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“What are you thinking about?” Rafe murmured against her hair.
Jane sighed quietly. “Last night.”
Rafe cupped her arse and squeezed. “Me too.” And she knewexactlywhat he was thinking about.
When they’d returned from their walk, they’d showered together in their luxury bathroom. It had been torture.
Deliciously erotic torture.
Rafe had washed her hair and soaped her body, stroked his big hands so gently over her stomach she’d almost cried, and made sure her every nook and cranny was thoroughly cleaned.
But would he let her do the same for him? Nope. He was steadfastly sticking to his “keeping his dick in his pants” rule. Figuratively, if not literally.
So every time she tried touching him in any way even remotely sexual, attempted to stroke his magnificently huge erection or cup his balls or even fondle his arse, he’d slapped her hands away, pinned her to the wall and kissed her neck, fondled her breasts. Fingered her pussy.
He’d driven her crazy with lust and wanting.
Thankfully he was also sticking to his nightly regime of going down on her until she screamed his name.
Her melancholy momentarily forgotten, her body shook with silent laughter.
He smiled against her hair. “That’s better.”
“What’s better?”
“You’ve been so serious since we left Melville’s Cross,” he said. “Wanna tell me what’s up?”
She leaned her forehead against his chest. “This doesn’t feel right.”
Pulling back a little so he could look at her, his brow arching upwards, he said, “It feels pretty nice to me.”
A small smile tugged at one corner of her mouth. “I don’t mean the hug. I like the hug. A lot.”
“Good.”
“I mean about you buying out my lease. I don’t feel right about it. It’s asking too much of you.”
“You didn’t ask. I offered.”
“And that’s another thing,” she continued, instant irritation pulling her out of his embrace. “You barging headlong into my problems and fixing everything.”
Instantirrationalirritation.
Rafe cocked one brow at her but he didn’t seem upset by her sudden outburst. More… amused. And that just annoyed her more. “You don’t want me to fix your problems?”
“Yes. No.” She threw her hands in the air. “I don’t know. Maybe? I just… I hate relying on other people. And it’s not that I don’t appreciate everything you’re doing. I do, really I do. But I only asked you to read an email. I never expected you to buy out my debts. I made this mess and I should be able to clean it up on my own. And I hate that I can’t. I hate—” Angry tears burned behind her eyes, threatening to destroy what little composure she had left.
How did she explain this to him? How did she make him, Rafe, yet another successful overachiever understand what she was going through? That she’d always felt like she was two steps behind everyone else, that her best wasn’t good enough, that despite the image she projected to the world at large she knew in her heart she was sorely lacking.
Inadequate.
“What?” Rafe prompted.
Dropping her chin to her chest, Jane felt her tears escape as she was forced to admit her shortcomings out loud.
“I’m the first Melville in a hundred years to fail at something.” Then she flashed him a watery smile and gave him two thumbs up, attempted to put a brave face on her shame. “Go, me!”
The urge to punch Jane’s father made Rafe grind his teeth. The pressure he’d put on both his children to perform to such unrealistic standards, to uphold the moralistic magnitude of the Melville name, was ridiculous.
