“No problem.”
His footsteps fade across the cement. I’m left in a narrow strip of morning light, heat already pressing against my skin despite the early hour. Sweat prickles at my hairline. My shoulder throbs dully beneath its tape. Somewhere inside the house, a door closes.
Fingers curl around my wrist, and my breath catches.
One step backward and the sunlight disappears. Stucco scrapes my shoulder blade, tiny pebbles catching on cotton. Rafe smells like cedar and smoke and something I could get addicted to. His exhale stirs the hair at my temple. His shoulders create a wall between me and everything else, narrowing the world to just six inches of space.
One hand finds my hip, the other traces up my throat until his thumb rests against the flutter beneath my skin. The slow drag of his fingertips sends a barrage of goosebumps cascading down my body, igniting every nerve ending. I tilt my head back slightly, instinctively drawn to that pressure, the reminder of his control.
“Rafe.” My gaze drops to his mouth, lingers there.
His lips hover a whisper away, breath warming mine, voice dropping to gravel. “You okay, baby?”
The words vibrate through me, rough-edged despite their concern. I tilt my chin upward, feeling my pulse jump against the pad of his thumb.
“I’d be better if you kissed me.”
His mouth barely moves, just a twitch at one corner, but his eyes darken. His thumb presses once, deliberately, into the flutter beneath my skin. “What,” he murmurs, close enough thatI taste the mint on his breath, “my brother didn’t kiss it better for you last night?”
His voice drops half an octave onbrother, the word carrying a weight that makes my stomach tighten.
“We were under strict orders.”
A sound escapes him—dark, low, almost a laugh but sharper. Then his mouth claims mine.
His mouth crashes into mine, teeth catching my lower lip, the scrape of stubble against my skin. My back presses harder against the stucco as his fingers dig into my hip, his thumb still pressed to my pulse point where my heart hammers against his skin. I taste mint and coffee and something darker underneath. My hands find his shirt, fingers curling into the fabric, pulling him closer even as my shoulder protests. The world narrows to the pressure of his mouth, the heat of his body, the rasp of his breath.
It’s over too soon.
Air rushes back between us. My lips feel swollen, sensitive. My chest rises and falls too quickly. His forehead hovers near mine, close enough that I feel the warmth of his skin without touching it, before he steps back.
Cruz’s voice slices through the moment. “You ready?”
I jump at the sound of his voice. Pain shoots through my shoulder, drawing a hiss between my teeth.
He leans against the garage, one leg bent, foot flat against the wall. Keys spin around his finger in lazy circles. His head tilts slightly, taking in the scene—Rafe’s proximity, my swollen lips, the space between us charged like air before lightning strikes.
The back of my neck prickles hot.
Rafe’s eyes lock with mine, pupils expanding until only a thin ring of color remains. His fingers leave my hip inch by reluctant inch, the fabric of my shirt catching on his knuckles. My skin cools in the wake of his touch, each point of contactturning to goosebumps as the connection breaks. The corner of his mouth twitches upward—not quite a smile—as his fingertip traces one final half-circle against my hipbone before falling away completely.
I blow out a slow breath and run my fingers through my hair, tossing it off my face. My elbow brushes against Rafe’s chest. His exhale warms my temple. The taste of him lingers on my tongue while my pulse hammers in my throat, counting out the seconds of this suspended moment between three people.
“Yeah.” The word comes out rougher than intended.
Cruz pushes off the wall without a word, the silence heavier than any comment could be.
The drive stretches out, quiet except for the soft hum of tires on asphalt. Cruz’s arm drapes across the center console, fingers occasionally tapping against the leather to some inaudible rhythm. His sunglasses hide his eyes despite the pale morning light filtering through the windshield. I shift in my seat, wincing as the movement sends a fresh throb through my wrapped shoulder.
My fingertips brush against the edge of my phone, resisting the urge to check in on my siblings. It’s always hardest to curb that impulse after a run-in like the one we just had. But I console myself with the reminder that they’re likely just walking inside our flat, and they’re safe.
Cruz’s jaw tightens almost imperceptibly before he clears his throat. “So…” His head tilts slightly toward me, then back to the road. “Rafe, huh.” The corner of his mouth quirks up just enough to reveal the dimple on his left cheek.
I turn, studying the muscle that jumps along his jawline. “What surprises you more? That’s it’s Rafe… or that it wasn’t you?”
A sound escapes him—not quite a laugh, just air pushed through teeth. His fingers tap the wheel three times before hespeaks again. “Does Gage know about that?” His focus remains fixed on the road ahead, knuckles whitening briefly against the black leather of the wheel before relaxing again.
“I’m not hiding anything,” I say, watching his profile for a reaction. “If that’s what you’re asking.”
