Chapter 27: Midnight Intrusion and Morning Secrets

Arabella tossed and turned beneath the silk sheets, the moonlight slicing through the curtains in silver ribbons. Sleep would not come. No matter how tightly she shut her eyes, Rafael's face haunted her.

She had wanted this. Hadn't she?

Hadn't she dreamed of the day she would finally be free of him? That she would move forward, make a choice for herself, carve out a future untouched by his chaotic, all-consuming presence?

Then why, in the quiet of the night, did her heart feel like a clenched fist?

She squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to forget the way he had looked at dinner—how his usual arrogance had crumbled, how he had walked out without his usual swagger, his steps weighted with something dangerously close to heartbreak. And now, guilt clawed at her. Damn him for making her feel anything at all.

Outside the Blake estate, Rafael had been sitting in his car for three hours, a bottle of Scotch open on the passenger seat. Three bottles deep, and yet, the alcohol had done nothing to numb the ache in his chest.

Damn her.

Damn her for making him lose his mind, for making him consider stupid, desperate things—like stealing her away, tying her to a tree until she agreed to marry him. A reckless idea, a drunk man's fantasy, and yet...

He missed her.

Missed the way she smelled, like ripe strawberries and something soft, something uniquely Arabella. Missed the way she looked at him when she wasn't furious—when she let her guard down just enough for him to see the girl who once burned for him as fiercely as he burned for her.

His head pounded as he shoved the car door open. He was done fighting it.

Scaling the gate was easy, the alcohol coursing through his veins making him careless. He moved through the darkness like a shadow, reaching for the ladder he had seen on the estate before. Jackpot. It was still there, propped against the kitchen wall.

The balcony doors to her bedroom were unlocked. How convenient. Or perhaps—how foolish.

He slid inside. The air smelled of her—clean linens and something sweet.

And there she was.

Curled up beneath the sheets, her bare shoulder exposed, her hair spilling over the pillow like dark silk. A breath hitched in his throat.

"Baby, I miss you..."

His words were a whisper, but his body was anything but subtle as he dropped onto the mattress. The movement sent tremors through the bed, and the sharp scent of alcohol drifted between them.

Arabella stirred, her lashes fluttering, her breathing shifting from deep to light. A second later, her body stiffened.

Then she turned.

"The hell—? You reek of Scotch." Her voice was sharp, hushed.

He exhaled, his breath heavy with whiskey. "Because of you."

"Leave," she warned, her voice lowering. "Or I'll scream."

"Please don't," he murmured, pressing his forehead to hers.

"Then go."

Instead, he cupped her cheek, his thumb tracing the soft curve of her jaw. His eyes, still hazy with liquor, darkened as they roamed her face. "Don't marry that loser."

"Rafael—"

"Marry me."

She barely had time to inhale before his lips captured hers, urgent, reckless, desperate.

The taste of Scotch burned against her tongue, mingling with something uniquely him. She gasped, hands pushing against his chest, but he held her there, drowning her protests in a kiss that made her insides turn to liquid.

Damn him.

Damn him for making her weak.

Damn him for knowing exactly how to kiss her so she forgot the world beyond this room.

But then—his hands. His fingers moved, not rough but determined, tracing the edge of her nightgown, his body shifting against hers with intent. That was enough to snap her back into reality.

"No." Her breath came ragged, her hands pushing harder against his shoulders.

His lips hovered against hers, his breath warm, uneven.

"Let's make babies," he murmured against her skin, his voice slurred with liquor and need.

Her eyes widened, her heart lurching. "You are insane."

"Mm." He smirked against her neck, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the delicate skin there. "That's not news, baby."

Her pulse hammered. "Rafael. Get. Off. Me."

He hesitated, just long enough for her knee to wedge between them and push—hard.

He grunted, rolling onto his back, arms flung over his face as he exhaled a sharp breath.

Arabella sat up, heart pounding, tugging her nightgown back into place. "My father is across the hall. If he sees you here, he'll kill you."

A lazy grin curved Rafael's lips, his arms still draped over his face. "Then let me have my last meal."

"You're not funny."

He chuckled. "I thought I was."

Silence stretched between them, thick with something unspoken.

Then he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. When he spoke again, his voice was lower. Raw.

"It's hard, Arabella."

"What is?"

His eyes flicked open, locking onto hers with an intensity that made her throat tighten.

"Leaving you."

She swallowed, throat dry.

"Then go," she whispered.

He held her gaze a moment longer, something unreadable flickering behind those dark eyes. Then he exhaled, rolling out of bed with a sigh.

He staggered slightly but steadied himself, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. He turned, reaching for the balcony door. But just before stepping out, he glanced over his shoulder.

A smirk curved his lips.

"Baby," he drawled. "You might want to lock your doors."

Then, with the same reckless arrogance that had always infuriated and captivated her in equal measure, he disappeared into the night.

Arabella sat motionless, her heart hammering.

Damn him.

Damn him for knowing exactly how to crawl under her skin, even when he was half-drunk and insufferable.

She pulled the sheets back over herself, curling into the pillows.

And despite everything—despite her rational mind screaming at her—she did not lock the balcony doors.

The devil was an expert in seduction.

He moved with the unhurried confidence of a man who knew precisely how to unravel her, how to steal every last breath from her lungs and replace it with his own. Every stroke of his hands, every press of his lips, was deliberate, relentless—hungry.

Arabella sighed, her body betraying her even as she willed herself to resist. But there was no resisting him. Not when his mouth traced the delicate curve of her shoulder, not when his hands moved over her like a sculptor relearning his masterpiece.

A shudder rolled through her.

Rafael felt it.

Felt the hesitation in the way her hands pressed against his hips, the way her head turned against the crook of his neck. Breathless, uncertain.

His lips found her cheek, lingering there, his breath warm against her skin. And when she wouldn't speak, he smiled against the softness of her flushed skin.

She didn't have to say a word.

Everything he needed to know was already written in the language of her body.

He would wait.

He shifted, sliding onto his side, gathering her close into the cocoon of his arms. She was soft against him, boneless with exhaustion, her cheek pressing into his shoulder as if it belonged there.

She didn't argue when he pulled the blanket higher, tucking it around her bare shoulders.

Didn't flinch when he kissed her forehead, then the tip of her nose, then the corner of her mouth.

She smelled like strawberries.

Like something ripe and sweet and wholly intoxicating.

Rafael inhaled deeply, memorizing her scent, the warmth of her skin against his.

He was never going to get enough of her.

"...Make babies, okay?" he whispered, his voice a drowsy murmur against her temple.

She didn't answer.

Her breath had already gone slow, even, her body tucked trustingly against his.

Rafael smirked, tightening his arms around her.

It wasn't a no.

And he had all the time in the world.

***

The knocking started as a polite rap. Then it grew louder. More insistent. Arabella's eyes shot open. A second later, Rafael's did too.

For a moment, they lay frozen, tangled in the remnants of last night's passion, staring at each other in wide-eyed panic.

Then—bam! bam! bam!

"Arabella! Baby, are you all right?" Ethan's voice, deep and edged with concern, came from the other side of the door.

Rafael rolled out of bed—a tangle of bare limbs and sheets—landing with a hard thud on the floor. Arabella winced and hissed at him to be quiet.

His head popped up, dark hair disheveled, wild, a guilty look plastered across his face. They resorted to silent, frantic gestures. Arabella pointed wildly at the closet.

Rafael pointed at himself, confused, brows furrowed—Me? She clenched her fists in frustration, snatched a pillow, and hurled it at his face. Move, idiot!

Ethan knocked again, firmer this time. "Arabella?"

Rafael scrambled to his feet, yanking his shirt over his head while fumbling hopelessly for his pants. Arabella groaned and rolled out of bed to help the fool before he got them both caught. Then—he stopped. Turned to her. Pointed downward. She blinked. Then—followed his finger. Her cheeks went crimson.

"Damn you," she whispered furiously.

Rafael smirked. "Problem."

She covered her eyes. "You're disgusting."

"Nature, baby," he teased. "I'll deal with it later."

Another bang at the door.

Rafael ran for the closet like a scolded child, cupping himself as he went, and Arabella barely had time to throw on her robe before unlocking the door. It creaked open to reveal her father's towering frame.

Ethan frowned. "Why didn't you answer the door?"

"I... I overslept." Arabella forced a sheepish smile.

His sharp gaze swept the room. The mussed sheets. The tangled nest of pillows on the floor. Her wild, untamed hair. He frowned deeper.

"What happened here?"

Arabella tensed. "I, uh... had a rough night?"

Ethan's expression softened, the concern settling in. "Mom made your favorite for breakfast. Come down when you're ready."

She nodded quickly, shut the door, and locked it.

The moment he was gone, she turned back to the closet.

"You can come out now, flower thief."

Rafael spilled out, shaking his head, grinning like the devil himself. "Baby, let's get married so we don't have to hide anymore."

The breath in her throat caught.

Last night had been a mistake.

And it would never happen again.

She swallowed, lifting her chin. "Leave. And don't come back."

Rafael stilled, dark eyes scanning her face. Then, he took a slow step forward. "It wasn't a mistake."

She flinched. "You... you always do this. You take advantage—"

He smiled, slow and knowing. "Seduce you?"

She clenched her jaw. "Yes! And I hate you for it!"

"But I love you."

The words hit like a storm, knocking the air from her lungs.

She shook her head, stepping back. "That's not love. It's lust. You barely know me."

Rafael tilted his head. "Who says? I know how many moles you have on your body."

Arabella's face went up in flames. "That's all you know! My body. But I know more about you, Rafael. And none of it is good."

"Then let's start over." His voice was soft now, pleading. "It's not too late."

Arabella's throat tightened.

She thought of Louis.

Of the man who betrayed her after three years of promises. The man who left her heart in ruins.

She had spent years learning not to trust.

And Rafael... Rafael was the worst of them all.

The tears slipped down before she could stop them.

Rafael's chest tightened painfully.

"...Baby."

Before she could step away, he closed the space between them, arms wrapping around her waist, his head dropping into the crook of her neck.

Arabella shuddered in sorrow.

His hold tightened. "Don't cry, my bella."

She whispered, "I hate you."

"Marry me," he murmured against her skin.

She leaned into his warmth, her body betraying her. The scent of him—citrus and smoke—wrapped around her, unraveling her defenses.

"Will you stop your playboy ways?" Her voice was barely a whisper.

"Yes."

"You'll be faithful?"

"Yes, baby. Game over."

She hesitated. "I can't picture you as a family man."

Rafael chuckled against her temple. "Marry me, and I'll show you."

She chewed her lip.

"Marriage is forever. A big step." She hesitated, then lifted her chin defiantly. "And there's nothing good about you."

His grin turned wicked. "I'm a good lover."

"Shut up."

"Nine inches when tampered with. Come on, now."

Her face flamed. "Pervert!" She squirmed, trying to pry his arms from her waist.

He only held her tighter.

"Marry me." He kissed her cheek, soft, coaxing.

She exhaled shakily. "If my father agrees."

His entire body stiffened.

"Yeah?"

She avoided his gaze, but the blush in her cheeks gave her away.

Rafael frowned. "Baby, that's going to be—hard."

Arabella's heart twisted.

Her face fell. "Then forget it."

"No, no." He grabbed her hand, pressing it to his chest, where his heart pounded wildly. "For you—anything."

Her eyes lifted, searching his face. She wanted to believe him. But she was so damn scared. And yet... she was going crazy, just like him. Hopelessly, recklessly, crazy in love.

Downstairs, the breakfast table was set with delicate porcelain, the soft chime of silverware against china punctuating the warm morning air. Sunlight filtered through lace curtains, casting soft patterns over Rachel and Ethan as they enjoyed their meal.

Then Mia appeared, her brow creased, a folded dishcloth in her hands.

"There's a ladder leaning against the tree," she announced, her voice laced with curiosity. "Right under Ms. Ara's balcony."

Rachel's spoon paused mid-air.

Mia continued, oblivious to the sudden stiffness in her mistress's shoulders. "Strange. I swore it was outside near the kitchen door yesterday. Did the cable man come back to reinstall the wire in Ms. Ara's room?"

Ethan frowned. "What cable guy? No technician came over yesterday."

Mia blinked. "Oh." Then she shrugged, unbothered. "Must be my mistake, then. I'll tell someone to remove the ladder. Can't have the gardener leaving it around like that—especially not under a young lady's bedroom. Any man could seize the opportunity."

Rachel's pulse thrummed.

Ethan, on the other hand, chuckled, dismissing Mia's words with a shake of his head. "She's funny, isn't she?"

Rachel dropped her spoon into her bowl, giving him a pointed look. "Who says she's wrong?"

He smirked. "Are you saying some man actually climbed up to her room?"

She leaned in slightly, voice mocking, teasing. "Remember when you climbed up to my room?"

His smile deepened, eyes darkening just a little. "Baby, I was crazy over you back then."

She arched a brow. "Nobody is that crazy."

"Who says?" He took a slow sip of coffee, watching her over the rim. "That punk is crazier."

Rachel stared. "Excuse me?"

"Velvet Vogue," he corrected with a begrudging wave of his hand. "The model magazine company."

Rachel's lips twitched. "It's not a limited edition Playboy magazine, Ethan."

He muttered something unintelligible into his coffee.

Before she could respond, Levi strode in, his usual bright presence filling the room.

"Good morning!" he sang, practically bouncing into the chair beside Rachel.

Without hesitation, he leaned in, hugging her tightly, the scent of citrus cologne trailing off him. Rachel, watching from the kitchen, giggled and lightly patted Levi's head as he made himself at home, reaching for an empty plate and placing himself a generous helping of egg, pancakes and bacon.

Ethan, however, scowled.

If there were a shoe within reach, he might have thrown it.

"Liz doesn't feed you or something?" he asked dryly.

Rachel sighed, smoothing a hand over Levi's arm. "Ethan, be nice. Levi is like another daughter to me."

Ethan set down his fork with a distinctive clang. "You mean son."

Levi, ever unbothered, grinned brightly. "Oh, Uncle, you're so funny!" He batted his lashes. "I'm a woman trapped in a man's—"

"Yeah, yeah, a woman trapped in a banana tree." Ethan waved a hand. "Scary, isn't it?"

Levi gasped, affronted. "I am not a banana tree ghost!"

Ethan leaned back, smirking. "Careful, he/she. Don't go spinning your head at the table—I'd hate to see it snap clean off."

Rachel glared daggers at him, her foot subtly nudging him under the table.

The message was clear.

Shut Up.