Chapter 20: A Runaway Affair

Boston's South Station buzzed with life—commuters bustling, voices echoing, the faint smell of coffee and diesel lingering in the air. Amid the chaos, Arabella and Levi sat on a stiff wooden bench in the terminal, their luggage clutched tightly in their laps. Two train tickets to New York were safely tucked into Arabella's pocket, their golden escape route from the devil himself.

Levi, however, looked nothing like an eager traveler. He was a frantic hen, darting his gaze in every direction, clutching at his scarf as though it were the last piece of security in his unraveling world. Every passing figure made him stiffen, his breath hitching as though Rafael might materialize from thin air like a specter of doom.

"Girl, I swear to God, I feel like I'm public enemy number one." Levi fanned himself dramatically. "My heart is about to beat out of my chest! What if he's here? What if he's lurking somewhere, waiting to pounce?"

Arabella remained composed, arms crossed, her face calm. "Levi, relax. The train arrives at 8:12pm. We have time."

Levi inhaled. Then exhaled. "Okay, I'll try."

They sat in uneasy silence, watching the giant departure board flicker with updates. But at 8:00 PM, their first stroke of bad luck hit—the speakers crackled to life, and an impersonal voice announced:

"Attention, passengers. Due to technical safety checks, the 8:12 PM train to New York has been delayed. Please wait for further updates."

Arabella and Levi turned to each other, faces frozen in identical expressions of pure horror.

"No, no, no." Levi shook his head. "Tell me that's not the devil's work. Tell me this is just normal public transport incompetence."

Arabella exhaled sharply, arms tightening around her luggage. "We wait."

Minutes turned into hours. The station emptied little by little. It was now past midnight—and still, no train. The delay stretched on like a cruel joke. Arabella checked her watch. 12:10 AM. Saturday.

Levi groaned. "Girl, I need to pee."

"Then go. We have a long trip ahead."

Leaving his suitcase with her, Levi shuffled toward the restrooms at the far end of the station. The fluorescent lights flickered ominously as he pushed open the door. Minutes later, he emerged, sighing in relief—only to find his path blocked.

A man stood in front of him, wearing a dark jacket and a baseball cap pulled low.

Levi stepped aside.

The man mirrored him.

Levi tried the other side.

Blocked again.

Levi threw his hands up. "Move, idiot! I have a train to catch."

The man's voice was low, almost amused. "Where you going?"

Levi frowned. "New York. Why?"

The man's fingers twitched. "Wait."

A chill swept over Levi. "No, thank you." He tried to brush past him, but before he could take another step, a firm grip latched onto his arm.

"Hey!" Levi shrieked, flailing like a cat thrown into water. "Why are you touching me?! I'll scream, I swear!"

"Shut up," the man growled, tightening his grip. "I don't like carrots."

Levi froze. That voice. That phrase. His blood turned ice cold.

Meanwhile, back in the terminal, Arabella's patience had worn paper-thin. She checked her watch again. Twenty minutes. What the hell was taking Levi so long? It didn't take that long to pee—unless he was applying makeup, or worse, being kidnapped. Damn it. Where was he?

She sank back onto the bench, rubbing her temples. This night was stretching longer than a bad dream. Why hadn't the train arrived yet?

That's when she felt it—an unsettling shift in the air. A presence.

A man in a black jacket and worn blue jeans approached, his baseball cap tucked low, shadowing his face. Arabella barely spared him a glance, assuming he was another weary traveler.

But then he sat beside her.

And lifted the cap just enough for her to see his face.

Arabella's breath lodged in her throat.

Rafael.

"Baby," his voice was silk wrapped around steel. "You can't run from me."

Panic ignited her limbs—she sprang up, heart hammering. "I will!"

She flung her suitcase at him and bolted.

Or, at least, she tried.

Her foot caught on Levi's abandoned luggage, and she went sprawling forward. Arms flailing, she braced for impact—

Only to be caught. By him.

Rafael's arms locked around her, steadying her effortlessly. She hated how solid he felt, how natural it was to fall against him. His grip was possessive, unforgiving.

He exhaled against her ear. "Why do I have to chase you every damn weekend, hmm?"

Arabella thrashed. "Let me go!"

He clicked his tongue. "Lucky me. Ross was too drunk to drive, so he called me for a pickup. I was on my way home when I saw Levi. Walking. Alone. In the dead of night."

"Damn Levi!" she hissed.

Rafael chuckled, his grip tightening. "I planned to pick you up at 7 AM. But here we are. 12:30 AM. Saturday." His voice dropped, rich and dark. "Much sooner than expected."

Arabella's pulse spiked. "No, no, no..." She staggered backward.

He followed. "Levi told me plenty about you and Loser." His gaze sharpened. "To be honest, I thought about letting you go. Just washing my hands of this entire ordeal."

Arabella's breath hitched.

He tilted his head. "But then I realized... the thought of another man touching you? Of another man thinking he could ever compare to me?" He scoffed, pressing a palm to his chest. "That... hurts. Right here."

Her brow furrowed. "Your heart?"

Rafael smirked. "No. Inside this ziplock bag."

Arabella blinked. "What?"

His grin turned wicked. "That bastard isn't the only one who can slice, peel, and eat a strawberry kiwi smoothie. I can do it, too." His voice dipped, dark with deliberate promise. "Better."

She barely had time to gasp before he yanked her forward, dragging her toward the exit.

"Rafael, let go! You—"

"Keep screaming, baby. See what happens." His voice was a threat laced with amusement.

She fought. Kicked. Cursed him out like a madwoman.

He didn't flinch.

Until, without thinking, he stopped—and unzipped his pants.

Arabella shrieked, slapping a hand over her eyes. "Pervert!"

He zipped back up. "Then shut up. You have two options—dessert here on the pavement, or at my condo."

Her face flamed. "You're sick."

"Only for you."

With that, he hauled her into his car, slammed the door shut, and sped off—

Straight into the dark.

Rafael shed his jacket carelessly, letting it crumple to the floor, the metallic jingle of his belt unfastening slicing through the thick silence. Arabella's breath hitched as she instinctively backed away, her body reacting before her mind could fully process the moment. Something in his expression unsettled her—a raw intensity, devoid of his usual smirk or teasing bravado. He looked hungry. Dangerous. And it terrified her.

She watched in horror as he yanked his shirt over his head in one fluid motion, the fabric ripping slightly at the seam in his impatience. Then came his pants, sliding down his hips with a whisper of fabric against skin. When he finally stilled, standing before her clad in nothing but a familiar jockstrap, her pulse thundered in her ears. It was the same damn one from the commercial shoot.

"Let's see if that bastard lasts longer than me," Rafael murmured, a slow, wicked smirk curling at the edges of his lips. "It's time to eat my fruit."

Arabella recoiled. "Eat yourself, you absolute psycho!"

His dark eyes gleamed. "Don't even think about running. We've done this before—on the bed, in the shower. This time, it's both. On a waterbed." He exhaled a low chuckle. "Let's make waves."

Her throat went dry. "Y—you're willing to take secondhand leftovers from another man?" she blurted, seizing onto whatever semblance of reason she could grasp.

His expression darkened. "Don't mention another man in front of me." His voice was low, dangerous. "It's my time. My woman. My two nights a week. And right now?" He took a step forward, his muscles coiling like a predator about to strike. "My patience is overcooked."

"Then go take a cold shower!" she snapped, heart pounding, pressing herself further against the mattress.

His grin widened. "And give you time to run to another man? Sorry, sweetheart, this banana is ripe and ready."

Arabella let out a strangled sound of protest, her mind racing for an escape, but Rafael moved faster. In one swift motion, he fisted the hem of her shirt and yanked. She fought, clutching onto the fabric with all her strength, but he pried her fingers away with maddening ease. The shirt was off before she could protest, tossed carelessly aside.

Her arms snapped up instinctively, shielding herself from his gaze. He tsked, wagging a finger at her as if scolding a disobedient child. "Bad move," he murmured. "You should know better than to play coy with me."

His fingers found the waistband of her trousers, and before she could react, he pulled her sharply toward him, their faces inches apart. The heat of his breath ghosted over her lips, sending a riot of conflicting emotions through her. His grin widened as he crouched, tugging her trousers downward, peeling them from her skin with slow deliberation.

She gasped, scrambling backward on the mattress, but the traitorous waterbed wobbled beneath her, throwing her off balance. He took advantage of her momentary instability, pressing forward, his weight shifting just enough to send another ripple through the mattress. He was enjoying this. The bastard was actually enjoying it.

"Stop!" she choked out, her breath coming in frantic gasps. "You're scaring me!"

He froze. His grip on her ankles slackened ever so slightly. For the first time, something flickered in his expression that wasn't raw possessiveness.

"Why?" His voice softened, though the edge remained. "Isn't this... exciting? Isn't that what you wanted?"

She stared at him, her pulse hammering. "I lied," she whispered hoarsely, voice barely above a breath. "Louis never touched me."

Silence.

Then, as if struck by lightning, Rafael reeled back, blinking. "What?"

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, mortifyingly real and unbidden. "I made it up," she confessed, her voice trembling. "Louis and I—nothing happened."

A beat passed. Then another. And suddenly, he groaned, dragging a hand down his face as if he had just been sucker-punched.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered, falling back onto the mattress beside her. "Do you know what you just put me through?" He exhaled a sharp breath, rubbing his temples as though she had given him a migraine. "I was ready to kill the guy."

Arabella, still shaken, turned her head just enough to glare at him. "Good," she snapped. "You deserved it."

His laughter came suddenly, unexpectedly, filling the space between them like rolling thunder. "You little troublemaker," he mused, shaking his head. "Making me think some guy's banana was bigger than mine."

She groaned, covering her face with both hands. "Shut up."

Rafael reached out, gently pulling her hands away from her face, his grip surprisingly tender. "No more lies, baby," he murmured, his voice softer now, void of its earlier intensity. "Just you and me. No other bastards in the picture."

Arabella swallowed hard, unsure whether she had won or lost this battle. But one thing was certain—she was completely, utterly trapped.

He slid down beside her, his body aligning with hers in the dimly lit room, propped up on one elbow. The weight of his presence pressed against her awareness, warm, insistent. His gaze held something raw, unguarded—passion, yes, but something more. Something that unsettled her, that made her breath catch in the hush between them.

Arabella turned away, shy, unsure—perhaps a mistake, because it only emboldened him. His fingers, deft and unhurried, found the clasp of her bra. A soft click. A whisper against her ear.

"Thank you," Rafael murmured, his voice edged with quiet triumph, as if she'd granted him some rare privilege rather than made a simple, startled miscalculation.

Heat surged into her cheeks. Her skin prickled in awareness as his breath stirred against the exposed slope of her back. A shiver—unwanted, maddening—rippled through her when his lips brushed her shoulder, his voice a hushed reverence, murmuring something about strawberries. He inhaled the scent of her hair, his hand skimming the curve of her waist.

She was lost.

She knew it.

A wolf had cornered his prey, and there was no place left to run. The very air seemed thick, charged, vibrating between them with things unspoken. She should move, protest—anything—but her body betrayed her, responding to the featherlight drag of his lips as they mapped a slow, sensuous path over her skin.

"Rafael..." Her voice was barely a whisper.

"Trust me." A command. A promise.

He shifted, pressing her beneath the heavy heat of his body, molding himself to her curves as if the shape of her had been designed to fit him. She gasped at the feeling—overwhelmed, unmoored. He took her hand and guided it around his neck, silently urging her to hold him, to surrender. The moment she did, he moved, rolling them both so she sprawled atop him.

Panic flickered in her eyes, but he was quicker. He gripped her hips, holding her still, a satisfied smirk curving his lips at her breathless indignation. His dark eyes burned, their gaze hooded, languid, as if he was savoring the sight of her, reveling in the way she flushed beneath his scrutiny.

"Relax," he murmured, his voice rich, coaxing, dangerous.

Relax? How could she, when she felt this way? She was aware of every inch of him—his heat, his strength, the slow, deliberate way his hands traced the lines of her body as if memorizing her.

Her heart pounded wildly.

She hated him.

She hated that he made her feel this way. That he turned her defiance into breathless, helpless submission. That his lips found secret places that made her shudder and gasp, made her forget why she was supposed to resist. That his hands, clever and unyielding, stole away the last of her barriers, piece by piece, until there was nothing left but sensation, the unbearable sweetness of his touch.

She should push him away. But instead, her fingers curled against his shoulders, gripping tight.

A wicked chuckle rumbled from his throat.

"I thought you liked excitement," he teased, his breath a whisper against her temple.

She wanted to slap him. She wanted to kiss him.

God help her, she did both.