Chapter Twenty-One
O nce we’ve polished off every last crumb of cake, we lie on our respective lounge chairs, enjoying a comfortable silence. Something irrevocable has changed between us over the span of a single conversation that feels like it’s been building to this moment for years.
As the sun sets, squeals from below draw me up from my seat. I hang over the railing to see a wedding party making all the noise. A bride in a fluffy white dress hangs off the back of her groom, surrounded by bridesmaids in diaphanous mint-green dresses and groomsmen in dark suits with satiny green ties.
Rafe stands next to me, leaning his elbows on the railing. He’s close enough that our arms press together, and I notice every inch of him. Every breath and every slight shift. We watch as the wedding party poses for photos, shrieking and laughing.
My phone buzzes, and I pull it out of my pocket, noticing it’s a text from Andy. I look up, and Rafe quickly averts his gaze. He was totally looking at my screen.
“I forgot there’s an event tonight,” I say. “Some kind of mingling thing.”
Rafe glances at my phone and then at me. “If you want to go with him, you should.”
I snort and shake my head. “He was already a two at best, but after what you just told me, he’s a minus ten.”
Rafe laughs. “He’s a what?”
I snicker and tell him about Brian and the question he asked me on the day of the retreat announcement.
“He called himself a seven?” Rafe asks with a laugh. “Nah, he’s a good guy.”
“He is,” I agree.
Rafe grins, his eyes sparkling. “What did you rate me?”
My cheeks heat. “No way, we’re not doing this.”
He laughs and nods at my phone. “Do you want to go to the thing?”
“Not really.” I slide my phone back into my pocket. “You?”
Rafe shakes his head. “Nah, I don’t think so.”
Our gazes meet and then pull away. Maybe neither one of us wants to admit we want to hang out here alone.
We return our attention to the wedding party, still taking pictures on the sand.
“We should crash the reception,” Rafe says casually, his eyes bright with mischief.
My mouth falls open. “Could we do that?”
He lifts a shoulder. “Couldn’t we?”
“That would be very devious.”
He smiles. “But also really fun.”
“Have you ever crashed a wedding before?”
“No. Have you?” he says in an accusing way that’s half teasing and half serious.
“This was your idea! I’ve never crashed a wedding.”
The bride and groom move towards the shoreline, where the bridesmaids gather their dresses around their knees and run into the surf, kicking up water. The harried photographer follows behind, snapping pics with one of the two giant cameras strapped to her body.
“It does sound much better than another boring WMC event. How would we do it?” I ask.
He tips his head in consideration. “We’d need to dress up a little. Do you have something fancy to wear?”
I roll my eyes. “Of course. Do you have something fancy?”
He looks at me from the corner of his eye. “Fancy enough.”
“What would we do?”
“Eat some food, mingle, and pretend we know the happy couple. Get some free drinks.”
“All the drinks are free here,” I point out.
“Let’s not get bogged down in details, Trishara.”
I let out a laugh. “What if we get caught?”
Rafe turns to face me, one arm on the railing as he leans a little closer. “I had no idea you were such a rule follower, Malik.”
My breath catches. He smells so good. Like the shower he just took, and the chocolate cake, and I marvel at the column of his throat as he swallows, wondering what it might be like to lick it. “If we get caught, we’ll run. Maybe we’ll have to leave the country and live in exile on a deserted island forever. I hope you like pineapples.”
“Well, now, you’re just mocking me.”
He grins, and his eyes sparkle. He’s smiling at me again, and I can’t help but feel like this is an extra special one, just for me. My heart stutters in my chest.
I look at the wedding party again. Their guests mill about, elegant in their suits and dresses with glasses of champagne perched in their hands.
“Okay, let’s do it.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I’ll go get changed.” Rafe’s smile grows even bigger. “I had no idea you were such a rule breaker , Gallagher.”
He smirks and runs a hand through his hair. There’s no way he doesn’t understand what that does to me. “You’re learning a lot about me tonight.”
I pause and scan him from head to toe, enjoying the view and taking my time before I meet his eyes. “Yeah. I guess I am.”
“Maybe I’ll learn something about you.”
He’s blushing, and it’s adorable.
“You can certainly try.”
I wink and head to the bedroom to change.
About thirty minutes later, Rafe knocks on my door.
“Are you ready yet?”
“I’m coming,” I shout. I’m wearing the killer red dress I bought in Chicago. It’s just as perfect as I remember. It’s sexy and hot, and I feel amazing in it.
The long skirt sweeps to the floor with two high splits on each side, reaching my hips. The low neckline reveals the swell of my breasts, and I’ve curled and scooped my hair into a high ponytail to show off the open back.
I complete the look with a pair of delicate gold earrings, long enough to brush the curve of my neck. I’ve put on plenty of dark eye makeup and opt for a nude lipstick, coated with shiny gloss.
After another knock, I stuff my phone and other essentials into my handbag. “Coming!”
Finally, I open the door to find Rafe pacing back and forth.
He’s gorgeous in a pair of dark dress pants, shiny black shoes, and a fitted white button-up layered with a dark grey vest. I am practically swooning at the sight of his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He’s combed his hair back, but that errant piece that always comes loose is already attempting an escape.
He turns at the sound of the door and then stops dead, his hand running over his mouth and then his chin.
“Fuck,” he breathes as he drinks in every inch of me. “You look incredible.” His voice is rough, and he clears his throat.
I put a hand on my hip. I passed his trust fall, and it’s time for him to return the favor.
“I know I do,” I reply, and a beat passes before his smile stretches wider. He strides over and takes my hand, pressing it to his chest.
“You’re not just beautiful. You’re so fearless and confident.” He leans closer as his mouth brushes the shell of my ear. “It’s sexy as hell.”
I’m flying. He didn’t get weirded out by my comment.
“You clean up pretty nicely, too, Gallagher.” He stares at me for a few more heartbeats, then holds out his elbow.
“Shall we?”
“Let’s go crash a wedding.”
I giggle because there’s something euphoric about this. About this thing the two of us are doing together. Just us on the same side. Our secret. Something that exists between only me and Rafe Gallagher.
The man who, two weeks ago, was someone else entirely.
The elevator dings, and the doors slide open at the ballroom level. With more than one wedding happening tonight, we survey each set of wide double doors, leading to three different celebrations.
“Which one should we go to?” he asks.
“I think we can both agree that we must celebrate Kevin and Stacy,” I say.
“Who?”
“Our couple from the beach. Those are the names I gave them.”
He snorts. “I think we can agree on that.”
We approach the largest room, where I recognize the mint-green dresses and our bride and groom.
“Perfect, this seems to be the biggest wedding,” I whisper. “Maybe no one will notice we don’t belong.”
Rafe stands straighter and takes my hand, threading his fingers through mine. He’s holding my hand again. What is the appropriate reaction? I lack the very specific life experience needed to navigate this small but definitely significant act of affection.
He tugs me against him. “Just look like you belong, and no one will question it. Not in that dress.”
His gaze turns heated as he scans me again, and my stomach dips. This overpriced garment has already more than paid for itself. I’ll have to send flowers to the woman in the boutique who suggested it. Or maybe I’ll throw her a parade.
We stride to the door and nod at the two women sitting at the table.
“Hi!” one of them chirps. “Friends of Melissa or Derek?”
Darn. I really liked Stacy and Kevin. “Both,” Rafe says smoothly. “Old friends from college.” He says it with such confidence that even I find myself believing it. The woman nods eagerly.
“Enjoy. Bars are in each corner. I highly recommend the signature cocktail.” She bats her eyelashes at Rafe, and who can blame her?
He’s still holding my hand as we enter the ballroom. It’s decked out in more mint green and hues of peach. We head to one of the bars and order the recommended signature cocktail.
“Orgasm on the beach.” I read the sign on the bar top, feeling my cheeks heat. Well, that’s subtle. Usually, that would be funny, but I’m thinking about that kiss again. The way Rafe’s mouth and hands scorched my skin. The way it seemed like he wanted to consume me.
“Tris?” Rafe is asking, and I’ve gone off into daydream land again. He’s holding two short glasses with pinkish-orange liquid and passes one to me. I sip at the drink, and we drift to the edge of the dance floor.
“Mmm, this isn’t bad,” he says as I scan the room, wondering if anyone is questioning who we are, but no one is paying any attention; they’re too busy enjoying themselves.
“We probably should stay out of sight of Stacy and Kevin,” Rafe says.
“Good plan.”
After a few minutes, Rafe takes my glass and places it on a table.
“Wanna dance?” Rafe holds out his hand, and I study him.
“What?” I ask.
We’ve gone from hand-holding to dancing, and not one part of me isn’t wondering what could come next if I’m brave enough to let him in. Can I trust Rafe?
The strange thing is that I feel like I can. We spent so many years butting heads, but maybe that was also a form of trust I placed in him. Nothing we ever did crossed a line, and I wonder if some part of me always recognized that I could push him because he would never have gone too far. Maybe I was testing to see if he’d always come back.
“We’re going to dance,” he answers. “That’s what you do when you crash a wedding.”
It’s not a question. Just a statement that underscores the enormity of how far we’ve come in such a short time. We still haven’t talked about the kiss. We’re still pretending it never happened, but it’s the only thing I can think about. I’m somewhere between a blissful release of endorphins and impending doom as I wonder if it was all just a fluke, never to be repeated.
But I’m almost positive he’s thinking about it, too. His eyes dip to my mouth and then lower to the not entirely accidental siren call of my exposed skin before quickly looking up. Every inch of me tightens.
“Is that okay?” he asks.
“Yeah.” I smile and slip my hand into his, a shiver rushing to my toes.
Maybe we can finally become something else. Maybe it’s time to file away my sharp edges. Maybe I needed to hold him at a distance until I was ready to risk my heart again.
He leads me into the center and wraps an arm around my waist, pressing his body to mine. Over the next few hours, we dance and mingle. I’ve never smiled so much or laughed so hard. We cheer when the couple cuts the cake (camouflaging ourselves behind their guests) and discuss its merits as we devour an enormous slice.
“Moist and has a good crumb,” Rafe says, chewing thoughtfully. “Icing is a little sweet.”
“I think it’s perfect,” I say, licking a dollop off my finger. Rafe’s eyes follow my tongue with a sort of hunger that makes me weak in the knees.
“You and your fondness for sugary icing. You wound my baker’s heart.”
“You said it was cute,” I counter, taking another large bite and chewing with vigor, making ostentatiously appreciative noises.
“I don’t think that’s what I said,” he replies drily, his mouth crooking into a smile as I offer him a half-hearted glare.
We polish off our cake just before a slow song comes on the loudspeakers. Rafe takes my hand and pulls me into the middle of the dance floor, placing his warm hands on my waist.
“Now we’re slow dancing?” I loop my arms around his neck.
“It’s just a night of endless firsts,” he answers, pulling me in closer, his hands sweeping up my back, along my exposed skin. Fire . It sounds so clichéd and ridiculous, but actual fire runs through my veins as I suck in a breath.
He pulls back and reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “You aren’t cute, Tris, you’re utterly fucking beautiful.”
His low voice sends me into freefall.
“Are we going to talk about it?”
We both know I mean the kiss.
His head tips, and his hand slides to my shoulder and then down my arm, pulling up a shiver.
“We could talk about it, but honestly, I’d rather just do it again.”
My eyebrow arches. “I thought you said you shouldn’t have done it?”
That earns me a rueful smile. “It just threw me off. Don’t listen to me. I’m a complete fool.”
I snort. “Well, that is true.”
His expression turns serious a moment later. “Tris. Do you think we could move past this thing between us? We’ve been sharing a room for two weeks and somehow made it work.”
That reminds me of something I’ve still been wondering. “Wait… why did you refuse the extra room they offered?”
Guilt passes over his expression. “Maybe I was starting to like sharing.” His gaze meets mine with an unflinching look. “I thought maybe we were becoming friends?”
Friends.
I stop, looking away for a moment, overcome with a complicated avalanche of emotion I’m not quite sure what to do with. I’ve been handed the hot potato and have nowhere to send it.
“Yeah. I think we are.”
He tightens his grip on me, pulling me closer in a way that doesn’t feel exactly friendly , but I’m not complaining as all my thoughts and feelings collide in a tangle. His hand slides down my hip, and I brush the collar of his vest.
“Why don’t you ever dress like this at the office?” I ask, adjusting the knot on his tie.
He quirks his mouth. “Do you like it?”
“I do,” I say, a bit more breathlessly than I intend. He looks amazing. I want to devour him. I want to dip him in sugar and suck on him like a lollipop. “I said you were an eleven out of ten. Maybe even a twelve.”
He blinks before his face stretches into a grin. “I think you’re a thousand out of ten.”
“Always trying to one-up me, aren’t you, Gallagher?” I joke, and he chuckles.
“In this case, I’m absolutely right.” His hand slides up my arm, and then his finger runs under the strap of my dress. “You never dress like this at the office.” His hands continue moving, smoothing down the bared swath of my back.
I laugh. “This is hardly office appropriate.”
I mean, that was the entire point of this dress. I just never imagined I’d be wearing it with Rafe.
His eyes darken. “You’re right.” He leans down, speaking directly into my ear. “I’d rather it was balled up on the floor with my face between your thighs.”
My breath turns to mud, and my pulse thunders in my ears.
We’ve stopped dancing. We’re standing in the middle of the room, surrounded by strangers. The lights have dimmed, forming a private circle no one can enter. His hand slips to my lower back as Rafe pins my hips against his, where I feel the rock-hard evidence of his arousal.
“This is what you do to me,” he says softly. “Ever since we got to Maui, I’ve been barely able to concentrate. All I can think about is how much I want to kiss you, taste you, fuck you. I’ve jerked off in the shower so many times, my palms are raw.”
Heat floods between my thighs. This is so hot. Rafe is a dirty talker, and if that fairy godmother arrived to grant my third wish, this is exactly what I would have asked for.
I let out a sound of mock indignation. “That is my shower.”
His laugh is low as he presses me closer. His hand drifts lower, sliding through the opening in my skirt, coming to rest in the crease of the back of my thigh. “If I slid my hand into your panties, would you be wet for me, Trishara?”
“Yes,” I whisper as I cling to the collar of his vest.
There’s no use denying it. After everything he’s just said, no part of me wants to.
“I want you. I want you so much,” he says.
His breath is ragged, his cheeks flushed. I look into his face. His perfect, beautiful face.
I pause for a moment, suspended in this space, ready to plunge headfirst into this thing that’s been forming since that day I crashed into him five years ago.
“I want you too,” I finally answer.
His exhale feels like a sigh of relief, spilling out everything we’ve kept held so tightly to our chests.
His hand wraps around the back of my neck, and he lowers his face. My lips part in anticipation of another earth-shattering kiss.
“Who are you?” A voice jolts us both. A woman in a wedding dress stands with her fists on her hips, her shoulders curved with aggression. “I don’t know either of you. What are you doing here?”
Shit. We’re busted. Rafe is now holding my hand, and he squeezes it. We’re in this together.
“Stacy!” I say. “Don’t you recognize me?”
“My name is Melissa.” Um. Oops.
“Melissa. Right. I guess we’re at the wrong wedding?” I look at Rafe, adopting a confused expression. His lips press together as he tries to hold in a laugh.
“Security!” Melissa yells at the top of her lungs. The band stops playing, and every eye is turning our way. “Security!”
“We should probably run,” Rafe says. “Our island of pineapples awaits.”
He tugs my hand, and I grab my skirt as we spring out of the ballroom. Melissa chases after us, screeching at the top of her lungs.
“She’s going to kill us,” I say.
“We had a good life,” Rafe replies as he jabs the elevator button. We watch the numbers for a few seconds, but they don’t move.
“Come back here!” Melissa shouts, shaking a fist. “What are your names?”
“This way,” Rafe says, pulling on my hand, and we launch into the stairwell. I’m laughing so hard I can barely stand.
“My shoes,” I cry. “I can’t run in these shoes.”
Rafe picks me up and hauls me over his shoulder as he pounds up several flights. When it’s clear that arresting wedding crashers isn’t on the priority list for hotel security, he stops and puts me down. My sides ache from laughing, and I lean against the wall, gasping for breath.
“That was amazing,” I say, wiping the tears from my eyes.
“You called her Stacy,” Rafe says, howling.
It lights up his face, and he’s truly never been more beautiful. I can’t stop staring. I can’t believe he kept this from me for so long.
He stops when he notices, and our gazes lock.
There’s a pause, and the entire world comes to a screeching halt. The wind and the stars and the ocean and our breath and our hearts all cease and just… stop.
Rafe is on top of me in an instant. His hands cup my face, and his mouth presses to mine, and this feels like magic. With my back pressed to the wall, his tongue licks the seam of my mouth. I open for him as we meet in a slick slide of needy, hungry kisses.
His hands roam down my arms and my sides and my hips, where he grips them with a fierce kind of possession. We kiss and we kiss while our panting breaths fill the quiet stairwell.
A door slams below, pulling us apart. We probably should find somewhere better to do this. Because sentences have become too hard, I loop my arms around Rafe’s neck and say, “Upstairs. Now.”