Chapter 24: The Devil in the Moonlight

Arabella emerged from the bathroom, skin warm from the shower, slipping into her satin nightgown. The ritual was the same—feeding her goldfish, checking on the turtle—but tonight, frustration simmered in her chest. She glared at the turtle, hands on her hips.

"You bastard! Two-timer! Womanizer! Perverted maniac! Coward!" Her voice was a sharp whisper as she pointed an accusing finger at the small creature. The turtle, unimpressed, waddled toward the glass, pressing its beak against it before sticking out its tongue.

Her jaw dropped. "Oh, now you're a smartass, huh?" she seethed. "I should chop you off and feed you to the fish! And you—" she turned to the goldfish, eyes narrowing "—would love that, wouldn't you? So you two could be together forever!"

With an angry huff, she threw herself onto the bed, tossing and turning. What was happening to her? Had she truly lost it, arguing with pets who didn't understand a word? Sleep eluded her. With a sigh, she slid open the glass door to the balcony, stepping into the cool night air. A full moon hung above, bathing everything in silver.

"Baby! My Bella!"

The voice sent a chill skittering down her spine. Eerie, disembodied. She clutched her robe tighter and peered over the edge of the balcony. A dark figure stood below.

Her breath caught in panic. "I'm calling the cops!"

"No, baby! It's me!"

She hesitated. "Rafael?"

He stepped back, just enough for the light from her room to catch his face. Dressed in black—jacket, jeans—he looked like the kind of man who knew exactly how to bypass front gates and guard dogs. Of course. Sneaking into a girl's house when her parents weren't home? Typical. She despised him.

"Come down," he coaxed. "I want to talk."

"Go away, you bastard."

"Five minutes. That's all I'm asking."

"I'm calling the cops!"

His voice dropped, teasing and low. "Baby, if you don't come down this instant... I'm going to scream, 'YOU ARE MY WIFE.'"

Her eyes widened. "Shut up! Hold on, you jerk!"

Barefoot, she padded downstairs, checking over her shoulder before slipping through the kitchen door. The night air clung to her skin as she circled to the backyard, where Rafael waited. The shadows deepened his features, his presence both infuriating and magnetic.

"What do you want?" she snapped. "Make it quick. I'm sleepy. And how the hell did you know which room was mine?"

"I didn't. But yours was the only one with the light on." He flashed a slow, knowing smile. "So I waited. An hour. Praying my Juliet would appear."

Her stomach twisted. "You're making my stomach churn. I'm not easily flattered. And the dogs?"

"Steak. With sleeping pills."

"Of course. A true scoundrel. Sneaking into girls' rooms is your hobby, isn't it?"

His voice dipped, almost a growl. "Only for you, baby. You turn me into a thief, a wolf. I can't stop thinking about you. I close my eyes and see your face. The air I breathe smells like strawberries." His fingers brushed her cheek, a touch so light it sent a shiver down her spine. "I want to touch every part of you, those apples, the kiwis—call me a pervert, but damn... I'm losing my mind without you."

She gasped as he caught her waist, dragging her flush against him. Even in the moonlight, she could see the fire in his gaze.

"Let me go."

"No." His grip tightened. "It's still our weekend. Come with me."

"What about your fiancée?"

"She's at the condo."

Disgust curled her lip. "And you want me to go there? You're unbelievable." She struggled, but he held fast, his lips grazing her cheek. A soft peck—an unspoken challenge.

"I'm not going back there," he murmured. "I want to be with you. We've never tried making love outside, under the moonlight."

"No way! That's—" Her face flamed. "That's completely inappropriate! God will see us!"

He chuckled, warm against her skin. "Actually, we'd be in heaven, so we'd see him."

"Shut up," she muttered, cheeks burning.

"Come with me." Another kiss, another peck, each one stealing more of her resolve.

"No."

"Baby, if you don't keep your part of the bargain... that contract will be front-page news in the morning."

She stiffened. "You bastard," she whispered.

"If that's what it takes to have you in my arms, so be it."

He let go of her waist only to take her hand, leading her across the yard. The cool grass prickled her bare feet, and she hissed for him to slow down. Instead, he scooped her into his arms and carried her effortlessly. She smacked his shoulder, twisting his ear, but the damn fool was as immovable as stone.

When they reached the gate, she balked. "You want me to climb over that? No way."

"I'll bend down. You step on my back."

"This is ridiculous."

"Come on, baby. It's not that high."

They argued until, exasperated, she finally relented. With a huff, she climbed onto his back and swung herself over. Rafael followed, but just as he straddled the top, his pants snagged on a sharp edge. He yanked, the fabric gave way with an audible rip, and he tumbled gracelessly to the ground.

Arabella burst into laughter. "Oh my God. You're not even wearing underwear!"

Groaning, he rolled onto his side, rubbing his behind. "I'm in pain here."

She gasped between giggles, pointing at the gaping tear. "You idiot. You're bare like a baby's bottom!"

Rafael sat up, wincing. Then, with a sly smirk, he murmured, "Baby, I planned a strip tease tonight. One less item, the quicker the game ends."

Arabella crossed her arms. "Pervert."

"At your service."

They had been driving for over an hour, Boston's cityscape giving way to quiet, winding roads. The car hummed beneath them, streetlights casting fleeting glows over Rafael's chiseled face. He stole glances at her, his knuckles tight on the steering wheel.

Arabella sat beside him, her arms folded, feigning indifference. But she felt his gaze. How could she not? She was draped in only a silky white nightgown, its delicate fabric whispering against her skin with each breath. The cut of it—off-shoulder, plunging neckline—did nothing to shield her from his dark, knowing stare. Every passing streetlight revealed more: the smoothness of her bare arms, the tantalizing swell of her chest, the soft outline of her curves beneath the thin material.

She turned her head toward the window, avoiding his eyes. Surely, he wasn't planning to parade her around dressed like this? Their appearance alone screamed scandal. If anyone saw them, it wouldn't take much imagination to mistake them for a rogue and his seduced conquest.

"Rafael!" she shrieked suddenly. "You're in the wrong lane!"

"Shit!" He jerked the wheel just in time, narrowly avoiding an oncoming car. A horn blared angrily as it sped past.

Arabella clutched the handle, her breath coming fast. "Are you trying to kill us?!"

Rafael glanced at her, a sheepish smirk tugging at his lips. "Sorry, baby. Got distracted."

"Ugh! Stop looking at me and focus on the damn road!"

"How did you know I was checking you out?"

"Because the car has been zigzagging since we left the house!" she snapped.

He chuckled. "Baby, the car isn't the only thing moving around tonight."

She didn't respond, her face burning. Damn him and his knowing smirk. He was incorrigible, a devil wrapped in charm and silk sheets. And worse? He knew exactly how this night would end. Arabella clenched her fists. She had to find a way out of this arrangement before it was too late. But how? She had tried twice already—twice! And each time, he had found her, coaxed her back with that husky voice and those sinful hands.

Her father. Maybe he could help. But if he found out... oh, Lord. That would mean two things: Rafael dead or Rafael forced into marriage. Neither outcome pleased her. No, Rafael needed to suffer first. A slow, agonizing kind of torment. She pictured slicing a banana and tossing it into a blender. The thought made her smile deviously.

"Hey! Why did you stop the car?!" Her thoughts shattered as Rafael slammed on the brakes, making her lurch forward.

"We're here."

Arabella blinked and looked out the window. Darkness. Trees. The shimmer of moonlight on water.

"Are you insane? You brought me to a forest?"

"It's a park," he corrected.

"It's the middle of the night!"

"Exactly. Perfect for making love under the moonlight." He grinned, stepping out of the car.

"You are absolutely insane!" she hissed. "What if someone sees us? What if—oh my God, you pervert!"

He leaned against the open trunk, a bottle of wine in one hand, a rolled-up mat in the other. "Who the hell would come all the way up here just to watch us?"

He had a point. But still.

Arabella stayed in the car, hugging her arms as the night sounds closed in. The eerie rustle of trees. The distant howls of dogs. Her mother's voice echoed in her head: If a dog howls under a full moon, it means a ghost has been seen.

Her heart pounded. Damn superstition.

Then, another distant howl. Long, mournful.

Her breath hitched. "Rafael!" she called, throwing open the door.

From the distance, he looked up. "Baby, what now?"

"It's scary!" She sprinted toward him, the night pressing against her back.

Rafael barely had time to react before she barreled into him, her arms locking around his waist, her face buried in his chest.

"Now, now," he murmured, stroking her hair. "It's just a couple of dead dogs crying."

"Shut up, shut up, shut up!" she wailed, stomping her feet.

Rafael laughed, wrapping his arms around her. "Relax, baby. The only thing haunting us tonight is my hunger." He tilted her chin up, eyes glinting. "And I don't mean for food."

Arabella barely had time to breathe before Rafael's arms came around her, pulling her close. His grip was firm yet unhurried, his hands tracing slow, deliberate circles down her back, coaxing the tension from her muscles. He murmured against her ear, his voice low and indulgent, each word a smooth stroke against her frayed nerves. Then, with an ease that should have made her suspicious, he lowered her onto the thick mat spread out beneath the oak tree.

He smiled, dark and knowing. "There's no such thing as ghosts, baby. But if there were, they'd best stay away—because tonight belongs to me."

Arabella hiccupped, her breath still uneven. "You swear?"

His fingers slid through her hair, tucking errant strands behind her ear. "Cross my heart. The big bad dog has gone home."

She pulled back just enough to search his face. The moonlight painted him in silver, the sharp edges of his cheekbones, the wicked curve of his lips. He was beautiful. And dangerous.

He reached for the wine bottle, tilting it slightly. "A drink?"

Arabella narrowed her eyes. "You're trying to get me drunk."

"I would never," he lied smoothly, the corner of his mouth twitching.

She shoved at his chest, only to realize her mistake. The moment her balance tipped, Rafael took advantage, catching her arm and pulling her back down. The air whooshed out of her lungs as she landed on top of him, the solid warmth of his body unforgiving beneath her.

"Jackpot," he murmured, his grin deepening.

She scrambled to push off him, heat crawling up her neck. "Rafael, not here! It's embarrassing!"

He exhaled a laugh, hands settling on her waist as if he had no intention of letting go. "Who's going to see us? The trees? The lake? We have hours before we leave."

He pressed a teasing kiss to the tip of her nose. She jolted, but he held her steady.

"But you don't have—" She swallowed, her blush deepening. "You don't have any protection."

He arched a brow, mischief lighting his gaze. "Who said? My back pocket is intact, baby. And wouldn't you know? It's your favorite—strawberry flavored."

She groaned, pressing her hands over her face. "You're insufferable."

"Drink some wine, then. It'll help you relax."

"With you? I'd need two bottles."

He chuckled, low and sinful. "Dead fish aren't any fun. I prefer the lively ones. Just two gulps, okay?"

Before she could protest, he took a long drink straight from the bottle, then caught her lips in a kiss, tipping the wine into her mouth. The liquid flooded her senses—sweet, sharp, and burning all at once. She gasped, some of it slipping past the corners of her mouth, trailing down her jaw. He pulled back, watching her with something close to satisfaction as he swiped his thumb across the spill, his touch lingering against her cheek.

"You're beautiful, you know that?" His voice was husky, thick with something unspoken.

"Liar. Men say anything."

"And you're hot," he countered. "Everything about you makes me burn."

Arabella stiffened. "What about Blair—"

"She can't compare to you."

"I don't believe you."

Rafael studied her, his expression turning unreadable. "Am I really so untrustworthy?"

She turned away, refusing to look at him. "Have you ever been faithful to any girl?"

"Honestly? No. Never."

She let out a sharp laugh, more bitter than amused. "Womanizer."

A flicker of something crossed his face before he gently caught her chin, guiding her gaze back to his. "But ever since you came along, I haven't thought about another woman. I haven't touched anyone else. You've made me crazy."

"Yes, I know. You're crazy."

His lips quirked. "Tell me the truth. Every time we're together... do you enjoy it?"

Arabella's breath hitched. "I... I don't know."

"How can you not know? It's your body. Does your body enjoy me?"

She shoved at him again, her cheeks burning. "Shut up, pervert!"

Rafael only grinned. "Baby, do you realize how cute you are when you're mad?"

He leaned in, inhaling softly, as if the scent of her alone could make him drunk. "You smell intoxicating."

She wrinkled her nose. "Are you a dog? Stop sniffing me. Sicko."

He laughed, his weight pressing down as she wiggled beneath him. "No, baby. Not yet."

She groaned. "It's hot."

His eyes darkened, something dangerous flickering there. "Then stay still."

And just like that, she knew she was in trouble.

She fought against his fingers, twisting, wriggling, trying to keep the silky fabric of her gown in place. But he was relentless. The bastard.

"Rafael, stop—" she gasped, laughing against her will as his hands found her waist, his fingers gliding over her ribs, teasing, tickling, reducing her to a helpless, breathless heap beneath him.

He took full advantage of her momentary weakness, slipping the gown off one shoulder, then the other, until the whisper-thin material pooled around her hips.

"You cheat," she panted, pushing weakly at his chest.

He only smirked, pinning her down, his weight deliciously warm. "There's no air conditioning in the wild, sweetheart. Clothes have to go."

Her breath hitched. A slow, merciless trickle of awareness crawled down her spine. The night air licked over her exposed skin, cool in contrast to the heat radiating from him.

Then, just as suddenly, he moved away, but not far. She propped herself on her elbows, her pulse thudding unevenly. In the hush of the night, she could hear him—hear it—the quiet crinkle of foil being torn open.

Her stomach dipped. "What are you doing?" she asked, though she already knew.

He chuckled, a low, knowing sound. "Baby, I'm putting on protection."

Her lips parted, a slow burn creeping up her cheeks. "You—"

Oh, he was insufferable. Carrying them around like breath mints, as if he went through them as casually as gum. She turned her face skyward, willing herself to focus on anything but him. The full moon hung fat and luminous above them, its silver glow casting long shadows against the trees. Leaves whispered overhead, a restless, shivering sound. The river in the distance murmured as the current rippled over stone.

But even the vastness of nature—open, endless, infinite—could not distract her from the man beside her. From the way his fingers trailed absentmindedly over her thigh, from the press of his lips at the delicate hollow of her throat.

Damn him.

She fought to remain unaffected, but Rafael was no fool. He felt her unraveling. And he smiled against her skin, like a devil pleased with his handiwork.

Theirs was a slow, heady descent, a battle of will and desire beneath the moonlight. He kept his word—switching, turning, letting her take control, only to steal it back with a wicked glint in his eyes. And when he finally whispered, "My turn" against the shell of her ear, she knew she was lost.

Then something changed. His movements stilled.

Her fingers dug into his biceps. "Rafael—"

He rained soft kisses over her face, soothing, murmuring, but she could hear it, the shift in his breath.

"Baby..." His voice was quiet, amused. "You ripped it."

Her stomach dropped.

Her heart stopped.

She sucked in a sharp breath. "You ripped it," she whispered back, barely able to form the words.

Rafael's shoulders shook with laughter. "Shhh, it's nothing," he murmured, curling his arms around her as he pulled her against his chest. "Relax."

"Relax?" She smacked his shoulder, her blush deepening.

But he only chuckled, nuzzling into her hair, his voice lazy, satisfied. "We'll figure it out. For now..." He sighed, stretching languidly. "Go to sleep."

She glared at him, but the warmth of his body, the lull of his breathing, the steady thud of his heart against her ear—it was maddening, how safe she felt. How much she wanted to stay wrapped in him, despite every reason she shouldn't.

Rafael. That bastard.

And yet, with the night pressing in and his arms holding her close, she didn't push him away. Not this time.