“Liar.”
I step away from his body, instantly missing his warmth.
“Come with me.” He twines his fingers with mine and despite knowing better, I allow him to lead me toward one of the larger cabins.
“Where are you taking me?” I ask.
He smirks over his shoulder. “You scared, vanilla?”
I scoff but continue to follow him, my steps hurried as I try to keep up with his longer strides. “Hardly.”
The cabin is empty aside from the two of us and I take everything in. Much like the outside, it looks more like a regular home than a cabin. A large leather sectional takes up most of the room in front of a wood-burning fireplace. And the kitchen and dining area look like they came straight out of a magazine.
Rafael watches me as I soak everything in, gauging my reaction though I’m not sure what he’s hoping for. Everything inside screams expensive, but it’s tasteful and you can tell that each piece in the space was carefully thought out.
Looking at it makes me think of movies in front of the fire huddled up with friends. Josué and Selena and I would do that sometimes. And sometimes Damien or Kai would join us. Before she did what she did. Before my mom died.
We’d watch stupid movies and eat popcorn. Josué always poured a bag of Swedish fish in my bowl so I could find sweet surprises. We’d fight over who got to eat the last one and the night almost always ended with Selena sprawled out on our only sofa, Josué and I on the floor. He’d lean against the sofa with me lying beside him, my head in his lap.
I think of what it would be like being huddled up next to Rafael in front of that fire and warmth spreads inside my chest. It wouldn’t be like when I watched movies with Josué. There would be no easy carefree affection.
“What are you thinking?” he asks, stepping closer to me.
“Nothing.”
“Mentirosa.” Liar, he says.
Maybe I am, but I know better than to share my true thoughts with him, so I say, “I was just thinking this place is nice. Homey. I know it probably cost a fortune, but it doesn’t feel cold.” Like my new living arrangements. But I don’t say that out loud. “I like it.”
He nods and heads toward the kitchen, leaving me to follow him. He opens the refrigerator and starts pulling out ingredients. Carrots, zucchini, a package of ground beef. Then he opens cupboards and pulls out onions, garlic, potatoes, spices, a few cans—corn and tomatoes from the looks of them—followed by a bag of rice.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m cooking.”
A laugh escapes me. “I can see that but what are you making, and why?”
“I shifted earlier. I need the fuel.” A shrug, his broad shoulders flexing with the movement, and I fight the urge to trace every contour of his body with my gaze. He should look ridiculous in my swim top. But he doesn’t. It’s unnerving.
I still haven’t decided if he’s the enemy or not. He runs hot one minute. Cold the next. I can’t get a solid read on him.
“I’m making albóndigas.”
My heart seizes in my chest and memories of my mom and me cooking at the stove wash over me. “You…you are?” I turn to hide the sudden tears pricking the corners of my eyes, barely catching his nod.
Thankfully, he doesn’t look up from what he’s doing. He peels the onion and with quick efficiency, dices it into small neat squares. “Here.” He hands me a second cutting board and a sharp knife. “Dice these.” Then he hands me the zucchini, potatoes, and carrots.
I take them and do as instructed, ignoring the sudden emotion clogging my throat. “You know albóndigas take at least two hours to make, right?” And even then the flavors aren’t completely melded. My mom would make the soup and let it simmer on low on our stove for several hours, making sure everything married nicely together. There’s no way the soup will be done in time to eat tonight.
He nods. “I know. I’m cheating.”
I look up from my task and spot him pointing to an Instant Pot, of all things, on the back counter. I can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of me.
“My mother would be mortified.”
He gives me a wolfish smile. “Mine, too. And my grandmother would probably disown me, so this is top secret. No sharing trade secrets, vanilla.” He winks. “I don’t want burgers or hot dogs. I want real food. Food I’d eat at home.” Another shrug. “This will cut back on time. Once we get everything in there, we’ll have fresh soup that tastes like it’s been cooking all day within fifteen minutes.”
I smile to myself. “You’re not what I expected.”
He eyes me up and down and I almost miss the hunger in his gaze before it disappears. “Neither are you.”
12 Rafael
She’s smiling. A real smile. Not one of the forced, fake ones she gives everyone else at school. This one is genuine, and I don’t miss the glimmer of tears in her eyes before she banishes them away. The girl has demons. Hell, hers might even be worse than mine.
I’ve got an overbearing pops whose expectations I never seem to measure up to. She’s got a dead mom and a cheating ex. What other damage is she hiding behind that smile?
Maybe that’s what draws me to her. I want to hurt her. Bite her delectable lips until they bleed. Caress her body until it bruises. I’m not a gentle lover. I kiss hard and fuck even harder. But I also want to protect her. Something in me wants to hold her. Mark her as mine and shield her from the world even as I strip
