Page 66 of Not Safe for Work

We both turn around as the announcer explains the rules of the game to dozens of eager onlookers.

“You playing?” Rafe asks, tipping the neck of his bottle. Finally, I turn to look at him and shake my head.

“No, I think I’ll sit this one out.”

Through some form of silent agreement, we drift away from the bar, ending up on the edge of the crowd. Lan and Gabrielle have muscled their way to the front, both grinning with excitement.

I notice Andy poke his head up like a gopher, scanning the area. Worried that he’s looking for me, I shuffle behind Rafe, using him as a shield. He looks over at Andy and then down at me, his mouth stretching into a satisfied smile.

I return it with a scowl and focus on Lan and Gabrielle instead. The announcer fires off questions to each participating pair with a velocity that has my head spinning. Rafe and I stand together, watching as Lan and Gabrielle maintain a one hundred percent response rate. I clap furiously and cheer for each right answer.

“This is kind of intense,” Rafe finally comments before looking at the empty glass in my hand. “Another one?”

“Sure.” He takes it from me and turns to walk away.

Again, I notice Andy searching the crowd, and I catch the back of Rafe’s shirt, my fingers brushing a solid wall of muscle.

“Wait for me,” I say. He stops and gestures for me to walk ahead.

We order our drinks and look at each other like we’re not sure what to do next.

“Do you want to sit?” I point to several empty couches in the far corner of the bar.

He nods, and we make our way over, sinking down side by side to watch the trivia from afar. For a few minutes, Lan and Gabrielle nail every question as I sneak glances at Rafe’s profile. He’s sporting a layer of stubble, and wow, it’s sexy. My legs slide together as I think about how that would feel against my skin.

Stop. It.

But I’m not the only one staring.

His gaze is drifting down my thighs, lingering for a beat before meeting my eyes.

By the light of the torches, I make out flecks of gold and orange in his irises. They’re the color of cinnamon and nutmeg. Leather club chairs and log cabins and acorns scattered across the forest floor.

The barest smile teases his mouth, and I imagine sinking my teeth into his bottom lip. A sheen of sweat breaks out on my forehead due to a heady combination of tropical humidity, several glasses of wine, and just a hint—okay, more than a hint—of raging hormonal lust.

“Nice dress,” he says, his eyes glittering as he lowers his head to whisper into my ear. “You look good enough to eat.”

My response is a sharp inhale that straddles a wobbly line between a gasp and a moan. I’m acutely aware of his arm and leg touching mine. I can’t take my eyes off him and the snug shirt that molds to the lines of his chest and his abs. The tilt of his hips as he leans back with his legs spread just the right amount.

If a fairy godmother arrived to grant me three wishes right now, one would be x-ray vision. How? How did I go from hating Rafe Gallagher with every drop of my soul to desperately wishing we were both naked?

And then he twists the knife deeper.

His hand hovers over my knee, and every one of my senses homes into his almost touch like the neon red dot of a sniper. His gaze flicks to mine, seeking permission, and I nod.

His touch is light and gentle, yet it feels like an explosion. We both focus on his fingers as he traces circles on my skin. They drag higher, just an inch, and I feel it absolutely everywhere. It’s slow. It’s torturous. I grip the leather sofa with my hands to keep myself from falling.

Electricity sparks through my veins as my chin tips up and my knees inch apart. His pupils spread, and his eyes turn black as the bottom of my stomach drops from beneath me.

“Rafe,” I say because I’m so agonizingly turned on that I need to feel some part of him on my tongue.

“I’m sorry about this afternoon,” he replies. “Lunch with my father was a disaster, and I was in a mood.”

Right. I completely forgot that I’m supposed to be annoyed about something. I was much too relieved to see him, not only to shield me from Andy but because I wanted him here. I try not to examine the root of that thought too closely. But now, I can’t think with him touching me. I remove his hand from my leg and try to focus on what he’s saying.

Finally gathering my wits, I ask, “What was that about?”

“I shouldn’t have done that, but that guy is such a tool, Tris.”