Chapter 36
Chapter Thirty-Six
The warehouse in Bangkok wasn’t a gym tonight. It was a gladiator pit.
Four hundred people had wedged into every tier of the open mezzanine.
Extra chairs lined the concrete floor around the ring.
The air clung, ripe with anticipation, spiced with incense and sweat.
All screens had been taken at the door, the black-suited guards polite but absolute: drop your phone, move along.
Bea had been ushered to the front row, with Max on her left and Laurent on her right.
Across the ring, she caught sight of Selene and Leon Griffin seated beside a pair she could only guess were Anurak’s parents—silk, poise, the kind of wealth that ruled empires.
Leon chatted with Anurak’s father, seemingly unruffled.
Selene noticed Bea, smiled, and raised a hand in greeting.
Bea returned it, comforted by her presence.
There was no way things could go overly badly in front of his mother. That had to violate some kind of ethical law. She clung to that thought the way normal people clung to logic.
“I thought this was meant to be private,” Bea said. The noise, the lights, the smell, were overwhelming. She could taste metal in her mouth, nerves and adrenaline tangling. Every sound seemed too loud, every heartbeat too fast.
Laurent’s long legs spilled into the aisle, enjoying the furore. “No such thing when it’s Chaisiri versus Suthiwat.”
Max’s arms were folded, expression stern but not joyless. She caught the spark in his eyes. “At least it won’t be immortalized on YouTube.”
Then Rafael climbed through the ropes, and her pulse went somewhere sacrilegious.
Hand wraps. Bare torso. Muay Thai shorts—shorter than should be legal—across his hips, abs cut deep, thighs and calves like sculpted granite. Under the lights, in the ring, he looked lethal. A man born for combat.
And then he found her.
Sharp, quick, a glance through the crowd. The world tilted. Her core clenched. Once. Hard enough to feel. She bit her lip, then gave what she hoped was an encouraging grin. He didn’t smile back, but ran his tongue on his mouthguard and stared at her.
At his side was Anurak Suthiwat: muscled, lean, and not many inches taller than Bea. Google told her he was heir to one of Thailand’s oldest dynasties. She only cared that he could fight.
Because across the ring were their opponents: two Chaisiri brothers. Prasert and Kittisak, built like bad decisions, postures reeking of hostility.
They all bowed.
The bell cracked the air.
The first exchange was thunder. Prasert lunged, Rafael countered, but the timing between him and Anurak was a breath out of sync—a punch landing where their defense didn’t meet.
Rafael advanced as Anurak pulled back. They moved like two languages, still learning to translate.
Every contact taught them. Every miss cost flesh.
Bea’s breath stuttered. She wanted to close her eyes and couldn’t. Rafael adjusted, his stance shifting, movements tightening to meet Anurak’s rhythm. He took a hit to the shoulder, absorbed it, and used the recoil to find space again.
A grin cut across his face. He was enjoying this.
Anurak caught on. They began, imperfectly, to move as one. One feinted, the other struck. One fell back, the other filled the gap. Blood spattered the mat, and the crowd roared approval. Bea’s nails pressed crescents into her palms, pride and fear braided tight in her chest.
Prasert’s fist clipped Rafael’s jaw and he stumbled back, hit the ropes. Bea wheezed, hands clutching at the arms of her chair, heart in her throat.
Rafael looked up—straight at her. A split-second that felt like an hour. She forced her shoulders back, spine straightening. She didn’t speak, didn’t move. Just let everything she felt, her heart, her soul, surge through her expression.
You can win. Don’t hold back. Show them.
It seemed to ignite him. Rafael spat to the side, pushed off the ropes with a roar, fists like thunder, fire in human form.
Together Rafael and Anurak ambushed. One strike. Two. Three. The brothers fell—first Kittisak, folded on one knee, then Prasert collapsing beside him, body shuddering.
The whistle shrilled. The roar was like a storm, the voices masculine, primal.
The ref seized Anurak’s arm, thrust it up. Rafael’s was lifted beside his. Victory.
Bea’s throat was hoarse, palms stinging as she clapped. Beside her, Laurent’s whistle pierced high, and Max whooped. Her whole body was vibrating, every neuron illuminated.
He’d been right. Watching him fight and win had absolutely increased her attraction to him. She was shamelessly glad she was the one he was coming home to tonight.
Rafael’s gaze cut through the crowd until it found her. He pulled out his mouthguard, tossed it aside. Crooked his index finger.
And Bea…was pretty sure she just ovulated.
Her head whipped to Laurent. “Oui, chérie,” he answered her unvoiced question, amused. “He means it.”
Max added dryly, “No phones—just four hundred witnesses.”
She rose. Legs trembling, every fiber screaming. It wasn’t far, but each step sent her pulse higher.
When she was close enough, Rafael leaned down, gripped the back of her neck, and hauled her against him, mouth claiming hers.
She tasted salt, sweat, triumph. The noise swelled even louder. She barely heard it. All she could hear was the pounding in her own ears; all she felt was the sweat of his chest and the cage of his arms and the slide of his tongue.
He broke the contact just before the crowd tipped into frenzy. His voice came rough against her ear. “You’re my reward tonight.”
Her knees almost buckled.
The hotel door clicked shut behind them.
He didn’t speak. Just dropped the duffel, turned to face her with a look that promised she wasn’t walking straight tomorrow.
Bea held up her hand. “Wait.”
His big body seemed to strain against the word. “Baby,” he growled. “Now’s not the time to tease.”
“I’m not teasing,” she said, heart pounding, trying to sound confident.
“I just…want to look at you.” She stepped closer.
“You always take over, and I—don’t get me wrong, I like that.
Love that.” She exhaled a laugh that barely made it out.
“But I’ve never had the chance to inspect the specimen. You look like you were built in a lab.”
Rafael dragged in a breath. His jaw clenched, nostrils flaring. He didn’t move. But something in him…flexed.
She held the base of his shirt in her fists. “Just for once, can you stay still?”
His throat worked. “Only for you. And only for a minute.”
She lifted the fabric, revealing muscle inch by inch, pulling it up and over his head.
His abs twitched under her touch. She ran her palms over each ridge.
They were hot beneath her palms, hard in a way that made her fingers tremble.
Every breath he took made the muscle shift and tighten, a living thing under her hands.
Her thumbs brushed lower, and his breath came rougher, a warning and an invitation all at once.
Her fingers found the tie of his shorts. She eased them down, along with his underwear, taking her time. Until they dropped and everything undeniably male and his stood bare between them.
Her lips parted; she was breathing through her mouth. She stared, because how could she not?
She forced her eyes downward, thighs that seemed like they could crush steel, powerful calves, raw scrapes and bruises that were evidence of him conquering, and coming home to her victorious.
“Do you even know what you look like?” she whispered. Her fingers skimmed across his torso as she moved around him, tracing paths of sinew. His back was a map of divots and lines drawn by discipline.
“I look like I’m trying very hard not to pin you to the wall,” he grunted, voice frayed.
When she stood in front of him again, her hand hovered just above him. Curious. She bit her lip, reached out to touch him…but pulled back at the last moment.
“Go on,” he urged through clenched teeth, lids lowered. “It’s yours.”
There was a final moment of hesitation before, slowly, she wrapped a hand around him. He twitched in her palm.
His head tipped back, Adam’s apple bouncing. “Fuck.”
A small smile flirted over her lips. He hardly ever swore in front of her. “Language.”
Rafael’s green eyes met hers. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”
She responded by tightening her grip. Dragging her hand up, then down again. “I’m starting to think I like this game,” she said softly.
That broke him.
He hauled her against him in a single snap. She opened her mouth to object—and maybe to gloat—but he silenced her with a kiss that left her body weak.
“I need to be inside you now.”
He walked her backward toward the bed, hands already under her clothes, stripping her with the kind of purpose that left no room for questions. Her dress slipped off her shoulders. Her bra was unhooked, discarded. Her underwear torn from her hips.
He bent, caught her breast in his mouth, sucked. “You’re so beautiful.”
Rafael dropped her onto the mattress. Spread her thighs and drove into her with a groan that came from somewhere deep and primitive.
There was no more thinking after that.
Bangkok was a fever masquerading as a city.
Sounds layered over another—horns, chanting, sizzling oil, laughter that didn’t need translation. It was so foreign to anything she’d ever experienced, and yet it felt tuned to her frequency.
Rafael was nearly a foot taller than everyone they passed.
Even in an oversized t-shirt and shorts, cap pulled down, sunglasses on, he drew stares.
The three bodyguards kept an invisible perimeter, closer than normal because of the crowd, unintentionally adding to the spectacle.
The fight had marked him—jaw bruised, scrapes, a couple of stitches on his temple—and that only made him look more magnetic.
They wandered through Chatuchak Market, her hand in his, taking turns tugging each other forward or pulling up short at a stall.
The air was thick with chili and charcoal.
Every vendor smiled at him like they’d just spotted good fortune in human form.
Bangkok had taught her two things already: tropical fruits tasted better in tropical countries, and Rafael could make anything look like foreplay.
Even bartering. By mid-afternoon her tote had turned into a confession of everything she’d glanced at twice.
They escaped to the quieter edges of the river.
Longboats ferried past in flashes of red and gold.
They walked the pier until he stopped at a food cart.
Two elderly women worked in rhythm, scooping coconut rice onto palm-leaf plates, topping each with slices of mango that glistened like treasure.
He ordered two, spoke a few Thai words that earned him a delighted laugh, and found them a table shaded by an umbrella that had seen better decades.
The first bite and she was transported to nirvana. Sweet, refreshing, cool, sliding across her tongue like sunshine and silk. She moaned softly around her spoon.
“So you make that sound to mango, too,” he said, eyes glinting.
“Only in Thailand.” She grinned, mouth still full.
He brushed a strand of damp hair off her neck, and tucked it behind her shoulder.
When the plates were almost empty, he nudged the final slice toward her.
“You have it,” she said. “I had mine and some of yours already.”
“You like the firm ones.”
Bea blinked. He always noticed. The way she preferred the crunchy over the soft, the way she drank hot water before bed. He’d started leaving a mug waiting on her side without ever being asked. He’d done a thousand bigger things, but this—this tiny noticing—was her undoing.
The last bite of mango dissolved on her tongue, and with it, the last of her resistance. Something opened in her ribs, fragile and infinite all at once. It hurt in the way beautiful things sometimes did.
Before she could talk herself out of it, the words were out: “This is why I love you.”
Rafael’s body leaned forward before his mind seemed to catch up and control snapped taut. He reached for just one side of her face, a tether, the single place he’d allotted himself to touch while the rest of him was held back by will.
The noise of the market fell away, replaced by the heavy hush between heartbeats.
“Say it again.”
She swallowed. “I love you, Rafael.”
For a heartbeat, he didn’t breathe. Yet his eyes warmed in a way that told her he was hearing something he already knew. His lips curved. “You said it.”
Bea nodded, cheeks warming, irrationally bashful even as something loosened inside her. Release, relief. His other hand cupped her jaw until she was framed between both palms.
“I knew it before I ever named it,” she echoed him, because the words fit perfectly. “Now you know it, too.”