Chapter Fourteen
W hen I wake up, I am both comfortable and uncomfortable. My hip is sore, and my entire right leg is tingling from a lack of blood flow. The rest of me, though, is pressed up against a wall of male muscle that smells like sunshine. My face is buried into a crook of warm skin with strong arms wrapped around me and a large hand pressing to the small of my back.
My thoughts take a moment to catch up.
Thighs touching, hips adjacent, breasts crushed.
Mentally, I leap back a thousand feet.
Physically, I stay absolutely still, peering up at Rafe through my eyelashes to behold the gloriousness of sleep-tousled hair and the face of the devil cloaked in the costume of a sleeping angel.
“The storm passed,” Gabrielle says from somewhere above us. My gaze flicks up to find her folding a blanket. “Everyone can return to their rooms.” She then gathers an armful of pillows and hoists them against her chest. “They want us to put all the blankets and stuff in the bins outside. And they canceled sessions today so we can get some rest.”
Still keeping entirely motionless, I blink in acknowledgment. Her lips press together like she’s trying to contain a smile before turning and heading for the exit.
My focus returns to Rafe, his head resting on the pillow we shared last night. A moment later, his eyes slowly open. They connect with mine. A static charge sizzles in the space between our pupils as we fossilize into stone. It takes approximately one entire century before I finally come to my senses and my body catches up with my brain.
Here in the cold light of day, with the storm passed and all of us safe, the words we exchanged, the touches we shared in the dark take on a different shade.
My cheeks flush as I realize I was practically throwing myself at him. This is mortifying. Did I seriously tell him I make a lot of noise during sex?
“Get off me,” I snap, drowning in the shallows of shame.
That releases the tension.
Rafe’s arms spring open, ejecting me into outer space, before he sits up with a glare.
“You get off me. You’re the one who fell asleep on top of me.”
“I did not!”
I totally did, and it was… fantastic.
“You were practically in my lap, Trishara. Was it good for you?”
The way he says my full name, not with fury but with a smolder. The way he’s looking at me like he wants to take a bite. The way it was so good for me sends a ricochet down my spine.
To cover it up, I snarl and back away. I grab my purse, scoop up my blankets, and spin on my heel. I feel the burn of his gaze on my back like he’s trying to dissect me into pieces.
Kidney. Brains. Heart. Slice. Cut. Dice.
I dump my linens into a large grey bin stationed outside. I catch a few snippets of conversation, confirming the wind caused some minor damage to a few buildings, and that’s it. We probably would have been fine in our rooms, but I’ll be forever grateful they took precautions to keep us as safe as possible.
I scurry through the hotel and find a set of glass doors that open to the beach.
Outside, the air is so thick and humid that it clings to my skin like cobwebs. I inhale an unsatisfying breath that congeals in my lungs.
I shouldn’t have snapped at Rafe, but it’s so easy to fall into a familiar pattern.
Last night was so beyond the sphere of our usual encounters that I feel like I’ve tumbled into a void. What started as a joke became something else, I think. The way he cared for me last night rattles the padlock I’ve kept firmly shut against feeling anything .
As I stride onto the wet sand, I kick off my shoes, dangling them from my fingertips.
Hotel staff are busy cleaning up leaves and debris littering the beach, raking the sand into neat, orderly furrows before carrying out the lounge chairs and umbrellas they stowed away last night.
The pale grey sky is streaked with thin wisps of clouds, and the water churns softly with a whoosh. I look over the horizon, reminding myself that everything’s okay. Whatever Rafe’s motives, he made the night bearable, even pleasurable, if I’m being brutally honest with myself.
Still, I don’t like owing him anything.
Exhausted, I sway on my feet, my eyelids heavy and scratchy. I offer a thank-you to the sky for not killing us and head back to the suite.
After I let myself in, I find Rafe on the sofa, his hair damp and curling at the temples from a shower. He’s drinking a glass of water, wearing only those infernal grey sweatpants. I take a deep breath, steeling myself and focusing on a point beyond his head.
“Hi,” he says, lowering it to the table.
“Hi. Are you done with the bathroom?”
I’m trying not to make this weird. Not very successfully. He nods.
“Thanks.” I disappear into my room and wash off the odor of hundreds of bodies and a night spent on the floor. I watch the water circle the drain, realizing it also washes away the smell of Rafe. I am pathetic.
When I’m finished, I change into a pair of shorts and a tank top and retrieve a can of sparkling water from the kitchen. Rafe is scrolling on his phone, lying on the too-small chaise with an arm tucked behind his head and his long legs dangling off the end.
I worry my bottom lip as a wave of guilt needles my stomach.
“Rafe.” He looks over at me with a question in his gaze. He’s still shirtless, and I steel myself against the heat-stirring force of his six-pack.
Actually, I think it’s an eight-pack. Fuck.
“Yeah?”
“You can take the bed,” I say, unable to believe the words coming from my mouth. “I can sleep there. I’m shorter. I’ll fit better.”
He pauses and then sits up, assailing me with the sight of his defined torso, bunching and contracting. His forehead furrows into a stop-fucking-with-me look.
“I can’t let you do that,” he says.
“Why not?”
He opens his mouth and closes it again. “I don’t know. I just can’t.”
“Don’t be silly. Just take the bed. You look ridiculous squished on that little couch. I’ll check again tomorrow at the front desk. Maybe another room has finally opened up. I can handle one night.”
He runs a hand along the back of his head, mussing his damp hair, conflict flitting over his face. He inhales, and his shoulders drop. “It’s a huge bed,” he says. “We could share it.”
I lift an are-you-kidding-me eyebrow, and he raises his hands in supplication.
“Look, you slept on top of me last night, and I found it in myself to restrain any inappropriate urges.”
He places a hand over his chest. His bare and extremely chiseled chest and I have to drag my attention to his face.
“I promise to be a complete gentleman. That thing is the size of a football field. You won’t even know I’m there.” I sincerely doubt that, but he’s making sense. “Of course, if you don’t think you can control yourself, I wouldn’t blame you.”
I narrow my eyes, ignoring the X-rated thoughts I’m already having.
“Of course I can. Get over yourself, Gallagher.”
“Then what’s the problem? We’re both adults. I’m sure we can handle it. Don’t be so immature, Tris.”
My nose flares. He will not out-mature me. Of course I can sleep in the same bed as him and control myself. Who does he think he is? Besides, this makes us even for last night. I don’t want to live in a world where I owe Rafe anything.
“Fine,” I say. “But put on a shirt.”
I stomp into the bedroom, his laughter following in my wake.
Things were so much easier when he was still firmly listed under the bad guy column.
The bed looks so inviting after the hard floor last night, and I pull back the fresh duvet, sliding in and reveling in the coolness of the crisp sheets against my bare skin. I wish someone could bottle this feeling.
A moment later, Rafe enters the room, tugging a white T-shirt over his head. A tiny (big) part of me is disappointed he listened. Why does he choose now to do as I ask? He stops with his hands on his hips, and we look at each other as the weirdness of our current predicament settles.
“No one at the office can ever know about this,” I say.
He arches an eyebrow, and that disdain is so inexplicably delicious that I’m tempted to offer myself up for his pleasure. He could do anything he wanted to me. Gah.
This is stupid. He’s right. We are both adults, and we can be mature about this.
“Well, stop staring and get in, honey,” I say, patting the bed.
The joke breaks the tension, and I’m rewarded with a smile that only touches half of his mouth as he walks to the other side and slips under the covers.
We both lie down, staring at the ceiling.
I’m holding my breath. I think he is, too.
A moment ago, I was exhausted, but now every hair and cell and inch of my skin are wide awake. I swear I can feel his heat filtering by osmosis across the massive bed.
Maybe I wish it weren’t so big. What if I slid just a tiny bit over? How bad would that be?
“Good night, Tris,” he says in the semi-dark, his voice rough and low.
“It’s morning.” My own voice does something similar, and I swallow the bundle of nerves in my throat.
“Then good morning.”
At the soft rustle of the sheets, I turn my head to find him already watching me.
“Good morning, Rafe. Sleep tight.”