Page 89 of In Love and Revenge

I settle back into his grasp instead, my arse grazing against his semi-hard dick as he plays big spoon behind me. He mumbles something incoherent in his sleep before tightening his arms around me and nuzzling his face into my hair.

It’s not like I invited him to sleep over. Or expected him to be so ... snuggly. But after the epic sex where, quite frankly, I thought I might actually pass out from coming so hard, he’d kissed me the same way he did on my doorstep.

Soft, tender, unhurried.

I’d kissed him back for far too long, losing myself in the fantasy of him actually being a man I like.

I still can’t get over how he – the man who, Dove told me, breaks out in hives at anything remotelyrisky– not only seemed happy to fuck me without a condom but did it with even more enthusiasm than when he was wearing one.

The guy is a walking contradiction. Rude to me one minute, complimenting me as we dance the next. Talking about me like I’m beneath him. Thenfucking me beneath himand looking feral while doing it.

The many confusing layers of Rafael Fairfax, doing a stellar job of keeping you wondering which one is the real him. And if that wasn’t enough, when I returned from the bathroom, fully expecting him to be back in his expensive tuxedo and halfway out of the door, he was right where I left him.

In my bed.

Fast asleep.

And looking like an undressed model fromGQmagazine.

I sigh contentedly, giving in to the cosiness. I never found it comfortable sleeping with exes before. But this, even though it should be overwhelming with how he has me pinned, is somehow ridiculously relaxing. His legs are wrapped around mine like he doesn’t trust his arms to do the job of keeping me glued to him by themselves. And his breath is falling in a gentle rhythm against my hair.

It’s ... unnerving how different he is in his sleep.

The Rafael I’m used to is cold and calculating. Okay, recently I’ve seen lighter flashes of him, maybe even a rare bolt of humour, showing that he is, in fact, a human like the rest of us. But sleeping Rafael? Sleeping Rafael is a hot bubble bath on a cold winter’s night – all warm and cuddly and safe.

My phone pings nearby, and I crane my neck to peer over the edge of the bed. My clutch bag is lying haphazard on the floor in the tiny slice of space at the side of the bed, half of the contents scattered out of it where I tossed it down as he unzipped my dress last night.

I shuffle inside Rafael’s firm grip, but his arms tighten around me and he pulls me back against his chest with a sleepy grunt likeI’m an errant prisoner attempting escape. I wiggle inside his arms and turn on to my back. I gaze at him, all dark hair, chiselled jawline, and full, parted lips as he breathes in and out evenly, lost in a dream.

‘I need the bathroom,’ I whisper, delivering the gentlest dust of a kiss to his mouth.

His breathing alters and he grumbles something, his grip on me loosening. I slide out from beneath his arm. I can’t believe that actually worked.

Sitting up in bed, a large, strong palm lands on my hip, giving it a squeeze.

‘Don’t be long, Beauty.’

The half-asleep request slips out easily, all deep and rich and husky. Heat blooms between my legs, making my clit ache.

Stop it. It’s just sleep-talking. He’ll be gone as soon as the sun’s up. Back to his fancy world and arsehole remarks.

He won’t be looking back. And neither will I.

I scoop up my phone.

Dove: He called me! Can you believe the nerve of him?

I hit ‘call’ immediately.

‘When?’ I ask the moment it connects.

‘About ten minutes ago,’ Dove says, sounding breathless. ‘I let it go to voicemail but he didn’t leave a message.’

This is so unlike Dove. I’ve never seen her get flustered over anyone. Except him. That one older man from her past who she’s never been able to fully leave behind and move on from.

I shuffle on the bed, keeping my voice low.

‘Do you think he saw you at the party?’