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“So what's it like, having a hot librarian in your house doing your bidding?”
Otto's question stabbed Rafe's brain like chewing tinfoil on a filling. He knew his older brother was teasing, knew he didn't really see Natalie only as a sexy bimbo, but it was still wrong to joke about it.
It would be dangerous to reprimand him. Otto might learn more about Rafe's feelings than he needed to. Not that Rafe had feelings for Natalie. Not at all.
He tried to make his disapproval known by just the tone of his voice as he answered the question Otto should have asked. “Natalie is bright, intelligent, and industrious. She tells me she's already working on a draft.” He glared at Otto's image on his phone for added emphasis.
It was Thursday evening. Otto, who was currently in Victoria doing whatever it was he did for his political party, had video-called just as Rafe was pouring a finger of Scotch, preparing for another solitary evening reading the newest release by Yann Martel with the background accompaniment of his favourite composition from Jennifer Higdon.
He hadn't seen Natalie since Monday. She had texted the information on the rock-climbing-disaster-waiting-to-happen but nothing since, so he assumed that was still on for Saturday afternoon. In preparation, he'd spent several hours online researching techniques and equipment, and had gone so far as to call The Crag to book a private lesson. They said they had no openings for weeks—he had trouble believing there were that many people eager to risk their lives for entertainment—so he'd have to trust he had enough natural athleticism not to make a total fool of himself.
It was bad enough he'd come in second to his brother all his life. The thought of looking like a dunce in front of members of a book club when he failed to scramble up a fake rock face made his nerves crawl.
“That's fantastic.” Otto gave him a thumbs up, beaming excitement. He was charismatic and charming even in two dimensions. Natalie had the same magnetism. She was bright and bubbly, character traits that should have irritated Rafe no end but didn't for some inexplicable reason.
He placed his phone on the low glass coffee table, propping it against a heavy stack of his favourite art books, and slouched onto the black leather sofa. “Yes. She's not wasting any time.” He'd wanted to ask her if she'd be coming to work the morning before the impending misadventure, but didn't want her to think it was expected. While she seemed perfectly happy working seven days a week, he would never enforce such a schedule.
It wasn't that he missed her. How could you miss someone you rarely saw? But while their paths hadn't crossed recently, she continued to leave him jaunty, cheery notes, which he collected and stored with absurd solemnity. How Otto would laugh if he knew that.
His brother was grinning now, even without knowing this humiliating secret. “I knew you'd come around. She's great, isn't she?”
A burning sensation lit under Rafe's sternum and he rubbed his chest. “I didn't think you knew her.”
Otto shrugged. “Never met her. But we had a fairly long email conversation before I asked her to do the biography. You can tell a lot about a person by the way they write.”
It occurred to Rafe that Otto didn't know Natalie was the woman he'd “saved” from the pool in Mexico. He opened his mouth to tell him, then shut it again.
He remembered mentioning the connection to Natalie the day they met and wondered if she had thought of it since. Otto's jocular “hot librarian” comment skated across the surface of his mind. If he knew Natalie was the woman from the pool, wouldn't that complicate things? He could protect her from that, at least.
Even if he couldn't protect himself from a wild attraction that grew every day.
––––––––
WHEN RAFE WALKED INTO The Crag's reception area, a coil of tension in Natalie's belly eased.
She'd half-expected him to cry off. Oh, he would have had a good excuse—something important to do at work, perhaps—but the expression of horror that had flitted across his face at her invitation had been an unmistakable indication of his true feelings.
Not that it mattered whether he came or not. She'd had time to think, and no longer worried he was a secret addict. She'd checked the drawer every day, ignoring the tickling sensation that warned her she was unforgivably breaching his privacy each time she did so. As far as she could tell—and she'd taken several close looks—none of the bottles had been touched, and the syringes hadn't shifted.
His gaze swept over Helen and Nathan and other assorted Silverberries and then settled on her. The focused power in his eyes tightened the coil that had just relaxed. As he stalked forward, her weight shifted to the balls of her feet, her body straining toward him like iron to a magnet. Which made no sense at all. He was totally not her type.
By which she meant he was exactly what she was usually drawn to—tall, dark, and intense. Just like her ex-husband Ricky.
He stopped just outside her personal space. Her feet shifted of their own accord, shuffling closer to his heat, his scent.
He didn't seem to notice. “You didn't come to the house this morning.” Straight to the chase. That was Rafe to a T.
“I did some writing at home.” She clasped her fingers behind her back, subduing the urge to brush away the lock of hair that had fallen on his forehead.
His lashes flickered and nostrils flared. “I wasn't checking up on you. I just thought you might stop by.”
“Oh.” Her breath escaped on a soft whoosh. Last weekend he'd been irritated at her appearance. This weekend he'd been waiting for her? “I could come by tomorrow.” It was more of a question than a statement.
“It's fine. Whatever you like.”
Coming on the heels of his seeming encouragement, his ambivalence stung. “Okay then. I'll see what happens.” She pressed her lips together. He was here at her invitation, so she couldn't cold-shoulder him now. She waved a hand at the group scattered around them. “Let me introduce you to everyone.”
“I recognize some of them.” He nodded toward Aubrey and Phillip, standing shoulder to shoulder while talking with Penta and Stephanie. “That's Aubrey Windt, right? The politician and your previous boss? I didn't realize it was her at the time, but I saw her in Mexico. She was married on the beach, just before my stepsister was.”
“To Phillip Church, the man next to her. Your stepsister is Elizabeth, right?” Given his silence on his sibling before now, she was pleased to know he had some sort of relationship with her.
“Yes. Her father is Randall Messing. My mother married him when I was nineteen. Elizabeth was six.”
His expression was the softest she'd seen and her irritation vanished at this further evidence of affection. He was so reserved, so stoic. She didn't imagine he opened his heart to just anyone. It would take someone truly special to earn his love.
“I wondered why you were in Mexico.” She grinned when his mouth quirked self-deprecatingly. “Yes, you looked a little out of place. But now it makes sense.”
“I could only make it for a couple nights, and Elizabeth kept us busy.” His brows drew together and she almost giggled at his aggrieved look. She longed to tease him out of his grumpiness, but wasn't sure they were in that place in their relationship yet.
If they ever would be.
The door opened and Lynn walked in, followed by Benjamin. She knew her heavily pregnant friend would leave scaling the walls to her husband, but when Rafe's mouth dropped open at the sight, she couldn't resist the urge to have some fun at his expense.
“Come on.” Surrendering to the need to touch him, she took his hand and tugged him along. His palm was smooth and warm. “Time to meet the Silverberries.”
––––––––
RAFE TOOK A DEEP BREATH and craned his neck. Three storeys above, Natalie clung to the wall, toes perched on narrow knobs, fingers gripping brightly coloured bulges.
She called down to him. “Take the green route. I'll wait here for you.”
His harness clanked as he moved into position. It snugged him between the legs, bunching the fabric of his loose shorts uncomfortably, and was attached to a long rope looped through a pulley in the ceiling high above. Standing next to him and clasping the other end of the rope was Benjamin Whitestone, the husband of the very pregnant woman Natalie had tried to make him believe was there to participate, not just watch. He wasn't that gullible, thank goodness.
Mind you, he was gullible enough to sign a waiver that listed an alarming number of scenarios, from bruises to brain damage. His pride often got him into trouble, but he had never allowed a woman to goad him into risking life and limb. Before now.
It was disconcerting to realize that Natalie might be able to goad him into almost anything.
“You've got this.” Benjamin tapped him encouragingly on the shoulder. “Just like the instructor showed you.”
The hour-long introductory session had eased the worst of Rafe's worries. Watching Natalie swarm up the wall like a Lycra-clad gecko, though, had brought back his insecurities. He never tried anything new until he was one hundred percent certain he'd be good at it.
He didn't have that luxury at the moment. It was either climb or flee.
After wiping sweaty fingers on his thighs, he gripped a green knob an arm's length above his head. Placing the opposing foot into a tiny notch, he pushed up, leaving the safety and security of the floor behind.
He focused solely on the next hold for his fingers and toes—and the next and the next—resolutely refusing to calculate how high he was climbing. His intellect knew he wasn't in real danger, that Benjamin would stop him if he fell, that despite the risks involved, this was a safe activity performed by children. His gut told him he was insane to do this just to impress a woman.
He gritted his teeth and kept on going, afraid if he stopped for an instant he would never get started again.
“Well, hello there.”
Blinking sweat out of his eyes, he realized his nose was level with a slim ankle protruding from a pair of worn climbing shoes. Lifting his chin, his gaze trailed up a smooth calf, along a strong thigh encased in form-fitting bicycle shorts, past a fuchsia athletic top snuggling rounded breasts, and ended on a pair of glittering, amused brown eyes unprotected by their usual glasses.
“Hello there.” His voice was hoarse with a mixture of exertion and fear.
“You might as well come all the way, since you made it this far.”
He worked his way up the last few feet until his face was the same level as Natalie's. Chest heaving, he laid his forehead against the concrete wall and closed his eyes.
“Well done.” The sincerity in her tone was a surprise. She was so much better than he was. Having her compliment him meant something. “You did excellently. I knew you would though, given your muscle tone.”
He opened his eyes. The memory of exactly how she knew about his muscle tone was no longer as disconcerting as it had been, possibly trumped by the fact he was stuck to a wall like a petrified spider. “Thanks.”
“How do you feel?”
She asked as if she really cared, so he did her the courtesy of a thorough self-examination before answering.
And was surprised to find a sense of exhilaration overpowering any lingering anxiety.
“Good. Great, actually. I don't know if I'm ready for the Matterhorn, but I'd try this again.”
Her lips curved, teeth flashing. Her left lateral incisor slightly overlapped its neighbour in an irritatingly charming fashion. “I'm glad. That's what being a Silverberry is all about.”
He wasn't sure he qualified for Silverberry status yet, but was pleased she thought he'd earned the title. His pulse, which had started to settle, kicked up again when she licked her upper lip. The shouts and laughter of other climbers echoed in the cavernous space, but at this moment he and Natalie were in their own private aerie.
Her gaze dropped to his mouth. Her tongue flicked out again, wetting her lips. His cock tightened against the restrictions of the harness and athletic shorts. He shifted slightly on his toes, leaning toward her...
...and slipped off his precarious perch.