But as I dressed in workout clothes, my gaze kept drifting to the bed where she still slept, and the lie fell apart. This wasn't just physical. It had never been just physical with Cecelia, even before we'd touched each other. Whatever was happening between us had started long before I' knew what she sounded like when she came.
It had started that first night at Nouvelle Femme, with a laugh that had called to something in me I hadn't known existed.
Unable to leave without one more look at her, I moved to the side of the bed. She'd rolled onto her back, one arm was flung above her head and her lips slightly parted. Without thinking, I bent down and pressed a kiss to her forehead.
Her eyelids fluttered open at the contact, revealing sleep-hazed green eyes that took a moment to focus on my face.
“Rafe?” Her voice was husky with sleep. “Where're you going?”
“Gym,” I said, keeping my voice soft. “Go back to sleep. It's early.”
Frowning, she reached up to catch my wrist. “Now? It's not even light out.”
“Meeting Liam,” I explained, though it felt like a flimsy excuse. “I'll be back soon.”
She made a disgruntled noise in the back of her throat. “Stupid timing.” Her thumb brushed over my pulse point, a casual touch that sent my heart racing. “You should stay in bed with me instead.”
The invitation in her sleepy words sent my blood straight between my legs. It would be so easy to crawl back under the covers, to press my body against hers, to lose myself in her warmth and forget all about the panic that had driven me from the bed in the first place.
But I needed space. Needed clarity that I wouldn't find with her soft skin beneath my hands.
“Later,” I promised, bending to kiss her mouth this time. The gesture felt surprisingly natural, as if I'd been kissing her good morning for my entire life. “Go back to sleep.”
She sighed against my mouth, already drifting back toward unconsciousness. “Hurry back,” she murmured as her eyes closed again.
I watched her for another moment, something tight and sweet and painful blooming inside my chest. Then I turned and forced myself to walk away before I could change my mind.
The gym Liam and I had been going to for years was only a few blocks from my penthouse. At this hour, the streets were nearly empty, just the occasional early commuter or dog walker. The cold air bit at my skin through my light jacket, a welcome distraction from the thoughts circling in my head like vultures.
When I arrived, Liam was already there, wrapping his hands with the practiced precision of someone who'd done it a thousand times before. He looked up as I approached, his blue eyes taking in my expression with an assessment that missed nothing.
“You look like shit,” he greeted me, tossing a roll of hand wrap in my direction.
I caught it one-handed. “Good morning to you too,stupido.”
His mouth quirked up at one corner, but he didn't push. That was one of the things I'd always appreciated about Liam, he knew when to press and when to back off. Right now, he was letting me set the pace.
We warmed up in silence, jumping rope side by side, sweat already beginning to bead on my forehead despite the early hour. My movements were more aggressive than usual but Liam matched my pace without comment.
After ten minutes, we moved to stretches, then to the boxing ring in the center of the gym. Liam held the ropes apart for me, and I ducked through, rolling my shoulders to loosen them. He followed, moving to the opposite corner where he bounced lightly on the balls of his feet, arms already raised in a defensive position.
“Ready?” he asked, though the question was merely a formality.
I nodded once, then advanced. The first punch I threw had more force behind it than I'd intended, connecting with Liam's padded glove with a satisfying thwack. He raised an eyebrow but said nothing, shifting his stance to absorb the impact of the next blow, and the next.
We fell into a rhythm, the familiar dance of advance and retreat, strike and block. Sweat poured down my face, soaking into the collar of my shirt as I worked through whatever the fuck was happening inside my head. Each punch helped clear awaysome of the fog, each impact grounding me in the present rather than the swirling mess of my thoughts.
Liam was good—he'd always been good—but today I had an edge fueled by emotional turmoil I couldn't quite name. My jabs were faster, my hooks more powerful. He adapted, of course, because that was what Liam did. Adapted and overcame.
After three rounds, we were both breathing hard, sweat-slicked and exhausted. I dropped my hands, signaling a break, and he nodded, moving to the corner where he'd left a water bottle and towel. He tossed a spare of each in my direction.
“So,” he said as I gulped down water, “you want to tell me what that was about? Or are we just going to pretend this is a normal time to beat the shit out of each other?”
Buying time before answering, I meticulously wiped sweat from my face with the towel. “Is it about Cece?” he pressed when I remained silent.
“Yes and no,” I finally admitted, dropping onto the bench beside him with a heavy sigh.
He laughed, the sound lacking any real humor. “Figured as much. You've had that look since dinner last night. Like you're trying to solve a particularly complicated puzzle.”
