It’s the music. That’s the reason I feel like dancing. “Yes.”
His smile widens. “Good.”
Is it a date?I think, as if it’s possible to go on a first datewith your legally wed husband. I can’t ask it. Shouldn’t even think it. But then he’s tipping my head up, and it’s impossible to keep my thoughts in order.
“You can cook?” I ask.
“I can. There are lots of things you don’t know yet.”
I feel breathless. “Probably because I didn’t hire a private investigator ahead of our wedding.”
“Such an oversight,” he says in a voice that’s half smile, half smirk.
I find the collar of his shirt. My stomach is buzzing. It’s the kind of feeling I hate.
Usually.
“I’m not fixing your collar because I need an excuse to touch you,” I tell him.
“Good,” he says. “Because you don’t need an excuse anymore.”
My fear is like the lake outside. Narrow and terrifyingly deep. “I’m not… good at emotions. I’ve done my best to run from mine for years.”
“I know you have, darling. It kept you alive.”
His easy matter-of-factness makes my eyes sting. I blink rapidly to clear them. Maybe the only way forward is through. To fall into the deep lake and see if I’ll be able to float.
His eyes search mine. “What is it?”
“You called me darling again.” It’s so dumb, of all the things, but it’s the only thing I can say.
“Yes. I did.” Rafe brushes over my cheek, face close to mine. To think I used to find him too handsome to look at. Now I can’t look away. There’s intelligence and kindness in those eyes, and complexity and anguish. Full lips that are quick to a smirk and sometimes, just sometimes—when he’s truly happy—break into a fully-fledged smile.
“It’s just… I can’t bear it sometimes, when you’re kind to me. When we blur the lines like this. I can handle you when we’re fighting, or when we’re… intimate. But I don’t know how to handle kindness,” I tell him.
His smile fades. What remains is just him, honesty etched onto every line of his face.
“I don’t think I can stop,” he says. “If you want us to go back to hating each other every minute of the day, Paige…”
I shake my head. But I can’t find the words either, and maybe he sees that, because he just brushes his thumb over my cheek and keeps talking.
“I hated you. For forcing my hand. And then I hated you for being so frustrating.” He wipes away something wet on my cheek. Am I crying? “And then for being so damn interesting. You’ve done a good job at it, you know.”
I smile. “I tried very hard.”
“Do you know what I thought when you walked into the courthouse?”
“That you had to get me a watch, and quick, because I was late.”
His lips tug. “Yeah. That too. But I thought that it was just my luck that you were the most gorgeous woman I’d ever seen, and we were on opposing sides.”
“You didn’t.”
“I did. You saw through me, too. Saw that I wanted you earlier than I was willing to admit.”
“That was a fun button to press.” I shift in his arms and slide my hands beneath the collar of his linen shirt. “What do we do now?”
“Now?”
