The Man She Shouldn’t Touch”

The ride back home was quiet.

Not calm quiet.

Not silent quiet.

Tense quiet — the kind that hums between two people who are doing everything in their power not to think about how close they almost were.

Rafe kept both hands on the wheel, knuckles white.

His jaw tight.

His eyes fixed on the road like he wasn’t allowed to look at her.

She tried not to stare at him.

She failed spectacularly.

Every muscle in his body was tense.

His breathing uneven.

And every few seconds, his eyes flickered… just barely… toward her thighs.

He noticed her watching.

“What?” he snapped.

“Nothing.”

“Liar.”

She rolled her eyes. “Fine. I was just wondering why you look like you swallowed a grenade.”

“Because you don’t listen,” he muttered.

“It wasn’t dangerous. It was just a delivery boy—”

“It could’ve been a trap.”

His voice rose—not angry, but worried.

Too worried.

“You have no idea the kind of people your father has pissed off.”

She went quiet.

He never talked about the danger unless he was genuinely on edge.

She softened.

Just a bit.

“You’re worried,” she said softly.

“I’m always worried,” he shot back.

“Because of you.”

Her heart stuttered.

He didn’t mean it romantically.

He didn’t.

Probably.

He parked outside the mansion but didn’t get out.

He sat there, breathing once, twice, three times, like he was convincing himself not to drag her closer and finish what he started in the parking lot.

She leaned back, crossing her arms.

“I’m going out tonight.”

Rafe’s head whipped toward her.

“No. You’re not.”

“Yes. I am.”

“Over my dead body.”

She smiled sweetly. “Don’t tempt me.”

He closed his eyes like he needed the strength of all his ancestors not to strangle her.

“Where?” he finally asked.

“A party.”

“Whose?”

“A friend.”

“Name.”

“No.”

His eyes darkened immediately.

“Princess. You’re not leaving this car until you tell me the damn name.”

She smirked.

“Why? Jealous?”

“I’m not jealous,” he growled.

She winked.

“You keep saying that, but your face says something else.”

He leaned across the car so fast she forgot how to breathe.

One hand braced on the seat beside her.

The other caught her chin.

He tilted her face up, eyes burning into hers.

“You want to go to that party?” he asked softly.

She swallowed. “Yes.”

“You want to dress up? Make every guy stare at you?”

Her heart hammered.

“Maybe.”

He leaned closer.

A dangerous, slow, heated lean that made her head spin.

“Try it,” he whispered.

“I dare you.”

Her breath caught.

He wasn’t asking for permission.

He was challenging her.

“And what will you do if I go?” she whispered.

“Don’t ask questions you’re not ready to hear the answer to.”

She stared at him.

He stared back.

Then…

He pulled away sharply, opened his door, and got out like the car was on fire.

---

Inside the mansion, she headed toward her room.

Rafe followed like a shadow.

“Stop following me,” she snapped.

“No.”

“Rafe—”

“No.”

“You’re impossible!”

“And you’re trouble.”

She shoved open her bedroom door and slammed it in his face.

He caught it with one hand.

“I said no,” he repeated.

“Are you serious right now?”

“Very.”

She tried closing the door again.

He didn’t move.

So she switched tactics.

She stepped forward, closer, closer, until her face was inches from his.

“You really going to guard my door all night?” she asked sweetly.

“Yes.”

“And stare at it the whole time?”

“Yes.”

“And if I try to sneak out?”

His lips curved — slow, lethal, sinful.

“Then I’ll drag you back inside myself.”

Her breath hitched.

He saw it.

Of course he did.

He leaned down, his mouth brushing her forehead.

“Don’t test me,” he murmured.

Her hands curled into fists.

She hated him.

And she hated how much she didn’t hate him.

“Fine,” she snapped. “Stay outside like some watchdog.”

“Gladly.”

She slammed the door again.

This time he let her.

But she could still feel him leaning against the other side — guarding, listening, breathing dangerously close.

---

She took a long shower, changed into a robe, and when she stepped out…

Her phone buzzed with a message.

From an unknown number.

Unknown:

I saw you today.

Pretty girl.

Your bodyguard can’t protect you forever.

Her stomach dropped.

She opened the door instantly.

Rafe was there.

Back against the wall.

Arms crossed.

Eyes closed.

He opened them the second he sensed her.

“What happened?” he demanded.

She wordlessly handed him the phone.

His entire body changed.

His jaw locked.

His pupils dilated.

His grip tightened around the phone until his knuckles turned white.

“Who sent this?” he growled.

“I don’t know.”

He stepped into her room without asking.

She stepped back as he advanced.

“Rafe—”

“No.”

He held up a hand.

His voice was low, lethal.

“He thinks he can threaten you?”

He raised his eyes to hers.

“Tell me you didn’t plan on going out tonight.”

She didn’t answer.

He stepped closer.

So close she could feel the heat of him.

“Tell me,” he repeated.

“I…”

She swallowed.

“…maybe.”

That was the wrong answer.

He grabbed her jaw gently but firmly, forcing her to look at him.

“You’re not leaving this house,” he said quietly.

“Not tonight. Not alone. Not with anyone else.”

“Why?” she whispered.

He stared at her for a long, burning second.

Then he said it—

The thing she wasn’t supposed to hear.

“Because you’re mine to protect.”

Her heart stopped.

He noticed.

He smiled — slow, dark, devastating.

“And I don’t share.”

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