by Tessa Teevan
I should be embarrassed by my tears, yet something about this man makes me anything but. I don’t know why he makes me feel comfortable. Maybe it’s because he appears to be the complete opposite of Adrian. Maybe it’s because he’s anyone but Adrian. Still, even with his close proximity, I don’t want to push him away.
Sniffling, I look up at him. “Oh yeah? What are you going to do about it? Kiss and make it all better?”
Where the hell did that come from? It’s official. I’ve finally lost my mind. I’ve been teetering over the edge, and after the little incident with Adrian, I’ve tip-toed right off the edge.
His lips twitch, and my eyes inadvertently fall to them as I lick my own. He lets out a deep, rumbling laugh, and I wonder if he’s going to take my suggestion.
“If you’d allow me, then yes, I’ll kiss and make it better,” he says, watching me intently, just waiting for me to give him permission. “No man should ever make you cry unless it’s in pleasure.”
The heat in his gaze has me transfixed. When was the last time I cried out in pleasure that hadn’t come from my own hand? Less than an hour ago, Adrian withheld mine, and the memory is like a proverbial gallon of freezing ice water thrown over me and a simultaneous light bulb clicking on in my brain. That’s why I’m acting like this. Why I’m so drawn to this stranger. I’m dizzy with lust, the space between my thighs still emanating a dull ache. Adrian’s command that I not come until he returns flashes through my mind.
“I . . . I have a boyfriend,” I stammer, completely conflicted. Why did I just tell him that when I know it’s not true? To keep him at arm’s length when I’m not sure that it’s even what I want?
One part wants him to bend me over and have his way with me. To do what Adrian refused until I scream in pleasure, crying out just as he said I should. The other part, the rational one, knows I can’t do that to Adrian, especially not in his own home. No matter what he’s done to me, I’m not that person. Not to mention I don’t think I want to know what he would do if he ever found out. As he said, he has eyes and ears everywhere. Why the hell am I even considering this?
His jaw ticks as his eyes search mine. “Do you?” he asks, bringing a hand up to cup my cheek. The rough skin of his hand is scratchy against mine, but his touch is soft, gentle, and I want to melt into it. “Because, from what I overheard, you told him you were leaving. That you were done.”
My eyes widen with humiliation as I realize just how long he was outside. If he heard that part, then he must’ve witnessed the whole mortifying scene. Adrian’s reaction to my wanting to leave was bad enough. Knowing that this man, this sexy stranger, witnessed it and his subsequent debasement is unbearable. I want to crawl into a hole and never come out.
“Oh my God,” I breathe out, tearing my gaze from his, ashamed that this man witnessed one of the most demeaning moments of my life.
“Look at me,” he beckons, his voice soft.
I don’t want to meet his eyes, but for some reason, I respond to his request immediately. I expect to see judgment, yet there is none. Instead, his eyes are soft and full of understanding. As if he gets it. But how could he?
“You have nothing to be ashamed of. You are far too beautiful to waste your time on tears. I heard you. You were ready to leave him, yet here you still are. Why is that?”
“I . . .” I briefly close my eyes and suck in a deep breath before looking back at him. He already knows the answer to that question. “I have nowhere else to go. If you actually did hear everything, you know why I’m here. Why I can’t leave.”
My heart begins to race as his gaze lowers to my lips. For a split second, I think he’s going to kiss me. And strangely enough, I find myself wanting just that. Disappointment washes over me when, instead, he takes a step back.
“If you honestly believe that, then I can’t help you.”
What? “Help me? I didn’t ask for your help,” I remind him, not sure where he’s going with this. “I also didn’t ask for you to come in here, get all close to me, and then act like you’re going to kiss me. As I said, I have a boyfriend.”
This back-and-forth is giving me whiplash. I firmly told Adrian that I was leaving, and I still plan to do just that. But Matthews came in unexpectedly and came on so strong that I said the first thing I could think of. I have a boyfriend. Yet all I want to do is refute that very claim. After what happened this morning, the last thing I need is to form an attraction to someone else. And still, as I watch him watch me, there’s a magnetism there that’s drawing me to him.
“No, you didn’t ask for my help, but when you’re ready for it, I’ll give it. And you’re wrong, Gabriella,” he says, his tone mocking, with a sense of ownership, much like Adrian’s. “You don’t have a boyfriend. You have an owner.”
He turns on his heel and starts to walk away before stopping in his tracks. Just as I’m about to call him every name in the book, he whirls around and crosses the kitchen in three long strides. As soon as he’s in front of me, he nudges my legs apart and stands between them.
I should fight this. I should push him away. But the truth is I want to feel wanted, if only for a moment. And right now, I believe he wants me.
A firm hand curves to the small of my back as he pulls me to the edge of the counter and holds me in place. My breath catches as I watch him. I stand stock-still, awaiting his next move. His head lowers, his lips coming dangerously close to mine, but he doesn’t kiss me. He just stares, unmoving, and I shiver as his eyes bore into mine and I finally see his face. Up close, the dark stubble looks rough and inviting, but it’s his eyes that draw me in. Soft and kind, they’re the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen, and they’re swirling with a dark intensity that unnerves me.
“You have the most expressive eyes I’ve ever seen,” he whispers, catching me off guard because I was just thinking the same about him. “So big and beautiful, yet full of sadness and pain. Why is that? Why do you allow him to cause you pain? You take care of everything he needs and wants, but who takes care of you?”
“He—” I stammer, stopping when he merely shakes his head, both of us knowing that no argument I make would ever be close to the truth. No one takes care of me. Hanging my head, I realize I can’t even take care of myself. If I could, I wouldn’t be in this mess. I wouldn’t be here, stepping right back into someone else’s web.
Perhaps that’s it. It’s someone else’s and not Adrian’s. It’s the first step of getting away from him, even if it lands me in a world of trouble.
“I’m not talking money, Brie,” he says, his soft tone causing me to look up at him. “He could give you all the money in the world and he’ll still never take care of you the way you’re meant to be cared for. The way a real man should care for his woman. Don’t you deserve that?”
I swallow hard as tears prick my eyes and spill out onto my cheeks. He’s right. The Adrian who once cared for me is gone—if he ever actually existed. And no matter how hard I try to think so, material possessions will never be enough. It’s why I have to get out now—and quickly. His thumb wipes my tears away as he leans in, his lips hovering just above mine.
“Yes,” I whisper, wondering—hoping—that maybe, just maybe, he could care for me that way, if only for a short while. This stranger who’s entranced me, who makes me want . . . something. Anything. Hell, maybe a rebound is exactly what I need, and he seems to be a more than willing partner. After all, he did offer help.
“I do deserve that.”
His lips curve up into a slight smile before his gaze darkens. His eyes search my face for some hidden answer, yet I still don’t know the question. As if he’s reading my mind, his eyes drop to my lips before raising to meet mine again.
“May I kiss you? The way a woman deserves to be kissed? The way you deserve to be kissed?” he asks. “The way I’m assuming he hasn’t kissed you in far too long?”
He asked. Instead of just taking what could so obviously be his, he asked for permission. And even though warning bells ri
ng in my head, telling me that this is too soon, too strange, and I know I shouldn’t give in, I nod my head, unable to voice my accord. I’m afraid that, if I speak, the spell between us will break and, instead of that beautiful woman he sees, I’ll turn back into a sniffling doormat. It’s inevitable, but I’m not ready for that yet. For just this moment, I want to savor someone’s apparent desire for me. I want to feel again.
One hand comes up to stroke my cheek. “Say it out loud,” he requests, his voice scratchy and raw. “I won’t do this unless you agree. I’ll never push you, Brie. I promise.”
Use your words, Gabriella.
Adrian’s menacing tone clouds my mind, and I shake my head to get rid of him. Matthews’s eyes narrow as if he thinks I’ve changed my mind. Disappointment floods his face, and instead of just doing what he wants, he closes his piercing, blue eyes for a split second, takes a deep breath, and then looks down at me with a small smile. Just as he’s about to pull away, I scramble to respond.
“Yes. Please kiss me,” I tell him, breathless and wanting, sounding as desperate as I feel, hoping like hell that his kiss will erase Adrian’s earlier transgression. That, somehow, because he asked and didn’t just take, allowing me to agree on my terms, it’ll replace the memory of this morning. Somehow, this could be the first step to becoming myself again.
My hands grip the counter as he moves in closer to me. He uses one finger to wipe the remaining tears before trailing it down my cheek and gently pushing my chin up as he leans in. His scent is woodsy and clean, a distinct difference from Adrian’s expensive cologne, and I can’t believe I’m doing this. That I’m allowing another man to touch me. That I’m quivering with the anticipation of it.
A bundle of nerves flutters deep inside my belly at his close proximity, but the moment our lips touch, it all melts away. His lips graze mine once, then twice—soft and slow, a mere whisper of a kiss, a beautiful preamble that has goose bumps rising on the surface of my skin. He presses harder, deepening our contact ever so slightly, but not by much. It’s as if he’s cherishing the moment, this kiss—as if he’s cherishing me. And more than anything, I want him to. Shockingly, I realize I want him. The fact that I don’t even know him barely registers, because right now, at this moment, he’s telling me all I need to know.
And I want more.
Everything about this man is the complete opposite of what I’m used to, and I crave the disparity. The contrast between him and Adrian is palpable, and suddenly, I long to know all of their differences. My lips part willingly, seeking so much more from him than just a light peck. With only a moment’s hesitation, he takes the invitation as his warm tongue sweeps inside my mouth, coaxing mine to meet his. With sensual, deliberate caresses, this mystery man is awakening a sleeping desire from somewhere deep within me, and I cannot get enough. My hands rise from the counter—I want to touch him, pull him closer, yet I’m afraid to break the spell.
His kiss is a wild contradiction of tenderness and intensity as his hand moves from the small of my back and travels up the curve of my spine. Goose bumps follow his touch, and I wish that it were his lips on my skin. A soft moan escapes my lips as the sensation of his kiss produces a fire between my legs that’s been dormant for months. He doesn’t kiss me like he owns me. He kisses me as if he cherishes me, not as if I’m some stranger he just encountered. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever experienced, and I never want it to end. It’s as if he feels the same, kissing me as if he has all the time in the world, his lips and tongue exploring my own, consuming me. That is until I’m pushing up against him, all too aware of his arousal pressing against my core and apparently bringing him to his senses.
A whimper slips from my throat as he pulls away. “Who are you?” I whisper, observing the dazed expression on his face, which undoubtedly matches my own.
I’m not even sure I care about the answer to that question at this point. I want him to kiss me again, and I want to savor the sensation of my swollen lips, which are raw due to his prickly stubble. He doesn’t respond as his gaze penetrates mine almost like he’s trying to figure out the same thing about me.
His scrutiny sets my nerves on fire, and I blush, bowing my head slightly as the realization of what I’ve just done washes over me. Yet, as embarrassed as I should feel, the emotion doesn’t come. A small smile plays at my lips as I chalk this up to one tiny victory in the upcoming battle for my independence. Who knew I’d find the most unlikely ally right in Adrian’s kitchen?
“There she is,” he declares.
“Who?” I ask, blinking up at him.
“Brie,” he answers with a knowing smile. “To him, you’re just Gabriella, his to order around and be at his beck and call. But the truth is you’re so much more, if only you’d let yourself be. It only took a moment for me to see the girl hiding inside, the strong woman begging to be released. He may not care, but I do. I see you, Brie. You just need to see you, too. To remember who you are.”
The accuracy of his assessment is astounding and hits way too close to home. It’s the reminder I need that, even though I may be attracted to him, we’re still complete strangers. One kiss—no matter how breathtaking it was—won’t change that.
“My name is Gabriella,” I remind him. “I am Gabriella. No one’s ever called me Brie before.”
The lie easily rolls off my tongue. The truth is that it’s been so long since I’ve heard that, and it feels good. It feels right. It feels like home. Not that I’ll ever tell him that. The name sounds so perfect coming off his lips, and what once used to cause my heart pain suddenly makes it feel just a little bit lighter.
His eyes flash as if he doesn’t believe me, but then he smiles warmly. “Good. No one else ever will. That will be my distinction, Brie,” he says teasingly, emphasizing the nickname I haven’t heard in years.
“Will you at least tell me why?” I ask, wincing at my pleading tone. I need to know. I need to know why he can see what no one else can. What Adrian failed—or perhaps refused—to see.
“One of these days, I’ll tell you everything,” he whispers, capturing my lips in another soft kiss that drowns out the slowly sounding alarm bells. “For now, let me help you. Or at least steer you in the right direction. You deserve so much more than this. You are worth so much more.”
“Do I? Am I?” I ask—mostly to myself. Self-doubt seeps in, and I wonder why this stranger would believe such a thing. How he could. I’m not even sure I believe it anymore.
A frown forms on his face as he steps back from me, tilting his head and steepling his index fingers over his mouth, tapping gently. “Every woman does. But it has to start with you. I can only tell you what I see, and that’s a beautiful woman in a shitty situation who’s unsure of how to get out of it. I’m offering a lifeline, but only you can decide whether or not to take it. It’s up to you to figure that part out on your own. When you do, you know where to find me,” he says, gesturing outside to the construction trailer about half an acre away. A few men are milling about, drinking from water bottles, awaiting the boss’s orders, I assume.
Just like that, the spell between us is broken at the reminder that he’s essentially an employee of Adrian’s and pursuing anything with him would be like playing with fire. I’ve been burned enough. Still, I can’t help but press a hand to my lips, which still tingle from his kiss. I know he’s right, and I should accept his offer of help, but the rational part of my mind still remembers that he’s a stranger who’s been hired by my ex. An utterly sexy one who’s succeeded in turning my world upside down with one kiss, but still a stranger nonetheless.
I trusted Adrian all too quickly and look where it got me. Even so, I don’t know how I can do this on my own, so I put his offer in the back of my mind for further consideration when I’m no longer reeling from his touch or craving another one. Either way, I’m grateful that he’s leaving. I need solitude to figure out what my next step should be. As amazing as a rebound sounds, especially with him, something tells me that it won
’t be that easy. I’m terrified I’m too weak to handle something purely physical, and the last thing I need is to hop into someone else’s bed while I’m trying to get out of Adrian’s.
Just as he gets to the door, I remember something. “Wait,” I call out.
He turns to look at me, an eyebrow raised. A cocky smirk adorns his face, and I have a feeling he thinks I’m about to ask for just one more kiss. It’s not a half-bad idea, but I need distance from this man before I throw myself at him.
“You still haven’t told me your name,” I remind him, wanting to put a name with the face. And that kiss. Those eyes. That smile. Later on tonight, when I go against Adrian’s wishes and touch myself, I know exactly who will be the object of my carnal desires, and I want his name on my lips if he can’t be there physically.
A flicker of hesitation crosses his features as he runs a large hand through his hair almost as if he doesn’t want to give it to me. “Rafe,” he finally says.
“Rafe?” I parrot, having not expected that. As I study him, his name rolls through my mind. Ray-fe. It’s sexy, and it definitely suits him.
“Raphael,” he amends before scoffing. “The Great Archangel of Healing. My Catholic parents had lofty goals for me while I was still in the womb. I’ve always been good with my hands, but unfortunately, I work better with wood than I do with needles.”
A shiver runs through me at the idea of getting a demonstration of just how good he is with those hands. “A shame,” I tease, recalling the teachings from Catholic school. “You could’ve been Michael instead.”
Desire darkens his eyes as they rake over me, which tells me that he knows exactly what I mean. “The Conqueror? Is that how you see me? As someone to chase away the demons that plague you at night?”
Yes.
The word pops into my mind almost immediately, yet I can’t say it out loud. I tear my gaze from his, unsure of what to say. Will he do that? Can he? All I know is that I want him to, and that scares the hell out of me. I don’t wish to rely on anyone else, but I know I can’t do this on my own. Not again.