The word “Good” falls from his lips like a promise. His hand settles on my thigh, heavy and warm through the damp towel. His thumb traces a small, maddening circle just above my knee, leaving a trail of heat that spreads upward. The air between us feels electric, charged with everything unsaid. His eyes drop to my mouth, then back up, a question in them that makes my breath catch in my throat.
“You want another bite?” I breathe out.
His lips brush my earlobe, the warmth of his breath sending a shiver down my spine. “Tiramisu's good, but I've got a different dessert in mind.”
The fork clatters against the plate as I set it aside, my fingers suddenly clumsy with anticipation.
“Really?” I tilt my head, letting my gaze drift deliberately to his mouth. “And here I thought you were just working up the courage to kiss me. Or do you need another invitation for that too?”
His laugh vibrates against my neck, warm and low, as his fingers trace a path up my thigh beneath the damp towel. “I don’t know, Bell. Are you gonna give me one?”
I lean in, letting my lips ghost across the corner of his mouth. “Consider this your invitation. Kiss me.”
He places a soft, chaste kiss on the sensitive spot behind my ear. “Like that?”
I arch my back against my palms, the cool wood of the table pressing into my wrists as I tilt my chin up to meet his gaze. The towel shifts against my thighs, loosening just enough to make my breath catch. My lips part, the invitation clear without a single word spoken.
Gage's body tenses against mine. His fingers dig into my thigh as his gaze locks on something over my shoulder. The playful warmth in his eyes hardens to ice. “You mind?” he says, jaw clenched tight enough that a muscle jumps beneath his skin. “We're kind of busy here, man.”
Ice cubes clink against glass behind me. “Nah, I don't mind at all.” The voice slides through the room like smoke, familiar enough to make my pulse skip.
30
BELLAMY
Rafe leans against the doorframe,one shoulder higher than the other, his body a study in practiced carelessness. The ice in his tumbler shifts with a soft clink as he tilts it, amber liquid catching the light. A lock of dark hair falls across his forehead when he dips his chin, gaze sliding from my bare legs to my face with unhurried precision. His pupils have swallowed nearly all the color in his eyes, leaving them darker than his brother's—drawing me in despite myself.
“Rafe,” I say, my voice catching on the single syllable. My lips curve upward without my permission, and a warm flutter ripples through my belly—the same feeling I get when I'm about to do something I shouldn't. I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from smiling too widely.
Gage's fingers flex against my thigh, digging five distinct points of pressure that send heat spiraling upward. His jaw tightens, a muscle jumping beneath the stubble as his eyes darken to midnight. The hand not gripping my leg slides possessively around my waist, thumb brushing the sensitive skin just above the towel.
His eyes lock with mine first, then drift to my mouth, lingering there before sliding down to the hollow of my throat where my pulse hammers. One corner of his mouth hitches upward, the dimple appearing in his right cheek as he takes a deliberate sip, his throat working as he swallows.
Water droplets cling to his hair, one sliding down his temple to disappear beneath the collar of his shirt. My gaze drifts to the fabric stretched across his shoulder, searching for the telltale bulge of bandages beneath.
“Swimming with a gunshot wound?” I click my tongue against my teeth. “That’s a terrible idea, you know.”
He tilts his head, one corner of his mouth lifting in that way that makes his scar catch the light. When he speaks, the words scrape low and rough against my ears, vibrating down my spine like fingers trailing over each vertebra. “You worried about me, baby?”
Gage's fingers find my chin, the pad of his thumb pressing just beneath my lower lip. My head turns toward him as if magnetized. His eyes never leave mine as his grip tightens just enough to leave the ghost of pressure against my skin, a silent command that sends heat spiraling down my spine.
“Fuck off, Rafe,” Gage says, voice dropping an octave, never taking his eyes off mine. The air between us thickens as his thumb traces a small arc along my jawline.
The sound of ice cubes clinking against glass grows louder as Rafe crosses the threshold. His low laughter vibrates through the room, each step bringing him closer until his shadow falls across the table between us, stretching long and dark against the polished wood.
Gage's jaw tightens against my skin, his stubble scraping a delicious path across my skin as he pretends Rafe isn't there. His breath comes hot and damp against my pulse point, teeth grazing the sensitive spot beneath my ear.
I arch backward, palms sliding wider on the cool table surface, wrists straining as my head falls back far enough to catch Rafe's dark gaze watching us.
Gage's jaw locks, a muscle twitching beneath stubbled skin as he stares at his brother. Rafe just lifts one eyebrow, that familiar scar catching the light as his mouth curves into a slow, deliberate smile. The air between them crackles with something intoxicating and dangerous. Gage's fingers flex against my thigh, digging deeper, while Rafe's gaze never wavers, never blinks—like a predator who knows exactly how long to wait.
Gage's breath ghosts over my skin, but I can't focus on it. My eyes keep drifting across the table where Rafe stands watching us. Heat crawls up my spine that has nothing to do with the man currently touching me.
My fingers twitch against the table, seeking purchase on the smooth surface as if preparing to push away or pull closer—I'm not sure which.
Rafe's lips part with a soft exhale, the sound caught somewhere between annoyance and anticipation. The corner of his mouth twitches once, twice, then breaks into a smile that transforms his face—all teeth and dark promise. His tumbler makes a hollow clink against the polished wood as he sets it down, ice cubes shifting and settling in the amber liquid.
Rafe's tongue clicks against the roof of his mouth, the sound sharp in the charged silence. “C'mon brother. We both know that's not how she likes it.”
