel in the vicinity is booked.”
She nudges the white rectangles again with a finality that suggests she’s done with me, and I stare at them numbly.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I snap when I catch Rafe’s glare. “This isn’t my fault. You’re the one ruining my vacation.”
“This isn’t a vacation, and you think I want this?”
He swipes the keys from the counter and then takes off towards the bank of elevators, rolling his suitcase. I hesitate, but now he has both keys, so I reluctantly chase after him.
We stand side by side as we wait for the elevator.
“Just stay away from me,” I say.
“No problem. You’re the one obsessed with me. Not the other way around.”
“Shut up. I’m not obsessed with you. God, your ego is the size of Canada.”
The elevator pings, and we lurch for the entrance, our suitcases bumping and our bodies colliding. Rafe steps back and gestures inside.
“Ladies first,” he says, his previous glower replaced with a smirk that would make Satan look like a cinnamon roll. I know he’s saying it just to piss me off.
Refusing to give him the satisfaction, I sidle past and turn around, not looking his way. He saunters inside, presses the button, and we silently ride up. The doors open again, and I hold out my hand.
“My key.”
He places the small cardboard rectangle in my hand, his fingers brushing mine as a jolt of electricity zings straight to my navel. Ignoring it, I step off the elevator and march down the hall, swiping the key against the electronic pad and throwing open the door.
Despite everything, I can barely contain my awe.
The vast space is covered in white tile, punctuated with pale blue, turquoise, and hot pink accents. Straight ahead is an entire row of floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the bright blue sea.
Kalena said it was the best view in the hotel, and my anger with Belinda and her inability to make even the most basic travel plans shifts down a notch.
As I pass through the suite, a kitchen with gleaming white cabinets and countertops sits to my right. A nest of sleek white sofas is angled to look out the windows, where a large, curved balcony supports a hot tub and two loungers. There’s also a large glass dining table surrounded by fabric-covered chairs, along with a desk in the corner.
Rafe lets out a low whistle, and though I agree this is a whistle-worthy room, the sound lodges into the middle of my back.
“I cannot believe this,” I say, dragging my suitcases farther into the suite.
After leaving them standing in the middle of the room to go exploring, I find two massive bathrooms—one with a huge walk-in shower with multiple heads and another with a deep, large soaker tub.
I enter a room with the biggest bed I’ve ever seen. Pushed up against the far wall, it’s covered in crisp white sheets and blue and pink pillows, the headboard carved of deep mahogany wood. More windows look out to the sea, and a glass door exits to the other end of the balcony.
I do another circle of the suite, frowning. Something isn’t adding up.
Rafe’s head is in the refrigerator, stocked with wine, beer, and a mountain of snacks. He pulls out a bottle of lager with a hipster label and pops off the top.
“This could be worse,” he says, taking a deep gulp. I turn away, distracted by the bob of his Adam’s apple and the bit of stubble covering his jaw.
“Do you notice something?” I spin back to look at him, hands planted on my hips.
“What?” He lowers the bottle and looks around.
“There’s only one bed.”
“That can’t be possible. This suite is huge.”
“Well, unless it’s hidden in a secret dimension, I only find one bedroom and one bed.”
He gives me a skeptical look before he proceeds through the suite. I stand in the kitchen, tapping my foot as I wait for him to discover what I’ve already discovered. A moment later, he pops back into the main room.
“You’re right.”
“Did you think I was hard of counting bedrooms?”
He ignores my comment. “How can a suite this size have only one bedroom?”
It’s then I notice a glossy brochure sitting on the kitchen counter, proudly welcoming us to the Orchid Honeymoon Suite.
Rafe is reading over my shoulder as I let out a groan.
“I. Will. Kill. Belinda,” I snarl, crumpling the brochure between my hands and grinding my teeth. “I will slash her tires. I’ll…”
“Put laxative in her coffee,” Rafe adds.
I look at him, startled by the support.
He seems equally horrified, but that might be because it’s the first time we’ve ever agreed on anything.
“Yeah,” I say weakly.
“Should we wrestle for who gets the bed?” he asks, and maybe it’s the long travel day and the stress of sharing a room with Rafe Gallagher , but I nearly burst into laughter at the unexpected quip. He never jokes with me. Is he trying to be… charming?
I cram the urge back into my throat, exhaling an undignified snort that I’ll be revisiting with horror in my head again and again. It will be a cold day in hell before I laugh at one of Rafe Gallagher’s jokes.
“This is my room, so I get the bed,” I say.
“How is this your room any more than it’s mine?”
“Belinda booked the suite for me .”
He gives me a side-eye, and I have to hand it to him—the man’s side-eye is so flawlessly executed that I’ve never felt more side-eyed in my entire life. “Yeah, I’m still not entirely sure why my father agreed to that. This must be costing the company a fortune.”
“Your father,” I say with renewed hope, wondering why this hadn’t already occurred to me. “You can stay with him!”
Rafe’s eyes narrow. “I’m not staying with him.”
The menace in his voice is so… final that I resist the urge to argue.
I blink at him and he blinks at me.
“Then I’m definitely taking the bed.” I cross the suite to grab one of my suitcases. I deliver it to my room and then march back out for the second as Rafe tracks my every movement.
This would have been so much more dramatic with just one.
With my shoulders thrown back, I wheel the rest of my luggage behind me.
“Fine, I’ll take the sofa,” Rafe says. “But you owe me a big, massive, epic favor, Malik. It’s going to be some—”
I slam the door, cutting off whatever he was planning to say next.