The morning after was a spectacle of subtle shifts and overt teasing. Rafe, usually a man of quiet control, was practically radiating possessiveness, his hand never far from my back, his gaze constantly finding mine. When we sat down for breakfast in the main lodge, he didn’t just take a seat; he guided me to the one next to him, then, with a bold sweep, pulled me onto his lap.
I froze for a second, mortified, then met his eyes. He just smirked, a low, rumbling sound in his chest, and then he started serving me food.
“Open up, firecracker,” he murmured, offering me a forkful of scrambled eggs. His voice was laced with amusement, and the sheer audacity of the public display had the desired effect.
The effect, however, was not just on me. A chorus of knowing hoots and whistles erupted fro
