“You okay?” I wonder, more than prepared to be left in the dark again.
Rayne quietly exhales through his nose before leaning back into the couch cushions, sinking down to match my position, his fingers still lightly tracing over my cooling skin. Just when I think he’s not going to answer, he finally confesses, “I got jealous.”
I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t that, and I can do nothing but blink owlishly at my desk before turning to look at him again. “Sorry?”
Rayne’s jaw clenches slightly, almost like he regrets even bringing it up, but then he says, “Mhm. Didn’t expect it, either, but it hit me like a battering ram anyway.”
How does one react in these situations? Because I’ve had boyfriends who have been jealous over other guys before. Hell, Toby was a prime example. But I’ve never had a boyfriend who admitted it so honestly, so devastatingly, before. And I certainly haven’t felt the warmth I’m feeling blooming low in my chest at his confession. Not because he was jealous, but because he actually told me what was on his mind.
Rayne doesn’t tell me things easily, despite my very best efforts to lure some facts or stories out of him. I’ve tried my best, and it’s like trying to siphon blood out of a very stubborn stone, so I’ve pretty much made peace with accepting him as he is and loving him for all his mystery and quirks. Everything about him feels carefully held back, locked behind a door he keeps checking over his shoulder to make sure it’s still shut, and I’ve simply decided to help guard that door for him.
If he doesn’t want to share his past with me, then I’m not going to pry. I’m hoping that, with time, he’ll finally feel comfortable and secure enough to share. If he knows I’m not going anywhere, that I’m here for the long haul, then maybe that might help him open up a little.
“I know you weren’t doing anything wrong, so it’s not like I was angry at you. It’s work, and I can separate the two. Those guys meant nothing, and I get that,” he says quietly, and I nod in full agreement.
However, I already know there’s more, so I pause before gently prompting, “But?”
His gaze drags slowly over me, my still-sweaty skin, bare legs, messy hair. The cropped shirt that still clings tightly to my body from the heat. And then he’s back to my face, and the intensity in his eyes makes me shiver in the best way possible.
“But I walked in and saw one of them touch you,” he admits, his voice lower now, slightly rougher than before, “and it made me want to drag you out of there. Took everything in me to keep my hands to myself and remind myself that you’re a professional.”
I’ll be damned to the ninth circle of hell if that doesn’t do something catastrophic to me.
Shifting closer to him, I give in to my need to touch him. I sling my legs over his lap and lean into his side, his hand settling on my waist like it was instinct to place it there. I sigh before murmuring, “You know what’s funny?”
“What?” he asks lowly.
“I think that’s the most honest thing you’ve ever told me,” I comment, almost lightly, but the gravity is there in my words. This is a big deal, that he’s sharing things with me, even if they’re silly things he doesn’t need to worry about.
I’m soaking it in regardless, committing it to memory. I’m screenshotting the image of his expression as it flickers, almost like a flash of guilt washes over his face quickly. Or maybe fear? I can’t quite tell, but it’s printed in my memory anyway.
“Probably,” he eventually agrees, and I can’t help but study his face for a second.
This gorgeous and guarded man, who looks at me like he wants me more than anything in this world but doesn’t entirely believe he’s allowed to have me, is sitting there looking scared or guilty, and I’m pretty sure I fall that little bit harder for him.
Reaching toward him slowly, brushing dark hair from his forehead, I whisper, “You know, you don’t scare me, Rayne Cloud.”
He freezes instantly. “You don’t know me well enough to say that, mayhem.”
“Then tell me,” I say with a small shrug. The words leave me gently, without an ounce of pressure that would force him into sharing, but I can see on his face how much of an impact they have. Something vulnerable flashes over his face so quickly I almost miss it, only my perceptive gaze catching it before it’s gone as fast as it appeared.
His blue gaze flickers between mine for a beat before he finally admits, “I want to, Mads. I just…”
He shakes his head, and I lean deeper into him, letting him feel my weight and heat. I make sure he knows I’m right here, that I’m not going anywhere, and his hand tightens on my waist as he shuts his eyes for a long moment. Almost like he’s composing himself, gathering strength, before he finally says, “I’m not really good at letting people keep me after I tell them everything. The only people who stayed are Caiden, Baxter, and Ryan.”
Pretty sure my heart breaks for him, the ache forming so suddenly that it damn near steals my breath. Jesus Christ, no wonder he moves through the world like he’s just waiting for it to leave him behind. It’s soul-shattering, and I’m moving on pure instinct, pressing my forehead against his before whispering, “I’m right here, Rayne. I’m not going anywhere. I don’t know if you’re aware, but you kind of signed on to keep me the moment you confessed all four of you like me. I’m incredibly difficult to get rid of. Ask Henley, Ashton, and Zelda. They’ve been trying for years.”
Rayne’s eyes shutter closed even as he huffs a small laugh that makes me feel like a queen, and I’m smiling justas he leans in and kisses me. It’s different from the ones I’ve had before. Not careful, not sweet and soft and sipping. It’s unrestrained, hungry, and kind of emotional. It’s almost like he pours weeks’ worth of holding back into the kiss, something in him finally snapping.
My breath catches before I kiss him back harder, my fingers tangling in his hair while his hands slide more firmly against my waist, pulling me into his lap with very little effort. Heat washes through my entire body, the office suddenly growing too hot, too small, and it’s only when Rayne breaks the kiss long enough to press his head against mine and pant against my lips that I fully embrace that I have fallen head over heels for this guy.
Breathing unevenly, he murmurs against my mouth, “You have no idea what you do to me, Maddie.”
I flash him a grin, wiggling closer on his lap and feeling the slight bulging evidence of what I do, and cheekily counter, “I have a few ideas.”
That finally gets a small laugh out of him, and I’m pretty sure an angel died to bestow that upon me. It’s a quiet laugh, breathless, but no less beautiful. It has my stomach swooping with butterflies, my heart stuttering, and my chest tightening with emotion. And that is all amplified when his hand slides beneath the hem of my shirt.
The sound I make nearly destroys what’s left of his self-control, the thread he’s apparently been holding on to growing taut with strain, and my own breath catches in my lungs when I catch the look on his face after it. It’s stunning, one to commit to memory, because it looks like he’s losing a battle with himself in real time.
