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Natalie's heart beat so fast and light it felt like a hummingbird was trapped in her chest. Rafe remained where he was, blank-faced, his posture stiff. She couldn't believe he had come to her. It was like a feral cat had showed up on her doorstep, wary and cautious yet desperate for comfort.
Shadows hooded his eyes, deepened the hollows of his cheeks, stained the whiskers on his chin. For several moments, she thought he would flee.
When he did accept her challenge, her knees weakened and she had to press herself against the wall to remain upright. He paused where the hall branched into the living room. She sidled past.
Conversation stopped mid-sentence and seven pairs of eyes swung between her and Rafe, expressions ranging from interest to suspicion.
“You all remember Rafe.” She narrowed a warning glare, daring her friends to say anything other than polite platitudes. Aubrey was the only one who knew what had happened earlier that week—though even she didn't know the whole story—but Natalie had the sneaking suspicion she'd hinted at the drama to the rest of the group. “We need to talk for a minute. I'll be right back.”
She gripped his wrist and dragged him to her bedroom. His bones were strong and firm under her fingers, his skin warmer than hers. Once inside, she released him and shut the door. Her palm tingled from the contact and she curled her fingers, not wanting to lose the sensation.
He stood at the end of her queen bed, barely an arm's length away. The room was just big enough to hold the bed, a nightstand, and a narrow dresser. She'd chosen a duvet cover splashed with enormous sunflowers and bright yellow sheets, and thanked the heavens she'd tidied up this morning in anticipation of the Silverberries visit.
Through the barrier at her back, she heard the murmur of conversation resume. Outside the window, a horn blared angrily, fading as it travelled through the intersection.
He remained silent. It seemed as if she'd have to be the one to jump start the conversation.
“Are you going to answer my question?” She crossed her arms behind her and leaned against the door. It was a little uncomfortable, but would prevent her from touching him like she longed to do. “Why did you come?”
He didn't answer. She waited, doing her best to be patient. Rushing Rafe had never worked in her favour.
“I shouldn't have sent you away.” He bit out the words and she wondered who exactly he was angry with—himself for giving the order or her for cornering him into making it.
“I shouldn't have gone.” That surprised him. Not that he gave any overt indication, but she knew him well enough to read the tiniest of his twitches. “I knew you were going to be angry. I should have waited you out. Given you space, but staying close enough we could talk when you were ready. Are you ready now?”
His nod was a sharp, short jerk. “I think so.”
Another silence brewed between them. She'd taken the first step. The next move was up to him.
He lowered to the bed, his long legs folding abruptly. “Otto is threatening he won't pay you unless you sign an NDA and give us the rights to what you've done so far.”
Her stomach dropped, leaving a queasy hollow inside her belly. “I suspected something like that.” Knees weak, she perched on the nearest corner of the mattress, ensuring there was a good two feet between them.
“I think he's wrong.”
She tilted her head and squinted. He was silhouetted against the window, and it was still bright enough outside to make it hard to see his face. “You do?” She tried to keep the doubt from her voice, but didn't think she succeeded.
“You're right.” The admission didn't sound as if it was easy to make, his voice tight and grim. “Hiding what we know, now that we know it, would be a mistake in the long run. I told Otto that.”
“You did?” He was launching one surprising admission after another and she was having trouble keeping up. She cleared her throat. “I mean, thanks. For sticking by me.”
“I know I've been an ass about the whole thing. It's just, my mother never accepted second-best. That's why Otto was the favourite son. He could do no wrong, and she would have done anything to see him succeed. And that would definitely include hiding her sins. Less for herself than to prevent them from coming to roost on his shoulders.”
“Maybe she should have thought of that before she sinned.” Natalie didn't bother to hide her sarcasm.
Instead of defending his mother again, he shrugged fatalistically. “Maybe. I was just doing what I thought she'd want.”
She supposed it didn't matter how old you were. You always wanted your parents' love and approval. “I can understand that. I hope you can understand where I was coming from, too.”
“I do. At least I think so.” He shifted and the mattress dipped. She braced herself on one arm to avoid falling toward him. “I know we can never go back to what we had. But I'd like it if we could still see each other. Once in a while.”
“You want to be friends? Only friends?”
His chin dipped shyly. “If you’re open to the idea.”
“I don't think I am.”
He reared back, his face draining of colour. “Of course. I just thought...never mind. I'll go.” He bolted to his feet, but the smallness of the room meant he had to squeeze by her knees to get to the door.
She reached out and grabbed his waistband. “I don't want to be your friend, Rafe. I want to be more.”
––––––––
RAFE DIDN'T THINK HIS heart could take much more stress. It had stopped and started half a dozen times during his conversation with Natalie. If he'd been hooked up to a monitor, the irregular pattern would have looked like he was having a myocardial infarction.
Natalie's position sitting on the bed put her head dangerously close to his cock. She tugged and his hips arched toward her before he could stiffen his spine.
“What?” He croaked like a raven, harsh and grating.
“I want more than your friendship, Rafe.” She stood and hooked her free hand into the waistband on his other hip.
The crown of her head reached his chin—barely—and he fought the impulse to wrap his arms around her and curl over her in an attempt to absorb her into his very being. She was everything he needed—light, warmth, nourishment.
“I kicked you out of my house.” As much as he longed to believe her well of forgiveness was deep enough even for someone as wretched as him, he couldn't believe she'd be able to look past what he'd done. He'd basically tossed her out into the street, with nowhere to go, no one to look out for her.
“You were pissed off. I don't blame you—for being angry or for what you did.”
His ears buzzed with the drone of a thousand flies. He shook his head to chase the sensation away, and the annoying lock of hair fell over his forehead. He ignored it. “How can you not?”
“I put my opinions and needs ahead of yours. I didn't understand exactly how much it bothered you, how conflicted you were. You're a painfully honest man, Rafe. I know that. You'd decided keeping the truth buried was the best course of action, but I should have realized how difficult that was for you. And then to see it all laid out in my draft”—she leaned forward, slid her arms to his back, and laid her cheek on his chest—“no wonder you lashed out.”
He gave in. He clutched her with such ferocity she let out a startled oomph. He didn't apologize. He was holding her again. She was finally where she belonged.
Nudging her temple with his chin, he urged her to lift her face. Her glasses had slipped, revealing a red mark on the bridge of her nose. Behind the lenses, her eyes were bright with wonder and hope and something tender he wasn't sure he could name. Her lips trembled open, and he didn't wait for further invitation.
He wasn't sure he had the right to lay claim to her, not yet, and intended to make his kiss gentle, hesitant, pleading. But the instant his mouth touched hers, she moaned deep in her throat and plastered herself against him.
His beast, the one he'd kept chained in the dungeon for far too long, took over.
He devoured her, his tongue fierce and demanding. His hands roamed from the silky strands of her hair to her slender neck to the delicious heft of her ass. In between kisses, he told her breathlessly how much he had missed her, how sorry he was, made promises never to send her away again. The words were disjointed and frantic, but he couldn't be rational. Too much emotion flooded him, overpowering, uplifting, enlightening.
The bedroom door burst open, startling him out of his erotic haze. Natalie pivoted in his arms and they faced the intruder.
Terrance stood clutching the handle, white-faced, quivering. “Lynn's gone into labour.”