5
SERAPHINA
“He sleeps,” I mumble softly, pausing outside of Rafe’s office the next morning. While I’ve only been working for him for a little bit, I’ve yet to see him so much as nap here, let alone deep in a coma-like slumber. This version of him—not composed, not intimidating, not the ruthless, impossible man who could dismantle a boardroom with one singular look, just asleep—is absolutely wreaking havoc on me.
Rafe’s tie is off, his shirt untucked and wrinkled. Apparently, he never bothered with his suit jacket yesterday, and I wasn’t above doing a little gawking, either. He has one arm thrown over his head, the other resting across his stomach. His dark hair is a mussed mess, probably from sleep and his fingers running through it with frustration.
The folded blanket sitting on the back of the couch never made it onto him. In fact, the stack of papers, opened laptop, and copious coffee cups on the table tell me exactly what happened. It’s clear the discrepancy caused some kind of chaos, even if he tried to portray otherwise.
My gaze snags on the stubble coating his jaw and the strong line of his throat where the top of couple of buttons of his shirt are undone. My brain is clearly working against me, supplyingvivid memories from last night—my hand sliding between my thighs, the helpless gasps and moans that tumbled from my lips, and the cooling bathwater against my skin.
Even after the orgasm last night, it didn’t stop me from waking up this morning thinking about Rafe pinning my wrists above my head, saying my name in a low rough voice, and finally snapping after months of tension, lingering looks that lasted a second too long.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Seraphina Westwood, get your shit together,” I mutter under my breath, feeling the heat rise from my chest to my cheeks. I took care of the problem last night, thoroughly, and more than once. Somehow, it’s only making things worse.
I stand frozen in the doorway, staring far longer than is appropriate, especially at your boss. I know how much I want him, and I know how badly he wants me. That’s the infuriating part in all of this. If the stubborn, bull-headed man would stop fighting himself every minute, maybe we both could be put out of our misery.
I’m about to turn around to start my day, but I’m caught when his forearms flex, exposing his firm muscles even in his sleep. I’m lusting over a sleep-deprived workaholic sprawled across a couch before the office is even open. This is pathetic.
Rafe stirs, and it causes my spine to straighten. I really wish I had something to hold on to because clearly, my sanity is slipping. His brow furrows, then his eyes blink open slowly, heavy with exhaustion.
He lookssoft.
Then he looks my way and smiles. Not the sharp, aggravated-with-life expression, either. No, this is sleepy. Real, even. It also hits me with an overwhelming force.
“Either I’m dreaming or you started breaking into the office to stare at me,” he murmurs, his voice raspy with sleep.
“I wasn’t staring.” My pulse spikes. Rafe Montero always seems to think I’m staring at him, and while that may be partially the truth, okay, fine, it’s the whole truth and nothing but the truth, I’m not going to admit that to him.
“Mhm, sure.” His sleepy smile does more to me than I expected.
“You were unconscious. It was more along the lines of assessing if you were still breathing or not.” Rafe really doesn’t need me to admit what I was doing.
“Sounds romantic.” I roll my eyes at his response. He pushes himself upright, slightly wincing as his neck cracks. His open shirt stretches open, and I avert my eyes from gawking further. “You know,”—God, his voice, low and gravely, warm enough to melt me to the core—“most people attempt to wake one up before conducting a medical evaluation.”
“Well, you looked at peace. I didn’t want to ruin the moment.” Rafe’s mouth tilts at one corner.
“There she is.” I quirk my head to the side in question. “The woman who dishes back whatever I give her.”
“You mean I tolerate you?” He props himself against the couch, arms hanging loosely on the back, legs spread in that seductively manly way.
“Pretty sure your eyes tell me a completely different story.” I’m not used to the man in front of me, giving in so freely, and I know better than to think this is his usual demeanor, but for now, I’ll take what I can get.
“Is there a reason you slept here all night?” I change the subject abruptly, this softer and tender side has me wanting to do things. Things like climbing in his lap, sliding my hands into his hair, and having his mouth do dirty things to mine.
“Looked over the report. Found more discrepancies. Then checked the year before, and the year before that. Seems the company I’m looking to acquire decided to fudge their revenue.Eyes started blurring, thought I’d rest for a minute. Apparently fell asleep.” He scrubs a hand over his face, blinks the tiredness away. His gaze slowly follows the length of my body, the loose blouse, the bright-red slacks, the sky-high heels.
“Do you need my help before the meeting this morning?” I ask. The room suddenly feels a smidge too small.
“Help, definitely need that.” His eyes linger before he sits up a little straighter, confidence exuding from him even when it shouldn’t after he spent the night on a couch. “I need someone to check the numbers before I walk into that room. Right now, everything looks like it was built on bad fucking decisions.” Rafe let’s out a faint exhale, something similar to a laugh, but not really.
“You’re functioning on zero sleep and what looks like old coffee.” I glance at the empty cups on the coffee table. “I’ll make you a fresh cup, look over the reports while you clean up.” My spine tingles thinking about him using the shower, and as much as I want to do anything to relieve this ache, now is not the time. Rafe is being different, nice almost.
“Thanks, I appreciate it. You sure you’re good with looking over the reports?” I have experience, more than I’ve let on, mostly because this job is demanding enough, and if I let on that I have an eye for numbers, well, there’s no telling what they will have me do next.
“You’re welcome. I’ll... uh, just go get that coffee now.” Rafe starts unbuttoning his shirt, each inch showing more of his firm chest and delicious line of his abdomen.
“Don’t need to leave on my account.” I meet his gaze. He holds mine. His shirt comes all the way off, dropping to a puddle on the ground, and that’s when he starts going for his belt.
