We’re in the kitchen, this old-school, homey room that I’ve yet to use properly. My back is to the counter and my hands are on him. Fisted in the fabric of his shirt.
Another tremble racks me.
I hate the aftershocks just as much as I love the blessed silence after an attack passes. When it feels like my body has just run a marathon of stress.
Rafe’s eyes search mine, dark eyebrows drawn low. Like he cares. I hate that he’s seen me like this.
“I got your shirt wet,” I murmur.
“I have more,” he says. “And you’ve already helped yourself to my closet.”
That makes my lips curve, just a tiny bit. “Yes. I have.”
“What was that?” he asks. It’s not a harsh question. It’s not an accusation. But it is demanding, and I close my eyes against his shoulder.
“Did Sylvie notice?” I ask instead.
“I don’t think so.”
My hands fall from his shirt and find the cool marble ofthe counter behind me instead. “I’m still in her dress. She’s going to be mad.”
“No, she won’t.” He takes a step back too, and the sudden closeness is gone just as quickly as it happened. Inches open up, reestablishing the moat that should always run between us.
“I should go back in there.”
“I’ll handle it. Take a few minutes.”
“I’m still wearing her dress.” I turn, but Rafe’s hand comes to find my wrist.
“Wilde,” he says. “Your face…”
Oh. Humiliation makes my cheeks burn. I’ve been crying. “I should probably wash up first.”
“It might be best,” he says. His jaw works. “Is it because of… the wedding?”
“No. I’m good, I promise. I’ll be fine up at the altar.”
He nods and hesitates another second. “Right. Tell me if you need anything, though, okay?”
“I will. Wouldn’t want to ruin our happy image.” I run a hand over my cheek. The only thing more humiliating than him seeing all of this would be him thinking I’m panicking because of him. “It’s not because of you, by the way.”
“Right,” he says, and nods once. “Of course not.”
“Good,” I say.
“Great.”
He’s back to the man I know. The man who rushed out of the massage room rather than touch me, the man who backed us into a corner, the man who made himself my last resort to save the company.
The man I can never afford to let down my guard around.
I step away from him, toward the hallway. “Tell her I’ll be back in a few minutes?”
“I will.” He shoves his hands into his pockets. “The buttons…?”
“I’ll ask her to help with them,” I say. My gaze drifts to thewet spot on his shoulder. “Thanks for, um… getting me out of there in time.”
His lip curves into that crooked smile again. “Is this the first and only time I’ll hear that from you?”
