Page 54 of Not Safe for Work

I totally did, and it was… fantastic.

“You were practically in my lap, Trishara. Was it good for you?”

The way he says my full name, not with fury but with a smolder. The way he’s looking at me like he wants to take a bite. The way it was so good for me sends a ricochet down my spine.

To cover it up, I snarl and back away. I grab my purse, scoop up my blankets, and spin on my heel. I feel the burn of his gaze on my back like he’s trying to dissect me into pieces.

Kidney. Brains. Heart. Slice. Cut. Dice.

I dump my linens into a large grey bin stationed outside. I catch a few snippets of conversation, confirming the wind caused some minor damage to a few buildings, and that’s it. We probably would have been fine in our rooms, but I’ll be forever grateful they took precautions to keep us as safe as possible.

I scurry through the hotel and find a set of glass doors that open to the beach.

Outside, the air is so thick and humid that it clings to my skin like cobwebs. I inhale an unsatisfying breath that congeals in my lungs.

I shouldn’t have snapped at Rafe, but it’s so easy to fall into a familiar pattern.

Last night was so beyond the sphere of our usual encounters that I feel like I’ve tumbled into a void. What started as a joke became something else, I think. The way he cared for me last night rattles the padlock I’ve kept firmly shut against feeling anything.

As I stride onto the wet sand, I kick off my shoes, dangling them from my fingertips.

Hotel staff are busy cleaning up leaves and debris littering the beach, raking the sand into neat, orderly furrows before carrying out the lounge chairs and umbrellas they stowed away last night.

The pale grey sky is streaked with thin wisps of clouds, and the water churns softly with a whoosh. I look over the horizon, reminding myself that everything’s okay. Whatever Rafe’s motives, he made the night bearable, even pleasurable, if I’m being brutally honest with myself.

Still, I don’t like owing him anything.

Exhausted, I sway on my feet, my eyelids heavy and scratchy. I offer a thank-you to the sky for not killing us and head back to the suite.

After I let myself in, I find Rafe on the sofa, his hair damp and curling at the temples from a shower. He’s drinking a glass of water, wearing only those infernal grey sweatpants. I take a deep breath, steeling myself and focusing on a point beyond his head.

“Hi,” he says, lowering it to the table.

“Hi. Are you done with the bathroom?”

I’m trying not to make this weird. Not very successfully. He nods.

“Thanks.” I disappear into my room and wash off the odor of hundreds of bodies and a night spent on the floor. I watch the water circle the drain, realizing it also washes away the smell of Rafe. I am pathetic.

When I’m finished, I change into a pair of shorts and a tank top and retrieve a can of sparkling water from the kitchen. Rafe is scrolling on his phone, lying on the too-small chaise with an arm tucked behind his head and his long legs dangling off the end.

I worry my bottom lip as a wave of guilt needles my stomach.

“Rafe.” He looks over at me with a question in his gaze. He’s still shirtless, and I steel myself against the heat-stirring force of his six-pack.

Actually, I think it’s an eight-pack. Fuck.

“Yeah?”

“You can take the bed,” I say, unable to believe the words coming from my mouth. “I can sleep there. I’m shorter. I’ll fit better.”

He pauses and then sits up, assailing me with the sight of his defined torso, bunching and contracting. His forehead furrows into a stop-fucking-with-me look.

“I can’t let you do that,” he says.

“Why not?”

He opens his mouth and closes it again. “I don’t know. I just can’t.”