Claire had barely finished when Laurent appeared beside her and appropriated the microphone. “To the only woman who could make Rafael Griffinpatient.”
A server materialized at Rafael’s elbow and slipped two champagne flutes into their hands.
Laurent lifted his glass. “Bea. The man has suffered.” That smirk meant trouble. “I wish you…endurance, tonight.”
The marquee detonated again.
Bea buried her face in her hands, laughing and blushing, very deliberately not looking toward the table where her parents and Halmoni were seated.
Rafael noticed the twins had crawled under a nearby table, chins propped in their hands, watching with the fascinated focus of children learning far more about marriage than anyone intended.
They drank. Their empty glasses vanished almost immediately onto a passing tray.
Piano chords filled the room. Bea glanced around, hearing the intro of their actual first dance song. He drew her in, chest to chest, one hand firm at her back, the other still holding hers.
Rafael needed to kiss her properly, but stopped himself. A kiss would be the start of something that didn’t stop.
He murmured against her ear, low and hungry, “Ten weeks ends tonight.”
Bea lifted onto her toes, barely a breath of voice. “Yes, please.”
Her response was a hit of pure oxygen to his bloodstream.
“Dance with me.” The words were more growled than spoken. “Before I prove Claire right.”
Chapter Sixteen
The bedroom door closed behind them. Inside, Bea caught the scent of sea air, fresh linen, andhim. Moonlight cast shadows over the massive bed, centered and waiting.
Rafael prowled toward her. Her pulse skittered. The waiting was finally over, and she felt it down to the bone: he was going to take her apart. Anticipation tightened her chest, threaded with nerves she hadn’t expected after wanting this for so long.
His hands reached her first, touching only her bare arms. She thought he’d kiss her. Instead, he turned her gently, setting her back to him.
Pop.
The first button gave way. Then another. He undid them one by one. It was strangely arousing, and somehow excruciating too. Not pain, just the unbearable slowness of it, the sense of being unwrapped.
Bea closed her eyes, trying to steady her breathing.
At last the dress loosened, slid from her torso, and pooled at her feet.
“Turn around.”
She obeyed.
Rafael’s jacket hit the floor. Then his waistcoat, then his belt, each piece removed with the same intent, until what remained was bronzed muscle and uncivilized power. After ten weeks of restraint, the memory of him felt almost mythic. Now he was before her. Real. Ready.
His tongue slid behind his top teeth as his gaze dragged down her body, and back up again. “Have you been waiting for me, little wife?”
Wife.
He said it like he tasted what the word gave him.
“Yes.”
“Good.” His voice dropped. “Do you want me?”
She nodded, mute with it.