Chapter 32
Cece
Iwoke to the warmth of Rafe's body wrapped around mine, his arm a heavy, possessive weight across my waist and his breath hot against my neck. For a moment, I didn't move, savoring the solid heat of him pressed against my back and the way our legs tangled together beneath the sheets. This was different from all the other mornings we'd spent in this bed—no careful distance maintained by a wall of pillows, no pretending we weren't hyperaware of each other's bodies. Just us, skin to skin.
The soft beep of Rafe's alarm broke the stillness. He stirred behind me, his arm tightening briefly around my waist before he reached over to silence the insistent noise. I felt the press of his lips against my shoulder, then the dip of the mattress as he sat up.
"Morning," he murmured, voice still rough with sleep. His fingers traced lazy patterns along my spine, sending little shivers of pleasure racing across my skin.
I rolled over to face him. "Morning."
The sight of him nearly stole my breath—hair mussed from my fingers, stubble darkening his jaw, and those devastating eyesstill heavy-lidded. He leaned down and pressed his mouth to mine, a gentle kiss that quickly deepened when I slid my fingers into his hair to hold him close. When he finally pulled back, we were both breathing harder.
"I have to get ready for work," he said, though he made no move to leave the bed.
"I know." I stretched, deliberately letting the sheet slide down to expose my breasts to his hungry gaze. The flash of heat in his eyes was worth the chill of morning air on my skin.
"You're playing with fire, Cecelia." The warning in his voice was undermined by the way his hand moved to cup one breast, thumb brushing over my nipple until it hardened beneath his touch.
"Maybe I like getting burned." I arched into his touch, shameless in my need for him even after everything we'd shared the night before.
With visible reluctance, he pulled away and stood. I propped myself up on my elbows to watch him walk naked to the bathroom, admiring the play of muscles beneath his skin and the perfect curve of his ass.
"Like what you see?" he called over his shoulder.
"Always have," I admitted with a grin. "But I'm allowed to look now."
His answering laugh was warm and genuine, a sound I was hearing more often lately and wanted to keep hearing for as long as possible.
While Rafe showered, I dozed, drifting in and out of a pleasant haze. The events of the past few days played through my mind like scenes from someone else's life. Had it really only been weeks since he'd thrown me over his shoulder at that club and paid my debt? Since we'd entered this marriage of convenience that was rapidly becoming anything but fake?
By the time he emerged from the bathroom, towel slung low on his hips and water droplets still clinging to his chest, I was fully awake and sitting up against the headboard with the sheet pulled modestly to my chest.
"Shame," he commented, nodding at my covered state. "I was looking forward to the view."
"Go to work, de Luca," I said with a laugh. "If I give you the view you want, you'll never make it out of this bedroom."
"Would that be so terrible?" He dropped the towel without warning and reached for his boxer briefs, giving me an eyeful that had me biting my lip to suppress a whimper.
"Cruel man," I muttered.
He smirked as he continued dressing, each layer of expensive fabric hiding more of that magnificent body from my sight. By the time he fastened his cufflinks—a process that somehow managed to be erotic despite covering rather than revealing skin—I was seriously considering dragging him back to bed.
"What are your plans today?" he asked, adjusting his tie in the mirror.
"Probably catching up with Izzy. Maybe Evie too, if she's free." I stretched again, enjoying the pleasant soreness in the muscles that had gotten quite the workout. "Why?"
"Just curious." He finished with his tie and turned to face me. "Have dinner with me tonight."
I raised an eyebrow. "We live together. We have dinner together every night."
"Not like this." He moved closer and sat on the edge of the bed. "I want to take you on a proper date. Like we should have done before all..." he gestured between us, "...this."
"A date?" I repeated, surprised by how formal it sounded. As if we hadn't spent the last twenty-four hours mapping each other's bodies with hands and mouths and whispered confessions.
"Yes, a date." His smile was almost shy, another crack in that perfect façade. "I want to pick you up at seven, take you somewhere nice, and pretend we're just getting to know each other. Even though I already know how you taste when you come on my tongue."
I sucked in a breath at his words as heat pooled low in my belly. "Seven works for me."
