She glanced at Rafe beside her in their private box. He turned to her, affecting bored indifference. She wasn’t going to let him diminish her enjoyment. “That was wonderful. Amazing. Fantastic.”
“Rapturous?”
“Yes.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” he said.
“You enjoyed it, too, didn’t you?” She was fairly sure the distant superiority was an act.
“Of course.”
“You were laughing.” She’d heard him several times throughout the performance. He had a laugh so low and deep and rich it seemed at times to wrap itself around her.
“I said I enjoyed it.”
“Then what’s with the grumpy act? Did you see one of your girlfriends in the audience, out with another man?”
“No. Let’s just go.” He stood.
Lexie was loath to leave. “Wasn’t Puck fabulous? And this theater…” She looked round the wooden, open-roofed facility, a replica of the one used in Shakespeare’s time that had burned down when a prop cannon misfired.
“Save it for Adam,” he said, not unkindly. “He’s the Shakespeare buff.”
“I know. It’s just one of the things we have in common.”
He rolled his eyes in a most unprincely gesture. “Are you ready yet?” He held out his hand.
“It was really sweet of you to bring me here tonight, when you don’t love it.”
“Sweet?”
“Yes.” He clearly wasn’t used to being called sweet, and clearly didn’t like it. She took the hand he was still holding out for her, felt his strong fingers fold around hers and, still floating from the performance, stood. He’d averted his face, was in fact studying the audience as though there was something or someone of the utmost importance out there. He needed to loosen up. Not something she’d ever thought she’d think about Rafe. Whether he’d enjoyed the performance or not, she’d been enraptured, and she was more grateful than he could know that he’d brought her here. On impulse, Lexie leaned forward to kiss his cheek.
At that moment he turned.
For a second, maybe two or three, her lips touched his, warm and soft. And for that sublime second, or two, or three, that simplest of kisses consumed her. Stopped the world around her, stilled everything within her, and then threatened to buckle her knees as heat shot through her.
The rapture of the play was nothing compared to this.
Strong fingers wrapped around her upper arms and set her away from him.
Lifting her hands to her lips, she met his gaze, saw the mirror of her own shock in his darkened eyes. “I’m so sorry.” She stepped back. “That was not what I meant to happen. I was aiming for your cheek.” Lexie pointed at the cheek in question, as though to reinforce her statement. And still he said nothing, didn’t laugh or brush off the incident. Surely he realized it was unintentional. “You turned.” It hadn’t even been entirely her fault. Beneath his unflinching scrutiny she faltered. “It was an accident. I’ve said I’m sorry.” He didn’t so much as blink. “Say something. Please.”
He opened his mouth. It was several seconds before the words came out. “I guess we’re even. Let’s go.” He pushed aside the curtain behind them and held open the door.
Ten minutes later in the car, as their driver negotiated the London streets, Lexie stared through the window. She’d give anything for the kiss not to have happened. To not have the fact that it did happen hanging between them. Besides, it was a nothing kiss, chaste, and as she’d pointed out, accidental. He couldn’t know of the strange heat it had ignited. The heat that had flared further when he’d wrapped his fingers around her arms, when for an instant she had seen fire in his eyes. Fire that she realized now was anger.
Rafe had scarcely spoken since they’d left the theater. They were nearly back at the apartments, and she didn’t want the strained silence to go on any longer. He sat leaning back against the seat, as far from her as the confines of the Bentley allowed, head tipped back on the soft leather, eyes closed. But she knew he wasn’t sleeping.
Lexie pivoted in her seat to face him. “We’re not even.”
The eyes opened halfway, the head turned slowly toward her. From beneath his hooded lids, he studied her.
“When you said we were even, were you referring to the time you kissed me at the masquerade ball?”
His response was the barest nod.
“Then I have to disagree.”
The angle of his head changed. His eyes widened ever so slightly. It was enough of a reaction that she interpreted it as curiosity, or at least tacit permission to continue.
“There was no tongue in mine.” His kiss had been shockingly erotic, igniting her strange, forbidden desires. She sat back in her seat.
There was a moment of surprise, and then the deep rumble of his laughter rolled through the interior of the vehicle, pleasing her inordinately. “Only because I knew who I was kissing this time.”
Five
Despite telling herself to forget about it, Lexie was still troubled by that kiss as the royal jet cruised over Europe. Twice now she and Rafe had kissed. Both times accidentally. And both times, for no good reason, their kiss had left her tossing through the night, tormented by darkly erotic dreams. Dreams that took the kiss as a starting point.
Her only consolation was that if a kiss from Rafe, a man she mostly didn’t like, could have that effect on her, kissing Adam was going to be knee-weakeningly devastating.
Fortunately, once they got off this plane she’d have little more to do with Rafe and the provocation of his presence. But for now, he sat a short way away from her, stretched out on a sumptuous cream leather couch and seemingly engrossed in a book. One he’d opened immediately after seating himself. The book was, she suspected, his way of avoiding her. But it also gave her leave to study him. His sentiments showed clearly as he read, occasionally frowning, sometimes almost smiling. Though she wouldn’t allow herself to look properly at his lips.
He read fast, turning the pages rapidly, his deft fingers ready in anticipation of the next page moments after turning the last. He had nice hands. Was she allowed to think that about Adam’s brother?
He glanced up and caught her watching him.
“Good book?” she asked, trying to cover the fact that she’d been staring.
“Yes.” He tilted it up so she could see the cover of the political thriller before returning his attention back to it, clearly shutting her out.
That was a good thing. They didn’t need to be chatting. Still, Lexie had to make herself look away from him. Had to stop wondering what really went on inside his head.
She’d tried reading, too, first a book and then a glossy magazine, but she couldn’t even concentrate on that. She was too anxious, and it wasn’t, she told herself, just because of the inadvertent kiss, because soon that memory would fade. It had to. It was in the past.
And it wasn’t because of the irrelevant question prompted by his retort in the limo—that the kiss had gone no further because he’d known who he was kissing. Did that mean he didn’t find her attractive? Or that he did, but knew he shouldn’t?
Neither answer would be ideal.
Turning away from Rafe, she looked out her window. What ought to concern her now was the future. Her future. She should be thinking about Adam,