40. I’m honestly going to lose my ever-loving mind.
40 /
i’m honestly going to lose my ever-loving mind.
charlie
By the time we start the drive to Siesta, I feel as if I’m floating. We got coffee on the way out of the city, and Rafael has been telling me a bit more about his siblings as he drives.
He’s mentioned his niece, Cecilia, a few times as well, but never with anything that highlighted her autism. I tuck away the bits of information he shares, like how she is in kindergarten and is fascinated with animals.
That his parents have been married for nearly forty years.
That Gabriel is the responsible one, Arthur is the eldest, Marcelo and Gustavo are the silliest, and Daniela is the youngest but probably more mature than all of them.
He speaks about them with so much love and affection that it nearly hurts my heart.
“I need to tell you something.” I break a brief lull in our conversation with the ominous words. He must feel it because he swallows, tipping his chin for me to continue. “I’m C.M. Howe.”
There, I said it .
“What do you mean?” He glances at me briefly, his grip tightening on the steering wheel .
“I mean, I’m the author. C.M. Howe is my pen name. I’ve been writing romance novels since I was a teenager, then I self-published one a few years ago, and it sort of blew up, and now I have an agent and a multi-book deal and a movie deal and all that.” I’m rambling, but I’d really like to be very clear so he doesn’t hit me with any more ambiguous questions.
Seconds tick by, but they feel like minutes. Then, Rafael turns onto a quiet road and stops the car on the shoulder. He gets out of the car and walks to my side of it, pulling open the door. He reaches in slowly and unbuckles my seatbelt. Gosh, I love it when he does that. But I’m nervous about his reaction.
Holding out both hands silently, he beckons me to step out of his SUV, and I do as my insides practically vibrate with anxiety.
“I couldn’t say this in a moving vehicle, hence pulling over. I’m sorry if that made you nervous. I just had to tell you that I’ve always thought you were the smartest, most interesting person in any room. In every room. But now? Damn, carrot cake. You’ve been writing books while running a whole-ass finance department? Fuck, I—” He takes my hand and brings it to his chest, pressing down so I can feel his ferocious heartbeat. “That’s what that does to me. I’m so fucking amazed by that beautiful mind of yours. By the fact that you created some of my favorite book characters ever.” I bring a hand to his cheek, running my thumb over his lower lip for no other reason than simply needing to touch him. His hands come to rest on the car as if he’s holding himself up, caging me in the process and my hand on his chest lowers to his abdomen, slipping under his shirt. I don’t mean for it to be sexual, but I can’t help my moan when his muscles flex beneath my fingers. The low groan that comes out of him has me tipping my chin up to see his face. I love seeing how his lids lower and his lips part, as if his always-expressive face completely relaxes when he’s under this lusty haze.
“So, you’re not angry, then.” It’s not a question; the answer is very obvious. “Because I kept a secret, and we promised honesty.”
“Not angry. Never angry at you. But I’m honestly going to lose my ever-loving mind and any semblance of gentlemanliness or self-control if you keep touching me like that.” He rests his forehead on mine, and when I pull my hands away, he lets out a slow breath. “You’ve told me now. That is being honest.” Lifting his head, he places a gentle kiss on my forehead. “Is there anything you can’t do?” He asks, almost to himself.
“I don’t know how to whistle.” It’s a fact. I just can’t make my lips twist the right way, and all that comes out is air, no whistling sound.
He rears back. “What, like…” He whistles a tune so easily that it’s almost annoying. I want to hate it. I want to hate the way that his lips pursed like that makes my stomach do a little backflip. I want to hate that Rafael whistling is both somehow adorable and sexy all wrapped into one hot, muscular package. I want to hate that I’m now thinking about his package . But I’m very much thinking about it and how much I don’t seem to hate anything about him anymore. Quite the contrary, actually.
“Red? You okay?” He cups my cheeks in his hands, his thumb caressing the spots where I am most certainly blushing.
“Mm-hmm.” I anchor myself to him with my hands around his wrists.
“Hey, will you sign my copies of your books?” He blushes. Actually bloody blushes. Again! And I nearly can’t take it. “I have all of them. Special editions, and everything.” His smile is so warm, as are his hands that have little calluses on them, just rough enough to tease my skin. I love the feel of them on me.
“Of course I will. That’s… It’s so…” Tears prick the backs of my eyes, and the words don’t come .
He leans down and kisses me softly, tenderly. “Thank you,” he whispers against my lips.
I don’t know what he’s thanking me for when I should be the one thanking him for the most perfect reaction. One completely opposite of the one Robert had, which was essentially full of condescension and dismissal. I hate that my brain always chooses to compare these two men. I get it. They’re complete opposites.
There’s more I want to confess, but fear stops me. I don’t want to completely erase this perfect moment where Rafael has just told me that he loves my brain, that he has all of my books. And selfishly, I want to keep this memory just as it is. Perfect and happy. Mine.
So, when he takes my hand and kisses it before buckling me back into my seat, I say nothing.
I promise myself I’ll tell him another time.
Soon .