Chapter 14: Fire, Silk & The Chase

Arabella lay motionless beneath the billowing canopy of their bed, the sheer curtains shifting with the faintest breath of air, casting whispery shadows across her bare skin. The room was bathed in the flickering glow of firelight, each golden flare illuminating the rapid rise and fall of her chest. Her heart drummed against her ribs, wild and ungovernable, every nerve awake with a heady mix of anticipation and something perilously close to fear.

The scent of lavender clung to the linen sheets, delicate and soothing, but it was overpowered by something darker, something unmistakably him—the rich, masculine spice of sandalwood and a whisper of the cool evening air he had brought in with him. It curled through her senses, weaving through her thoughts until she could think of nothing else.

Rafael loomed above her, his shadow cast long across the bed, his broad shoulders and sculpted form traced in firelight. His dark hair was unruly, the thick waves falling over his brow, his eyes gleaming with something that stole the breath from her lungs. He held her gaze, as though issuing a silent dare: Look away, if you can.

She couldn't.

A single touch. That was all it took. The gentle brush of his fingers along the curve of her cheek, reverent, deliberate, sent a tremor through her. His thumb ghosted over her lips, a silent question, an unspoken promise.

"Arabella," he murmured, his voice a low, husky thread of sound that settled deep in her bones. "You're trembling."

"I—" She tried to speak, but the words dissolved as his lips descended to hers.

The kiss was soft, searching, a test of her will. He was giving her the chance to retreat, to refuse him. But when her hands found their way to his shoulders, her fingers splaying over warm, taut muscle, the restraint in him snapped like a cord drawn too tight.

He kissed her deeper, with a hunger that sent a molten heat spiraling through her. His lips played over hers, coaxing, teasing, until she was utterly lost in the sensation—the warmth of his mouth, the taste of him, dark and intoxicating. Her fingers curled into his skin, nails grazing lightly over his back. He groaned, the sound low and rough, vibrating through her.

His mouth left hers only to blaze a new path—along her jaw, down the slope of her throat, until he reached the fragile hollow at the base of it. His breath fanned against her skin, his lips feathering over sensitive places she hadn't known could feel this way.

"Rafael," she whispered, his name a soft, broken plea.

"Tell me to stop," he murmured, his lips brushing against her collarbone. "Say the word, and I will."

But she was incapable of speech, and he knew it.

His hands explored her with aching patience, mapping the contours of her body as though he intended to memorize her, to learn the places that made her breath catch, the spots that drew a shiver from deep inside her. His fingers, deft and knowing, charted paths of fire over her skin, each touch a promise, each caress a demand.

She arched into him, needing more without knowing how to ask for it.

When he lifted his head, his eyes met hers, and what she saw there unraveled her completely. No arrogance, no control—just something raw, something dangerously unguarded.

"You are exquisite," he said, the words hoarse, as if wrenched from his very soul. "More than I imagined. More than I deserve."

She wanted to answer, to tell him he was wrong, but the thought fled when he moved, his body aligning with hers in a way that felt at once foreign and utterly right.

A sharp, startled gasp escaped her. She tensed.

"Shh," he whispered, catching her mouth in a kiss that was more comfort than passion, his touch smoothing over her, patient, unhurried. "Relax. I've got you, Arabella."

She closed her eyes, let herself sink into the warmth of him, the steady, deliberate rhythm of his movements. Slowly, the tension ebbed, replaced by something new, something potent, something she could neither name nor deny.

The world fell away, the firelight flickering against the walls, the night stretching endlessly around them, as sensation blurred into sensation, touch into touch.

When they finally stilled, their bodies entwined, the room was silent but for the crackling of the fire and the lingering cadence of their mingled breaths.

Rafael pressed a kiss to her temple, his hand smoothing over her hair in a gesture so tender it made her chest ache.

"You are incredible," he murmured, his voice rough with emotion.

Arabella nestled closer, feeling the solid warmth of him beneath her fingertips, her heart still racing but her mind at peace. She had feared this moment—that it would feel wrong, that she would regret it.

But with him, it had been none of those things.

It had been everything.

And as sleep claimed her, wrapped in his arms, she knew this night would be etched in her soul forever.

***

The morning light filtered through the gauzy curtains of the beach house, casting soft golden hues across the tangled sheets. Arabella stirred, warmth pressing against her chest, the rhythmic rise and fall of steady breaths tickling her skin. A heavy weight pinned her in place—something thick, something warm, something with far too much hair.

Her eyes snapped open, and she found herself nose-deep in a tousled mass of dark curls. She jolted, her pulse leaping into a frantic rhythm as she lifted her head, only to realize the full picture.

Oh, dear God.

Somehow, at some point during the night, she had wrapped her arm around Rafael's head and tucked him between her breasts like a human pillow. His face was nestled there, his breath warm against her skin, dangerously close to scandalous territory.

Arabella froze.

Slowly—delicately—she began to extract herself, loosening her arm and inching backward, careful not to disturb him. His head, heavy with sleep, slid from her chest and landed unceremoniously onto the mattress.

She let out a silent breath of relief.

Then it hit her.

Damn it. How had this happened?

Images from her dreams came rushing back—her wrestling Rafael into a headlock, screaming at him to stop touching her. It had felt so real. But had she actually done it? Had she unknowingly manhandled him in her sleep?

Her heart pounded as a new thought took hold, an ominous realization that made her swallow hard.

Oh no.

Gingerly, she lifted the edge of the blanket and peeked underneath.

Bare skin.

Her entire body was bare as the day she was born.

A silent scream echoed in her mind.

Scandalous!

With a gasp, she grabbed fistfuls of the blanket, yanking them toward her in a frenzied attempt to cover herself, twisting them into a cocoon around her body. In her panic, she failed to consider one crucial detail—Rafael had been sharing that blanket.

The abrupt shift in covers left him exposed to the morning air.

And worse—exposed to her wide, horrified gaze.

He shifted onto his back with a lazy groan, stretching like a man utterly content with his night's rest. The movement made the sheet slip lower.

Arabella's eyes went wide.

Oh. Oh, dear lord.

The blanket wasn't the only thing rising this morning.

She shrieked.

"You pervert!" she cried, diving beneath the fortress of blankets like an ostrich hiding its head in the sand. Mortification sizzled through her, hot and unbearable.

Rafael, half-dazed with sleep, blinked at the bundle of fabric beside him. "What the—?" He rubbed his eyes, then chuckled. "Eskimo, get out from under there. After last night, we should be comfortable with each other by now."

"Shut up! I hate you!"

His laughter deepened. "Was I that bad? I was very gentle since I knew it was your first time... but then I kind of lost control and—"

"Shut up!" she screeched. "I don't want to hear it!"

"Are you okay?" His voice softened, turning serious. "Is something wrong?"

Arabella hesitated.

She wasn't hurt exactly, but her body felt... different. Strange. A lingering soreness hummed in places she had never been aware of before. It was unsettling. And embarrassing.

"I don't know," she admitted, her voice small, hesitant. "It feels... strange."

Rafael sat up immediately, pulling the blanket down just enough to reveal her face. His brow furrowed, concern etching his features. "Tell me," he said gently. "Was I too rough? Did I hurt you?"

The tenderness in his voice sent a new wave of heat to her cheeks. She squeezed her eyes shut, absolutely mortified.

"Shut up," she whispered, face burning under his scrutiny.

She wanted to get up, to escape to the bathroom where she could regain her dignity. But there was one glaring problem—her legs refused to cooperate.

Oh, God.

If she tried to stand now and collapsed, he would know why.

Rafael's thumb brushed her cheek, his touch achingly gentle. "It will get better next time," he murmured, his voice filled with promise. Then, with a teasing smirk, he added, "I think you ripped my condom."

Arabella's eyes flew open. "What?!"

"I told you to slow down!" she squeaked, mortified all over again.

He laughed outright, clearly enjoying her flustered state. "I was just kidding."

She groaned, grabbing the blanket and yanking it over her head once more.

"Can you please leave the room so I can get dressed?" she begged, voice muffled.

Rafael leaned back on his elbows, watching her with open amusement. "Why? Let's shower together."

"Get. Out!"

He sighed dramatically. "Fine, fine." Then, with a grin, he leaned closer and whispered, "But you'll miss me."

She threw a pillow at his head.

***

Rafael sat there for a long moment, brow furrowed, watching the empty space where Arabella had disappeared into the bathroom. He exhaled slowly, running a hand through his already unruly hair.

Maybe he'd been too demanding.

She was young, inexperienced—this was new to her. Hell, it was new to him too, in a way. He had been with women before, but never like this. Never with someone who made him want to be something more.

Maybe it was time to slow down. Take her on real dates. Show her the romantic side of him instead of steamrolling her into his world.

He liked the sound of that.

With renewed determination, Rafael grabbed his clothes and strode into the next room, getting dressed with a surprising lightness in his chest. He headed to the kitchen, whistling as he cracked eggs into a sizzling pan, throwing bacon on the stove. The aroma of buttery eggs and crisping bacon filled the air, mingling with the salty breeze from the open balcony doors.

Arabella emerged from the bathroom a while later, feeling refreshed but still flustered from the night before. She paused at the sink, where an array of toiletries had been neatly arranged—brand new toothbrush, toothpaste, soap, towel, and even clothes in her size, folded with infuriating precision.

The jerk.

So, this had been planned. He had prepared for her stay, ensuring she had everything she needed. It wasn't just a spur-of-the-moment invitation—it had always been his intention for their first time to happen here, in his private beach house, where he had control.

Her stomach twisted at the realization, though she wasn't sure if it was irritation or something far more unsettling.

She changed into the fresh clothes, brushing off her overthinking, and stepped out onto the veranda, inhaling the crisp morning air. The scent of sizzling food drifted toward her, and her stomach grumbled before she could stop it.

Following the mouthwatering smell, she made her way to the kitchen, where Rafael was already setting down two plates and pouring orange juice into glasses. He turned with a grin, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

"Morning, baby," he drawled, pushing a plate toward her. "I made you breakfast. Just like in those romance movies—the leading man cooks for his woman after a wild night." He chuckled, wiggling his eyebrows.

Arabella rolled her eyes and made a dramatic gagging sound. "This isn't some love story, Rafael. More like blackmail."

"Baby, don't say that," he said with mock offense. "You're ruining the romantic atmosphere."

She feigned another retch. "Oh, please."

He leaned on the counter, smirking at her. "Why do you keep gagging? You pregnant already? Impossible. I wore protection... unless you poked holes in my condom."

Her eyes flared with rage.

"You—!"

Oh, he was too smug.

"I am not one of those desperate girls you're used to!" she shouted, her cheeks burning as she spun to storm out.

But Rafael was faster. He caught up in a heartbeat, stepping in front of her to block her path.

"Relax, baby. I was joking." He grinned, completely unrepentant. "Come on, sit down and eat."

"No. Leave me alone."

He exhaled, shaking his head with exaggerated disappointment. "If you don't sit and eat breakfast like a good girl..." He took a slow step forward, his gaze lazily drifting down the length of her body. "I guess I'll just have to find other ways to make up for it."

Arabella took a sharp step back, gripping the nearest chair as if it were a shield. "Don't you dare—"

He moved closer, deliberate and predatory, eyes gleaming with mischief.

"Stop it!" she yanked the chair out and plopped into it with a huff.

Rafael laughed. "Good girl." He slid into the seat across from her, a satisfied smirk on his lips.

Breakfast was quiet, though every so often she caught him watching her with a knowing look, amusement flickering in his dark eyes. When they were done, he took it upon himself to wash the dishes while she slipped outside, desperate for some space.

The morning breeze was crisp and cool as she wandered along the shoreline, the damp sand soft beneath her bare feet. She exhaled deeply, letting the ocean air soothe her nerves.

But the moment she glanced back at the house, she saw Rafael stepping outside.

Her stomach dropped.

Seriously? Couldn't he leave her alone for five minutes?

She turned sharply and began walking in the opposite direction, but it was too late.

He was coming after her.

"Baby!" His voice carried over the waves as he jogged to catch up.

Damn it.

Before she could escape, he caught her from behind, his arms wrapping firmly around her waist, pulling her flush against him.

"Why didn't you wait for me?" he murmured, his lips pressing into the crook of her neck, his breath warm against her skin.

Arabella stiffened. "Rafael, let go! People will see us!"

He groaned softly, his lips trailing up toward her jaw. "Damn it, baby... It's burning again."

Her breath hitched.

"I can't get enough of you," he muttered, his voice raw with something dangerously close to desperation. "I swear, I'm going crazy. This scent on you... strawberries..." He inhaled deeply, then hummed against her skin, his mouth grazing her cheek.

Arabella's heart slammed against her ribs.

"Not here," she whispered, panic lacing her voice. "Let me go. I'm warning you."

"I'll stop," he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of her ear, "if you answer one question."

Her pulse pounded. "W-What?"

"Last night..." His voice was velvet and sin. "Was it wonderful? Bad? Give me a rating. Scale of one to ten."

Arabella's throat went dry.

She opened her mouth but no sound came out.

"I..." she stammered.

"Not letting you go until you answer." His arms tightened around her, his body rocking lightly against hers.

"It was awful!" she blurted, face burning. "I hated it! I don't like the way you touched me! It was disgusting! You deserve a zero!"

Rafael froze.

Then he let out a dramatic gasp. "Baby! I said one to ten! Zero is not an option!"

Arabella grinned wickedly—then stomped down on his foot.

"OW!" Rafael yelped, stumbling back.

Seizing the opportunity, she shoved him with both hands, sending him sprawling into the sand.

She burst into laughter.

But Rafael, ever the fighter, grabbed a handful of sand and flung it at her.

"You—!" She dodged, giggling, before dashing down the beach.

He was on his feet in seconds, chasing after her. "Oh, you're so getting it now!"

They sprinted along the shoreline, dodging waves and kicking up sand, their laughter mixing with the crash of the ocean.

Then, from the distance, a familiar voice rang out, stopping them in their tracks.

Both of them turned, breathless.