No argument. No pressure.
Then he turned and walked away.
I walked after him down the dimly lit hallway, my footsteps quick against the polished floor, echoing softly in the tense silence between us.
“Wait,” I called out, then corrected myself as he slowed. “What are you doing right now?”
Rafael stopped mid-step.
He didn’t turn immediately.
That alone already felt like a warning—like he was deciding whether this conversation was worth his patience.
Then, slowly, he faced me.
His dark eyes narrowed slightly. Not in irritation exactly, but in that controlled way he had.
“Why do you ask?” he said at last.
I lifted my chin, even though my pulse was already betraying me.
““Because I’d like to spend some time with you... if that’s alright.”
A flicker crossed his expression.
Small. Almost imperceptible. But I caught it.
Before he could answer, I rushed the words out—like speaking faster might outrun the fear of his response catching up to me.
“In your room,” I added quickly, then steadied myself. “On your bed. As long as you promise me one thing.”
A pause.
“No mention of your late wife. Not one word.”
Rafael studied me for several long seconds. Then he moved.
Two measured strides and he was in front of me.
His presence swallowed the space between us completely, tall and unyielding, that quiet danger in him suddenly sharpened into something more immediate.
Something that made my breath catch without permission.
“On my bed,” he murmured.
My heart thudded hard against my ribs, already anticipating rejection—already bracing for the moment he would refuse, turn away, and leave me standing there like I had never spoken at all.
His hand slid to the small of my back, firm and deliberate, pulling me forward until there was no space left between us.
My body pressed fully against his chest—solid, warm.
I could feel the controlled strength in him, coiled and contained like something dangerous pretending to sleep.
He leaned in.
Not kissing me yet.
Just close enough that his breath brushed my lips.
