Page 68 of Rafe’s Future

“You and I both know there’s only one way this thing ends. So just stop, okay?”

“I’m not leaving you to die, so you stop, okay? And shut up, I’m trying to count!”

As unbelievable as it was, Rafe found himself fighting a smile. He wasn’t sure which was stronger, the urge to spank her gorgeous ass red or kiss her senseless.

Unfortunately for him, he could do neither. And since he was, as she pointed out, the one standing on the bomb, he had no choice but to go along with the new plan. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t make his feelings clear a final time.

“So help me, woman,” he shouted out next. “You get yourself killed, I’m going to be royally pissed!”

The door behind him was opened. A gust of the night’s warm, swirling breeze carried with it Lena’s familiar scent. Vanilla musk with a hint of raspberries.

And then, Rafe heard⁠—

“Then I guess it’s a good thing I don’t plan on dying today.”

Rafe huffed out a breathy laugh. How could he not when a woman like Angelina Price cared enough to risk herself for him?

Still, he had to give it one more try.

“You don’t have to do this.”

“I know.” She picked up the first of the blocks she’d stacked nearby. Keeping her booted feet on the concrete slab just outside the door, Lena spoke to him from behind. “You’re what, two-forty? Two-forty-five?”

He sighed, his broad shoulders falling as he gave up the fight. Why bother, when it was obvious he’d already lost? The woman had made up her mind, and nothing he said or did was going to change it.

“Last time I was on the scale, it showed two-forty-two.”

“That’s perfect.”

Rafe frowned. “How so?”

“The average cinder block weighs between thirty-five and thirty-eight pounds. I grabbed eight, so even if they all were on the lower end of that range, it’ll be enough.” She paused. “Unless you’re one of those guys who lies about his weight to impress the ladies.”

Rafe started to chuckle but caught himself to prevent the unintentional shifting of his weight.

“If I’m off by a few pounds, I blame it on your pancakes,” he joked. “And I won’t even ask how you know what a cinder block weighs.”

Lena’s soft laughter came to him from his lower left side. But then⁠—

“Don’t. Move.” She carefully placed the first block onto the mat, inching it next to the sole of his boot. “One down, seven to go.”

“Perhaps you should throw an extra one on there, just in case,” he suggested.

“What’s the matter, Brit? Don’t you trust me?”

Rafe grinned. “I’m quite literally trusting you with my life.”

She paused to meet his gaze, her tone laced with sincerity and determination. “I’m going to get you out of this alive.”

Lena believed the solemn vow, and he loved her for it. Time slowed down once again as he was forced to stand frozen and wait.

She moved back and forth between him and the collection of blocks. With an abundance of caution, she made two separate but equal stacks on the section of floor that had given way beneath his weight. When both towers of cinderblocks were even, it was time for the final—and most terrifying—part of the plan.

The part where, hopefully, they didn’t die.

“Reach back and take my hand,” Lena instructed.

Doing as he’d been asked, Rafe felt her left palm sliding against his. His fingers curled around hers tightly, and she responded in kind.