Close enough to burn

The underground parking lot felt colder than usual, as if the shadows themselves were holding their breath.

Rafe moved like a predator—silent, sharp, controlled.

She followed close behind him, her fingers unconsciously bunching the back of his shirt.

He didn’t look back, but he definitely felt it.

“Don’t cling,” he muttered.

“I’m not clinging,” she hissed.

“You’re literally holding onto me.”

She let go instantly, cheeks hot.

He smirked. Very slightly. Just enough to annoy her.

Typical.

He lowered his voice.

“I didn’t say I mind. I said don’t.”

She glared at him. “Rafe—”

He cut her off, holding up a hand.

A faint sound echoed from behind a pillar.

A footstep.

Light, quick, nervous.

Rafe’s posture changed instantly — muscles tense, gun up, jaw tight.

She had never seen him like this.

Focused.

Dangerous.

Cold.

“Stay here,” he whispered.

“No.”

“Princess.”

His voice dropped dangerously.

“Don’t test me right now.”

She swallowed, but her stubbornness was stronger than common sense.

“I’m not hiding behind a pillar like a scared child. Either we go together, or I scream loud enough to wake the dead.”

Rafe went completely still.

Then he turned slowly, eyes burning into hers.

“Are you out of your mind?” he whispered harshly.

“Completely,” she said. “Blame yourself.”

He exhaled like she was the most exhausting human on earth.

But then… he grabbed her hand.

Not gently.

Not romantically.

But firmly.

As if anchoring her to him.

“Fine,” he muttered. “But if something happens to you, I swear I’ll—”

“What? Kill everyone?”

“Yes.”

“Oh,” she breathed.

She shouldn’t find that hot.

But she very much did.

---

They moved together, his hand wrapped around hers, keeping her close — not behind him anymore, but right beside him.

It felt strangely intimate.

Wrong.

Forbidden.

As if she wasn’t supposed to be this close to a man like him.

They reached the far side of the lot, and Rafe suddenly stopped.

She opened her mouth to ask why—

But he yanked her forward and spun her behind a concrete pillar.

His body pressed flush against hers to silence any noise she might make.

Her breath disappeared.

His chest was against hers.

His hand covered her mouth.

His other held the gun steady.

His lips brushed her forehead as he whispered—

“Someone’s here.”

Her whole body tensed.

Not in fear.

In something else.

Something embarrassingly warm.

He felt it.

He froze.

Then whispered, “Breathe, sweetheart.”

“I am breathing,” she mouthed against his hand.

“No, you’re panicking.”

“I’m not panicking,” she whispered back.

“You’re shaking.”

“Because you’re standing too close!”

His eyes dropped to her lips for a fraction of a second.

Just a fraction.

Then he looked away, jaw tightening.

“Not the time,” he muttered.

Right.

Someone possibly dangerous was nearby.

Great time for romance.

Brilliant.

---

The noise grew clearer — footsteps, moving fast.

Rafe shifted his body, shielding her completely.

He looked over his shoulder.

“Stay behind me,” he said softly.

“But—”

“No arguing.”

His tone turned to steel.

“I need you alive.”

Before she could respond, a figure turned the corner.

Rafe pointed the gun instantly.

The figure froze.

Hands up.

Eyes wide.

“Whoa, whoa! Don’t shoot!”

Her eyes widened.

The man stumbled forward.

Young. Nervous. Wearing a courier uniform.

Rafe didn’t lower his gun.

“Explain,” he ordered flatly.

“I—I’m here to deliver a package for—”

The man checked his wrist.

“—for Mr. Jonas.”

Her father.

Rafe’s expression didn’t change.

“Show me the package.”

The man handed it over with shaking hands.

Rafe inspected it from all angles.

Scanned the label.

Checked for weight.

Looked for tampering.

Then he handed it back without lowering the gun.

“Get out,” he said.

The courier practically sprinted away.

When the sound of footsteps finally faded, Rafe lowered the gun and turned to her.

His eyes were sharp.

Too sharp.

“You should have stayed upstairs,” he said quietly.

“I’m not helpless—”

“I know you’re not helpless.”

He stepped closer.

Very close.

“So stop trying to prove it. I don’t need you to be fearless. I need you to listen.”

Her heart jumped.

“Why?” she asked, softer than she intended.

“Because,” he said, voice dropping into a slow, dangerous whisper,

“if something happens to you, it won’t just kill you.”

He leaned in.

Barely an inch away from her lips.

“It’ll kill me too.”

Her breath caught.

His eyes flickered down.

Heat.

Conflict.

Restraint hanging by a thread.

She tilted her face up without meaning to.

An invitation.

A dare.

His jaw clenched so hard she heard it.

“Princess,” he warned.

“Yes?” she whispered.

“You’re playing with fire.”

“Maybe I like fire.”

He stared at her.

Long.

Silent.

Tormented.

Then he dragged a hand through his hair and stepped back violently, as if her proximity physically burned him.

“Get in the car,” he said hoarsely.

Before I do something stupid.”

She obeyed.

Because for the first time…

She wanted him to.

---

In the car, she glanced at him.

He was gripping the wheel too tightly.

Staring straight ahead.

Breathing unevenly.

She smirked.

“Rafe?”

He didn’t look at her. “What.”

“You were jealous earlier.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“Yes, you were.”

He exhaled, annoyed. “You’re impossible.”

“And you like it.”

He didn’t answer.

But the slight, barely-there curve at the corner of his mouth?

That was enough.

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