“That’s a great idea,” I tell her.
And it probably is, if you’re a real couple.
My hands slide over his wide shoulders. He’s annoyingly well-built. He mainly sits at a desk. I don’t know why he needs all these muscles.
It’s wasteful.
And hekissedme. It was professional, and brief, and absolutely not something I should’ve lain awake over in the quiet of my bedroom thinking about. He kissed me like he carries himself. Restrained and calculated.
There was no crack in his façade.
My hand slides down his side, over his ribs. He flinches slightly. I pause on his lower back and look over at Colette. She hasn’t noticed. She’s digging into his calves.
I look up at Rafe. Is he ticklish?
I smooth a hand lightly over the same spot, but he doesn’t react again. That’s when I notice the faint discoloration. He has a bruise in its last stage, just slightly darker than his olive-toned skin.
A bruise?
“Is everything all right?” Colette asks in that same soft voice.
My hands start moving again, away from the edge of the towel and up his back. “Yes. Absolutely.”
Rafe’s stiff again. I dig my thumbs into the muscles of his shoulders on instinct. Why does he have a bruise that size?
Eventually, Colette tells us that it’s time to turn over. She handles the lifting of the towel, and I take a step away, my hands warm from the oil and his skin. Rafe turns on the table and lies face up with the towel over his midsection.
I shouldn’t care what’s beneath it. If he’s wearing a pair of briefs or if he’s completely naked. I shouldn’t be the least bitcurious. It shouldn’t matter that he’s shaped like a Greek god.
Or that he kissed me like it was a chore, when I had hoped for him to break.You’re attracted to me.I gambled on that being true, but he held his composure.
The flickering lights in the room play over his skin and his taut stomach, the faint outlines of abs and the broad chest. It’s smattered with dark hair. He has a happy trail down his stomach, disappearing beneath the towel.
“We’ll start on the arms,” Colette says. She walks around the table. “This is a great time to check in with your partner.”
I reach for his hand and hold it in both of mine. He has a signet ring on this hand, with a faint B on it. Must be the boarding school he went to.
His expression is carefully blank, the mask I’ve learned he wears when he’s playing a part. But his eyes…
“Are you doing okay, honey?” I ask him.
“Mhm,” he says. This is not the Rafe who laughed at my tattoo with a wineglass in hand yesterday. This is a man who has battened the hatches and locked himself up tight.
I stroke up his forearm, mirroring Colette. “Relax.”
“I am relaxing,” he says, and it’s so clearly a lie that it makes my lips twitch. I look over at Colette, but she’s not watching us. She’s good at that. Being present and also giving us privacy. I can see why Sylvie spoke so highly of her.
“Mhm,” I say, mimicking him. “Be honest. You’re thinking about spreadsheets right now.”
He looks up at the ceiling. “No, I’m not.”
“Good.” I massage his upper arm and focus on the movement and not his green eyes in this lighting. “Let’s pretend I believe you.”
There’s a muffled sound from Colette, almost like a chuckle.
“You have just as much trouble relaxing as I do,” he tellsme. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you do nothing for a full hour.”
It’s true. I didn’t know he’d noticed. I meet his eyes and can’t think of a single thing to say.
