no longer wanted alcohol. What he craved was much more dangerous.
What is that god-awful sound?
The incessant noise kept time with the pounding in Grace’s head.
She forced open her tired, scratchy eyes and sat up in the queen-size Murphy bed. The soft glow from the muted flat screen TV hanging on the left wall cast enough light that Grace didn’t feel entombed in a sarcophagus, but only barely.
Earlier, when she had woken up to use the bathroom and found the bedroom–living room area of Rafe’s micro-apartment consumed in utter blackness, a blood-curdling wail had exploded from her chest. Terror scaled her throat, tightening her windpipe around the scream until she ran out of air and could no longer breathe.
From out of the void Rafe had appeared, gathered her close and calmed her with his rock-solid presence. He probably thought a nightmare about the accident had incited her panic, when really she was simply afraid of the dark.
Being locked in a windowless basement for nearly a day when she was ten had instilled a debilitating fear of the dark and she was ashamed to have never outgrown it.
Beep...beep...beep...
The grating sound kicked up her headache several notches. Searching for the alarm clock, she glanced at the long wooden dresser centered beneath the TV. All that topped it were a video game console and one controller, the wires neatly wrapped around the middle. A cell phone, the TV remote, an orange prescription bottle and an empty water bottle were scattered across the coffee table.
Asleep on the brown leather couch, Rafe lay on his side with one arm crooked awkwardly behind his back.
Ordinarily, she wouldn’t have gone home with a naked man encountered on the side of the road. Rafe, however, was the best friend of her best friend’s husband. If Cassie and Brice trusted Rafe, Grace would, too.
Last night, she hadn’t called Cassie from the hospital because it was after midnight and Grace didn’t want to worry her pregnant friend over a lousy bump on the head. Dr. Habersham would’ve made her stay overnight in an observation room if Rafe hadn’t volunteered to keep an eye on her.
Grace hadn’t known Rafe’s apartment was a windowless efficiency that he’d converted from the unused storage room connected to his automotive repair business. Still, being in a concrete box with him was better than being alone in the hospital.
Her gaze traced his lightly haired legs, sleek and powerful. A bunched white sheet disrupted the graceful lines of his hips and framed his exposed lower back. The smooth, muscled planes flexed as if she’d touched him. Head tucked beneath a pillow, he sighed a deep, low, guttural rumble that echoed through her body, heating her to the core.
Of course she’d have that reaction to him.
Out of all the men Cassie and Brice had introduced to her, Rafe had been the only one to spark any real interest. Rafe, on the other hand, had gone out of his way to ignore her after the initial introductions.
Until last night. When he’d shown up after the accident, his hair wild, his eyes fierce, his body dangerously naked.
She wouldn’t be able to unsee the vision of his perfectly sculpted form even if she used a bleach solvent on her brain. The memory had already been uploaded to every cell in her body like a rogue computer virus. The only way to get rid of the infection was to overwrite the code. Unfortunately, she sucked as a code writer.
The cold harsh truth would have to suffice in masking the easily recallable memory and her interest. For some reason, Rafe found her off-putting. She didn’t know why, and when she’d shown up at his business a few months back, hoping to bridge the chasm for Cassie and Brice’s sake, Rafe had flat out told Grace he wasn’t interested in being her friend.
Yep, the cold harsh truth. He didn’t like her.
She couldn’t understand his abrupt disregard and dismissal. She always made the effort to be kind, friendly and accepting of everyone. She didn’t judge, didn’t discriminate, she loved the uniqueness of each person.
Whatever the reason for his dislike, Rafe had shoved it aside last night and was there when she needed someone.
Right now, she needed him to shut off the freaking alarm before her head exploded.
“Rafe, wake up!”
He didn’t move, snort, or otherwise acknowledge her presence.
Grace eased off the Murphy bed, slid her feet into her pink slippers, and maneuvered between the coffee table and couch. She reached over Rafe to the alarm clock balanced on the top frame of the couch, the LED face flipped so that the time flashed into the cushion instead of into the room.
In a sudden whirl, she landed flat on her back on top of the couch seat cushions. Rafe’s steely fingers clamped around her wrists, pinning them over her head. She stared into icy, cobalt blue eyes that would’ve stolen her breath if she hadn’t lost all air when he plastered his hard, hot body onto hers.
The short crop of his auburn hair stuck out in different directions. A pillow crease cut across one high cheekbone and dipped into the reddish stubble dusting his strong jaw. His firm, full lips would look much more kissable if he smiled.
Squared shoulders rose above a sculpted chest swirled with soft tufts of hair, and a quarter-sized scar marred the taut, tan skin over his right ribs.
Her gaze slid over the ripples of his abs and the sharp indents of his hips. She couldn’t follow the treasure line that arrowed down from his belly button because he was lodged intimately against her pelvis.
A giddy heat rushed her body and struck her with the acute awareness of a virile man in his prime.
“Never sneak up on me, Grace.” Rafe’s laser-intense eyes burned holes straight through her body. “It’s dangerous.”
No doubt.
From his deeply etched scowl to his silent, panther-like movements, she needed no further warnings. He was dangerous on all levels.
“Shut off the damn alarm. My head is pounding and I can barely think.”
Without shifting his weight off her, he slapped the buttons of the alarm clock and silenced the wailing beep. The echo continued to throb inside Grace’s head. She shut her eyes, willing the pounding to stop and wanting to break the sizzling visual contact with Rafe.
He didn’t take the hint to move. Instead, his cheek grazed her jaw, his mouth forged a warm, breathy trail to the shell of her ear, and he gently nosed the dimple behind her ear. “God, you smell good.”
Her own senses drowned in his scent—clean, earthy, and deliciously male. Instinctively, her hips arched against his groin. Deep inside, her muscles clenched and a slow swirl centered low in her belly. “Hey, Wyatt. This isn’t what I meant when I said I wanted to get to know you at Brice’s party.”
Yeah? Who was she kidding?
Since her hands were still pinned above her head, her hips were plastered against his, and any perpendicular
