Day 9
Rafe's eyes seemed to roam over Kiara's face, like he was taking stock of her, seeing if she was okay. Kiara twisted her gaze away from his, giving him only the sharp angle of her face in profile to study. She looked longingly towards the window. Her stomach knotted, from some potent combination of emotions that might not have a name.
"Kie, talk to me," he pleaded, coming over to the side of the bed she was facing. Rafe blocked her view.
Letting out an angry huff of air, Kiara answered by turning herself in the other direction. Okay, so she wasn't the picture of maturity, but could anyone blame her?
"I followed you here." The words tumbled out so fast, his tone anxious and impatient to explain himself. "Your dad told me you were going away and - and I saw that paper for this stupid fake camp. I took our plane, I just - what else could I do?"
"Oh, I don't know, Rafe," Kiara bit back sarcastically. "Maybe called the police?"
His lip quivered - he wanted to scream, to shake her. Rafe's hands stretched towards her, but then he tucked them against his sides. His fists curled.
"Because the police were so helpful before?" Rafe retorted, his light eyebrows lifting in a question.
"You're just worried about yourself. You're a selfish asshole," Kiara spit. Her hands were shaking, she was so enraged. "You didn't want to call the police because you're a murderer! You disgust me."
Rafe's nostrils flared at the insults. His eyes flickered up to the ceiling, then back down to the carpet. He wanted to scream. He wanted to throw something. Really, he wanted to jump out the fucking window right about now. But that wasn't an option.
"You're right, Kie." His voice was thin from biting back the onslaught of tears. "I did all that shit. I'm the worst fucking person alive. But if you think I came here for any reason, other than to help you, I'm sorry but..." Rafe edged towards her. "You're wrong."
The words they'd both thrown out couldn't be unsaid. Kiara had told Rafe how she really felt about him, or, maybe, how she thought she felt. Rafe had laid his feelings bare, too: he surrendered himself to Singh, for her. So she wouldn't be alone. Or maybe so he wouldn't be. His attempt at playing the hero...look where that got him.
The rest of the day passed in silence. Rafe couldn't help stealing glances at Kie. For her part, Kiara kept her eyes pressed tightly shut. Sleep wouldn't come for her, not anymore. At times, Rafe's lips would part, without having any control over himself. He came so close to dropping to his knees, again, and promising her I'll never do it again. But what would that solve?
Rafe didn't do well with silence. The vastness of what was unspoken between them seemed to cling to the air, suffocating him. When he closed his eyes, he was pulling the trigger and Sheriff Peterkin was tumbling to the ground. The look of death in her eyes.
During the elaborate dinner served by Singh's staff, replete with charred salmon and lemon risotto, Kiara didn't eat a bite. Her fork stayed firmly rolled up in the silk napkin. Her eyes were glazed. Far away.
His eyes studied her face, lingering on the dark shadows under her eyes. The atmosphere between them was starting to make Rafe feel - not the rising heat of his usual short temper - but a deep sense of unease. The night they'd shared in Rafe's bedroom felt spoiled in his mind. Did Kie hate him for that? Did she think he'd taken advantage of her? Had he?
Rafe's thoughts clouded as he shoveled another forkful into his mouth. He chased her all the way here, for what?
Rafe took a shower and readied himself for bed. He went through the motions. When he finished in the bathroom, Rafe came out to see Kiara, rolled up tightly in the bed sheets, her back firmly to him. If this scene was a cartoon, there would be some sort of black cloud billowing off her form.
Rafe let out a dramatic breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. He walked around to the side of the bed that Kiara wasn't occupying, to grab his pillow and retire to his designated sleeping quarters at the foot of the bed. All the lights were off in the room - Kiara must have turned them off while he was showering.
Grabbing the pillow, he bent down to meet Kiara's eyes blinking open, heavy with sleep. Either she was an excellent actress, or the events of the past few days had caught up with her.
"Stay."
The voice was so small, but so sure. Kie's command left a confused look passing over Rafe's face. He pressed his lips together. His eyes brightened, too hopefully.
"You sure?" Rafe asked, wondering why with everyone else, he wanted to be dominant, to be the Alpha, but with Kie, he was content to take any scraps of attention she gave him.
Kiara nodded, her lips parting, as if in invitation. Lashes lowered, she patted the space on the pillow next to her head.
Afraid to startle her, Rafe got into bed slowly. His eyes kept finding hers in the dark. Slipping into the covers as soundlessly as possible, Rafe shifted onto his side, facing her. Was this normal? Was anything in his life?
Separated only by inches, Kiara brought her small hand to cup his jaw, delicately exploring his face with her fingers. They trailed up to graze the wound on his face, dusting over the gash that marred his unfairly pretty face - or so she thought. Someone who was capable of what he was capable of, shouldn't look like that. It wasn't right.
"Does it hurt?" she asked.
"No," Rafe breathed in reply because it didn't. Not when Kie was touching him. How could it hurt? How could anything?
Kiara blinked up at him. Her hands trailed down to land at the back of his neck, where she grasped him, pulling them closer.
"Kie." Rafe breathed her in, wanting to fill his memory with her fresh scent. She was a powerful drug, which was a lot coming from him. When they were like this, exploring each other in the dark, it was like a soft, blush glow was cast over his life. None of the usual bad thoughts seemed like they could find purchase in his mind. "What are we doing?" His voice twisted, almost painfully. It was a question he knew she didn't want to ask, but not one he could suppress.
"This." Kiara leaned in, pressing herself fully flush against him. Her hands dragged down from his neck to curl into fists around the fabric of his t-shirt. She wet her lips. Rafe watched her every movement, entranced. Kiara closed the space between them and pressed a kiss to his mouth. Her lips immediately opened, begging him to deepen the kiss.
Not kissing back wasn't really an option. Between kisses, Rafe pulled back to clarify: "Just tell me Kie." His blue eyes searched hers, as if they might contain the secrets of the universe. "Are you gonna hate me in the morning?"
Kiara, thoroughly hot and bothered and now a little annoyed, answered by dragging her teeth down Rafe's bottom lip and tugging. He couldn't help the soft moan that he let out. She wasn't playing fair. "Maybe," she answered finally, her expression unreadable.
His hands stilled where they had finally been brave enough to settle around her waist. A tiny voice inside his head was trying to break this temporary reprieve, this moment of happiness, by screaming that Kiara still hated him, she was just using him to make her feel better. The smart thing to do would probably be to cut it off here. To tell Kiara that if she couldn't tolerate speaking to him in the light of day, then whatever this was, shouldn't be happening.
Unfortunately, Rafe was not particularly known for his smart decision-making skills.
His hands rubbed up and down at her waist, playing with the fabric of her short, cropped top. "Jesus, Kie," Rafe breathed over her mouth, before capturing her lips with his. His tongue probed into her mouth, twining with hers.
Rafe hated the idea of waking up and having Kiara resent him again, to look at him with disgust, when she was looking at him with desire and want, now. His fingers skimmed up her side to brush some stray curls behind her ear.
It was sick to think, while they were in bed and she was panting, kissing him like he was someone she cared about, that at least she had no way of deserting him in the morning.
Kiara was stuck with him this time.
