“Don’t you run early?”
“At dawn.”
“Maybe,” she said, triple-guessing herself, then saying it anyway, “I’ll just…stay?”
“That’s not something you ever need to ask me.”
Bea licked her lips. “But there’s only one bed.”
“We survived Westhelm.”
He was right, they’d technically done it before. She’d spent three nights in his arms, pretending that was enough. They could probably do it just once more.
“I don’t have pajamas here.” She was still in the dress she’d worn to dinner.
Rafael caught her hand and pulled her up. “Use mine.” His bedroom was just across the hall. Five steps.
The second she was inside, she knew this was one of her more harebrained ideas. Six weeks since she’d last been in that enormous bed. Her body remembered all of it: her fingers knotted in his hair, her back lifting off these sheets while he brought them both to oblivion. She was standing with a lit match, pretending the fire wasn’t going to spread.
She wanted to anyway.
“Having second thoughts?” There was the slightest taunt in his tone.
“Notsecondthoughts,” she whispered.
“Dirty ones?”
She lifted her hand to smack him, half-hearted.
It never landed. He caught it and kissed her hungrily, like he couldn’t not. One hand curled behind her neck, the other gripped her waist and pulled her in hard. She responded with equal need, going up on her toes, trying to get closer. He made a low sound and she felt it vibrate through his chest and straight between her legs.
Then suddenly, he tore his mouth from hers. “Don’t move,” he muttered. “I’ll find you something to wear.”
I don’t want clothes.
Bea stayed where he left her, breath unsteady, fingers curled at her sides while he disappeared into his wardrobe. She wanted him back here, in front of her, doing something other than exercising self-control. Abstinence had made her restless and needy, all sensation and nowhere to put it, and she didn’t know how much longer she could keep pretending this was character-building.
“Get changed, little Bea,” he said when he returned. He looked marginally more in control.
Ten minutes later she stepped back into the room wearing only his shirt. It was long enough to reach mid-thigh. His gazedropped instantly, following the line of bare legs. “You left the shorts off.”
“They didn’t stay on,” she said, barely audible. It was true, and yet it still felt like she was provoking him. Maybe she was.
Bea slid beneath the covers while he watched. Then he reached past her, switched off the lamp, and settled beside her. She stared at the ceiling and started counting her heartbeats. The soft cotton chafed her skin.
This was unbearable.
“Goodnight,” she said.
He didn’t answer. He seemed determined to mimic a statue.
That should’ve been the end of it. Except…she rolled toward him. Her knee brushed his thigh and she felt his whole body go taut, as though one more inch would undo him.
In her defense, his mouth was right there, close enough to taste. So she leaned in for a tiny, harmless goodnight kiss.
And that’s when it broke.
His hand caught her jaw and his mouth took hers. She made a noise that embarrassed her because it sounded as desperate as she felt. His lips dragged down to her throat and bit down hard enough to make her gasp.
