When I end the call I notice Taz looking; a pensive expression on her face.
“She’s homesick,” she accurately concludes.
“Why are you sitting all the way over there?”
She seems to ignore my question, and instead pulls her feet up on the chair, wrapping her arms around her legs. “I’ve been thinking.”
That’s rarely a good thing, especially when her entire posture screams distance. “About what?”
“Well, in part about last night. What Kathleen said about us.” I’m trying to recall exactly what she said, but Taz already continues, “It made this whole thing sound so…I don’t know…illicit. Almost tawdry, like some damn soap opera.”
“This whole thing?” I can’t help focus on that rather dismissive term. “You mean our relationship?”
She has the grace to look a little guilty when she confirms with a soft, “Yes.”
I lean forward with my elbows on my knees. “Does this feel tawdry to you? What we have going on here? Does it feel cheap to you? Because it sure as fuck doesn’t feel cheap to me. Sure, from an outsider’s perspective it may appear illicit, but from right here…” I slap a hand on my chest, “…where it matters, all it feels is right.”
Taz blinks a few times at my words, contemplating them before she speaks.
“Then how come I woke up this morning with you sneaking out of the spare room to have a shower in the master bathroom down the hall, like you have every morning this past week?”
That observation takes the wind out of my sails. Actually, it’s the slightly rueful tone she uses that jars me. Of course she’s right, I’ve left her every morning, slipping out of her room to get ready for the day, but only so she could catch a few more winks. “I didn’t want to wake you.”
Her smile is a little sad. “I appreciate that, but it’s not my point. What I’m saying is that you’ve come to my bed every night, but haven’t once invited me into yours, which…” she holds up her hand to stop the protest forming on my lips, “…I get, I do, but at the same time it makes me feel like a guilty secret.”
I hear her loud and clear, and I’m kicking myself for not sharing my reasoning behind my trek into her bedroom every night. So much for insisting on clear communication, I’m failing miserably myself.
I’m across the room and in front of her chair in a flash, taking her hands and pulling her to her feet. “Put something on your feet, you’re coming with me.” I don’t let go of her hand when she stops; slipping her feet in the Crocs she keeps by the kitchen door.
“The dogs.”
“They can come with.”
The sun is already down when we cross the lawn to the clinic’s back entrance, the dogs dancing around our legs. I lead her through the dark hallway to my office and flick on the lights.
“Sit here.” I push her down in my desk chair and lean over her to boot up my laptop.
“Rafe, what are—”
“Just give me a second, Sweets.”
A few clicks and my amateur drawing fills the screen.
“What is that?” She leans closer, looking at the markings on the scanned sketch. “Is that the upstairs?”
“Yup.” I tap on the screen. “There’s the master suite.”
“I can see that, I see Spencer’s room, but what is this here, where Sofie’s room’s supposed to be.”
I lean down and kiss the patch of skin showing at the base of her neck. “I started working on an alternative layout for the upstairs about a month ago.” She swivels her head around, looking at me with surprise. “I knew what I wanted, Taz. I didn’t know how to make it feasible. This…” I point at my sketch, “…was the one thing I could plan for, the only part I felt I had any control over.” I sit down on the edge of the desk and slightly adjust her chair so she’s facing me. “I like this house. I like having the clinic right next door. I like that the kids get to grow up in a real family home. Your family home.” I pause for a second, making sure I get the words right. “But it’s also the house where I shared a life with Nicky, and I fully understand if that were a deal breaker. I thought about ways to make this your house. Our house, even.”
“Rafe…” Her warm hand comes to rest on my knee. “You don’t need to—”
“Oh, but I do,” I interrupt her, drawing her attention back to the screen. “Because I never want you to think you’re only a fill-in—someone’s guilty secret—and yet you’re already feeling it. I didn’t say anything because a lot depends on if Sofie would want to move into the master bedroom.” I point to the sketch, at the wall between Sofie’s and the spare bedroom. “If we take that wall down, we have space enough to make a new master suite, complete with our own bathroom.”
“But you’d lose your guest room.”
I turn and slide my hands along her face and into her hair. “We wouldn’t need one.”
Her hands grab on to my wrists when I drop my forehead to hers.
“It’s barely been a week,” she whispers.
“Not planning on knocking down walls tomorrow, Taz, but it’s good to plan for when the time is right. And for the record…”
I drop my mouth to hers for a gentle kiss.
“…It’s been nine years.”
Taz
“Rafe…”
I barely get his name out before I’m pulled out of my chair and find my hips wedged between his knees. His mouth slams down on mine, his tongue spearing between my lips in a bruising kiss.
He reaches around and slaps the laptop shut before using that same hand to mold my breast, brushing my hard nipple. I moan down his throat in response, and suddenly all control is gone.
My shirt is gone, his is next, and I only have a second to thank the universe I’m wearing yoga pants. He one-handedly shoves them down, taking my panties with them, until they pool at my feet. Then he plants a foot between my legs, and with an arm banded tightly around my midriff pulls me straight out of my pants, and deposits me with my bare ass on his desk.
With a hand flat between my breasts he pushes me down to my back, his eyes that midnight blue as he scans down my body.
“Christ, my fucking wet dream spread out like a banquet.” His voice is gruff as his hand follows the path of his eyes, fingers trailing through the dark curls between my legs. “Wet.”
“Your proximity will do that,” I confess, biting my lip on a moan when he lightly brushes the pad of his thumb between my slick folds.
When his hands push my knees wide, I’m sharply aware of the bright light overhead and the hard surface underneath me. So different from the soft shadows of night and the silky feel of bedsheets, which were the scene for each time we’ve tentatively explored each other these past days.
This is different: raw, revealing, and deliciously decadent.
I feel liberated, unashamed, and almost greedy with need as I prop up on my elbows, pull my heels onto the edge of the desk and let my legs fall open in a blatant invitation.
Rafe’s eyes betray his barely contained hunger as he takes in my offer, nostrils flaring. His fingers dig into the soft skin on the inside of my thighs as he leans down using the tip of his nose to brush my curls.