Page 82 of Not Safe for Work

I put a hand on my hip. I passed his trust fall, and it’s time for him to return the favor.

“I know I do,” I reply, and a beat passes before his smile stretches wider. He strides over and takes my hand, pressing it to his chest.

“You’re not just beautiful. You’re so fearless and confident.” He leans closer as his mouth brushes the shell of my ear. “It’s sexy as hell.”

I’m flying. He didn’t get weirded out by my comment.

“You clean up pretty nicely, too, Gallagher.” He stares at me for a few more heartbeats, then holds out his elbow.

“Shall we?”

“Let’s go crash a wedding.”

I giggle because there’s something euphoric about this. About this thing the two of us are doing together. Just us on the same side. Our secret. Something that exists between only me and Rafe Gallagher.

The man who, two weeks ago, was someone else entirely.

The elevator dings, and the doors slide open at the ballroom level. With more than one wedding happening tonight, we survey each set of wide double doors, leading to three different celebrations.

“Which one should we go to?” he asks.

“I think we can both agree that we must celebrate Kevin and Stacy,” I say.

“Who?”

“Our couple from the beach. Those are the names I gave them.”

He snorts. “I think we can agree on that.”

We approach the largest room, where I recognize the mint-green dresses and our bride and groom.

“Perfect, this seems to be the biggest wedding,” I whisper. “Maybe no one will notice we don’t belong.”

Rafe stands straighter and takes my hand, threading his fingers through mine. He’s holding my hand again. What is the appropriate reaction? I lack the very specific life experience needed to navigate this small but definitely significant act of affection.

He tugs me against him. “Just look like you belong, and no one will question it. Not in that dress.”

His gaze turns heated as he scans me again, and my stomach dips. This overpriced garment has already more than paid for itself. I’ll have to send flowers to the woman in the boutique who suggested it. Or maybe I’ll throw her a parade.

We stride to the door and nod at the two women sitting at the table.

“Hi!” one of them chirps. “Friends of Melissa or Derek?”

Darn. I really liked Stacy and Kevin. “Both,” Rafe says smoothly. “Old friends from college.” He says it with such confidence that even I find myself believing it. The woman nods eagerly.

“Enjoy. Bars are in each corner. I highly recommend the signature cocktail.” She bats her eyelashes at Rafe, and who can blame her?

He’s still holding my hand as we enter the ballroom. It’s decked out in more mint green and hues of peach. We head to one of the bars and order the recommended signature cocktail.

“Orgasm on the beach.” I read the sign on the bar top, feeling my cheeks heat. Well, that’s subtle. Usually, that would be funny, but I’m thinking about that kiss again. The way Rafe’s mouth and hands scorched my skin. The way it seemed like he wanted to consume me.

“Tris?” Rafe is asking, and I’ve gone off into daydream land again. He’s holding two short glasses with pinkish-orange liquid and passes one to me. I sip at the drink, and we drift to the edge of the dance floor.

“Mmm, this isn’t bad,” he says as I scan the room, wondering if anyone is questioning who we are, but no one is paying any attention; they’re too busy enjoying themselves.

“We probably should stay out of sight of Stacy and Kevin,” Rafe says.

“Good plan.”