Then, because he can’t resist trying to shift the mood, he adds, voice rougher, “Also, I plan to spend every moment of it naked, and I’m not doing that at the mansion with these perves hanging around.”
Eli cackles. “Fuck you. You wish I was interested in seeing you and your hubby getting jiggy.”
Drew laughs, tension easing at last. “Jesus Christ.”
Miles groans. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”
Heat rises up my neck, despite everything, while Rafe watches my reaction like it’s a prize.
“Ooh…,” Eli says smugly. “He’s blushing.”
“I am not,” I protest.
Rafe leans closer, murmuring against my ear so only I can hear, “You absolutely are.”
The softness of it steadies me. The certainty. Reluctantly, I exhale. “Okay.”
His eyes soften instantly. “Okay?”
“Okay,” I repeat. “Let’s go home.”
He relaxes like he’s been holding his breath since the café.
The rest of the drive passes in a strange kind of quiet. While it’s not comfortable exactly, it is calmer. The shock drains slowly, and the city becomes familiar again.
When we finally reach our building, Miles pulls into the secure underground garage without hesitation. The gate closes behind us with a mechanical finality that makes my shoulders sag with relief.
Safety.
We climb out quickly. The guys are still keyed up, but they put on casual faces like muscle memory. Drew claps Rafe on the shoulder. Eli pulls him into a brief hug. Miles checks the garage corners once like he’s expecting danger to leap out.
Then Rafe turns to me, hand brushing my back. “Home,” he says quietly.
I nod.
We move toward the elevator together, the sound of our footsteps echoing off concrete.
Behind us, Miles lifts a hand in farewell. Eli shouts something obscene about birthday sex out of the car window, and Drew laughs. The car pulls away.
The elevator hum is steady and indifferent, like it doesn’t care that my heart is still trying to climb out of my ribs. Rafe leans into me like he can’t help it, head tipping toward my shoulder, curls brushing my jaw. I wrap my arm around himwithout thinking, pulling him close, palm spread wide over his back. He’s warm through his shirt, solid and here.
And as the elevator rises, carrying us back toward our quiet, hidden life, I realize something I do not want to admit yet: We’re running out of ways to stay invisible.
And still, he’s coming home with me anyway.
The doors slide open on our floor, and we move fast—not because we’re in danger now, not because anyone is watching, but because the adrenaline hasn’t drained, and Rafe is looking at me like he’s still shaking off the café and the crowd and the hands that touched him.
The hallway is quiet, all plush carpet and soft lighting. The kind of calm that feels fake after chaos.
We reach our door, and I’m halfway through unlocking it when he surges in. His mouth catches mine like he’s been waiting all morning for permission.
I make a sound that’s half laugh, half surrender as my back hits the door, keys biting into my palm. I should pull away. I should focus. I should use my brain for the ten seconds it takes to get the lock open.
But he kisses me like I’m the only thing keeping him from falling apart.
His lips are urgent, demanding, like the fear wants to turn into something else—something that belongs only to us.
My hand shakes as I try to angle the key into the lock, and I swear Rafe senses the struggle because he kisses harder, like he’s offended by the concept of me giving my attention to anything other than him.
