I can’t help smiling. “Oh, thank you.”
“If you make good headway on the online course, you can launch it in time for Christmas.”
“That’s a great idea. I’ll aim for that.” I kick my legs under the water a little. “Thank you. I really appreciate everything you’ve done. I hate to think I’m taking up your time or—”
“I want to help you. I’m happy to.” He sounds sincere, but he’s still staring at the water.
“If you no longer have time, that’s fine,” I say, wanting to give him an out in case that’s what he wants and he’s too polite to ask for it.
His head snaps up. “I have plenty of time for you.”
An electric thrill shoots though me at the force behind his words. They expand in the air above us, like a balloon swelling beyond its limits, hidden contents ready to explode. Or perhaps I’m attributing more meaning to them than really exists; maybe to Rafe they meant nothing.
“It’s not entirely selfless,” he explains, and his accompanying smile warms my insides. “I’d forgotten how exciting it is to start something new. Seeing you succeed is inspiring. I was… jaded, before. Maybe I should be thanking you.”
I press my lips together to stop my smile getting crazy wide. “You’re enjoying helping me?”
“Absolutely. Working with you is often the highlight of my day.”
Without meaning to, I suck in a tiny gasp, and he blinks, tucking his chin in, seeming to register that our conversation has taken a turn it shouldn’t have, and that he’s been a littletoohonest. Too open. But I don’t want him to feel bad, so I whisper, “It’s the highlight of mine too.”
His mouth fixes into a tight line as he stares at the water again. “Ideally, I’d like to get out of it unscarred though.” Opening his palm, he flashes the wound at me. It’s healing nicely.
“I don’t know if that’s possible,” I say, and it sounds far too serious; it sounds like I’m talking about somethingotherthan the possibility of a permanent scar across his hand. I’m not even sure what I mean by it, only that I meansomething, and he seems to understand because he looks away.
“Maybe not,” he says, and the phrase sounds heavy and considered.
Are we talking about the same thing? Skirting about the same possibility? A possibility ofus? Anusthat might leave scars in places other than the palm of his hand?
I don’t know, and there’s no way to ask. Silence creeps in and envelops us, swallowing us into some isolated pocket of the universe where we exist together, cushioned by awkwardness and unspoken confessions. Mine, not his. I can’t afford to make assumptions.
Occasionally, weighted silences like this one occur when we’re working together, and it’s impossible not to wonder what he’s thinking when it happens.
I wait a few minutes in case he does want to speak, but he stays silent. Reaching behind his head, he tugs his t-shirt off in one smooth motion, tossing it aside.
My breath catches at the sight of him topless. I can’t believe I’ve already slept with this man, because I long for him like someone I’ve never had. Never will have. The breadth of his chest, the curve of his pecs, the ripples of his abs. Physically, he’s everything I’d ever want, but the pull to him is more than that. Yes, it’s lust. Lust on an almost all-consuming level. I felt it from the moment I first saw him. But there’s something else there. I want him to crack me open, not just physically, but spiritually and emotionally too; it feels like he’s the only man in the world who could.
Please, take every little bit of me. I want you to have it.
It’s crazy. I’m insane to even think it, but I feel it with a certainty I shouldn’t. Maybe it’s the sex; maybe it’s all the hours we’ve spent together on my business, and the tiny, intimate moments that I could brush off as nothing, but don’t want to.
Maybe I’m making it all up, imagining he wants me too, when he doesn’t think of me that way at all.
He’s my best friend’s father. Strictly off-limits.
None of it makes sense. He shouldn’t consume my thoughts the way he does, and he shouldn’t send me into turmoil just by sitting next to me.
I don’t know how much longer I can keep it all inside.
He looks up, his eyes alert, a genuine openness on his face that tears through the bubble of tension I thought we were trapped in. He nods at the water. “Race me?”
A giggle bursts from my lips. “Is this another thing you do with Lizzie? Like Dance Kitchen?”
“No.” He dips his fingers into the water and flicks some at me. I squeal as the droplets hit my face. “This is just for you.” He slips into the pool and nods towards the far end. “Show me what you’ve got. Freestyle?”
“Okay.” I grin. “But you’re going to lose. I’m really fast.”
A wide, beautiful smile opens across his face. “You just said you were average. I was banking on that.”
