“Yeah. I’m not sure I can pretend to hate you anymore either.”
He leans forward and presses a kiss to my temple. “I don’t know. I’m not an expert at relationships.”
“Me neither.”
“And there are things… I don’t know if I’m…” His voice trails off, broken and pained. I think of his nightmares and his guilt.I shouldn’t have survived.He’s a man used to being an island, just like I’m used to drifting alone at sea.
“Just let me take care of you, okay?” he asks. “Let’s start there.”
I nod and breathe in his scent. It’s been a long time since anyone took care of me. Starting there might be hard enough.
CHAPTER 62
PAIGE
I wake up in Rafe’s arms.
He’s curved around me, one leg through both of mine, and his arm heavy over my waist. He’s warm.
He’s also awake. I can tell it, by the steadiness to his breathing and the way his thumb smooths small, tight circles by my ribs.
“Don’t run,” he tells me.
“We’re breaking the rules,” I say. But I’m not moving a muscle.
He chuckles against my neck. His stubble tickles, and then there are his warm lips, right beneath my ear. He kisses me. Just once, like we do this all the time. “You love breaking the rules.”
“I do.” His hand grazes the underside of my breast. I feel heavy, and lazy, and warm down to my very bones. “It’s my favorite pastime.”
“No, it’s not. You like it. But it’s not your favorite pastime.” He kisses me again, on the sensitive skin of my neck. He did that in the dressing room too.
“What’s my favorite pastime, then?”
“Jumping into bodies of water.”
I laugh, and his arm around me tightens. “Yes. You hate that one.”
“Only when you’re unsafe.” He keeps kissing my skin, and I arch my neck. Warmth spreads from his touch. Little tendrils of electricity.
Against my back, I can feel his hard length. It’s nestled perfectly against my ass, and I press back a little.
He groans against my neck.
“You once told me to ignore it,” I murmur.
“I did. But you’ve never been very good at doing what you’re told.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” I ask. My fingers find his wrist, and I tug it up. He settles his palm fully over my left breast. The tennis court was hard and fast and perfect. We’ve never really done slow. It’s been fast and frenzied or timed and quiet.
“How do you always smell so good?” His nose is against my collarbone. “Always.”
His thumb brushes over my nipple, and it hardens beneath his touch. The silk slip I’m in is one I bought on that wild shopping spree, weeks ago, with his card. Back when I wanted him to hurt. It has thin straps and rides up easily on my thighs.
“We’ve never done this without arguing at the same time.”
“No, I suppose we haven’t.” His hands smooths down to find the length of my thigh. “Doesn’t mean I can’t still make you feel good.”
“Kiss my neck again.”
