Page 42 of Rafe’s Future

“I’ve been told age is just a number.”

Her soft huff of a chuckle came out scratchy and rough. “I’m pretty sure that’s what old people tell themselves as a way of convincing themselves they aren’t actually old.”

She moved toward him, the soft material flowing over her petite form like an ocean of waves. Her bare-footed steps were silent as she padded along the room’s large, ornate rug.

Even her feet are adorable.

“Would you like a drink?”

“Make it a double?”

Rafe went to the small accent table butted up against the wall to his left to get another glass. Seconds later, he was handing her the generous pour, expecting a slow, savoring sip. Instead, Lena brought the glass to her mouth, tipped her head back, and took the entire contents down with one large gulp.

Without a word spoken between them, Rafe poured her another. She took her time with the second round, appearing uncharacteristically nervous. When she did speak again, her whispered words were so soft, he almost missed them.

“I’m sorry.”

He froze with his own glass making it halfway to his lips. “For what?”

“I’m the reason he’s dead.” Her haunted gaze held his captive. “It’s my fault you were forced to kill him. I never intended⁠—”

“What were your intentions?” Rafe hadn’t meant to say the words aloud. “You sure this wasn’t your plan all along?”

“What?” She physically recoiled. “Of course, that wasn’t my plan.”

“You took off his cuffs and then put yourself smack dab in his personal space.”

Lena scoffed. “A tactic we’ve both used countless times in the past without incident.”

“Only takes once.” Rafe tossed back the rest of his drink before setting the glass down onto the top of his desk. “We’re both tired.” He rounded his desk. “We should get some rest and continue this conversation in the morning.”

“No.” She put herself directly in his path. “We’re finishing this conversation now.”

“Lena—”

“Do you really think I went in there in hopes of provoking an attack? Why on earth would I do that when killing him does nothing but hurt our chances of stopping Kozlova?”

“He killed your friends,” Rafe countered. “Caleb and Sabrina? We’d just seen proof he was involved in their deaths.”

“So you think I devised a plan to go into that room alone and push him into a murderous rage? Do you have any idea how crazy that sounds?”

About as crazy as he was starting to feel.

“Like I said,” he rumbled low. “It’s late, and we’ve both had a very long day.”

Rafe started for the door, but only made a few feet before he heard⁠—

“Stop.”

He wasn’t sure why, but he did as she asked and halted his steps. “What is it, Lena?”

“Look at me.” She repeated the words a bit stronger when he refused. “Dammit, Rafe. Look at me!”

A wave of guilt fell over him at the sound of her strained voice. He faced her slowly, his chest growing tight when he saw the look on her face. Emotion, real and raw, left her brows dipping inward and a light sheen covering her hazel gaze.

“Yes, that man killed my friends.” She stepped in closer. “And yes, a big part of me wanted him dead. But I have never and would never put my personal feelings above the goal of a mission. Unsanctioned or otherwise.” Her pretty face twisted with an attempt to clear the hoarseness from her throat.

Rafe’s attention lowered to the source of her pain. It was the first time since she’d come in here that he’d let himself look.