As it turned out, it was only a few seconds later when she heard him groan and felt his body shudder. But she couldn’t complain. She felt more satisfied than she’d been since she and Jack were first married and nothing in the world seemed to matter except the two of them.
“You have to admit that was some damn good sex,” Rafe said as he dropped, exhausted, beside her.
Reluctant to inflate his ego, she grinned at him. “Except you promised me one more.”
He cradled her against his body. “Maybe later.”
* * *
When Maisey woke up, she was alone. Judging by the sun streaming through the windows, it was midafternoon, suggesting she’d slept for several hours. She was slightly disoriented, which confirmed it had been a while. She blinked sleepily as she looked around, trying to remember why her surroundings were so unfamiliar—and then it all came back to her.
“Oh, jeez,” she whispered, and shoved up on her elbows. She’d done exactly what she’d told herself she wouldn’t do—and made love with her neighbor.
Was Rafe still around? She couldn’t hear anyone in the house...
She was about to get up so she could check when she saw a note on the nightstand.
Had to work. Make yourself comfortable and eat whatever you’d like. Be home around six, after I pick up Laney. We’ll grab your furniture and get you situated then.
—R
Another day without furniture. They were almost on their way to the unit; instead, she had to reveal how desperate she’d been for a man’s touch, so they’d gotten distracted. And now he was at work.
What had she been thinking?
She obviously hadn’t been thinking. She’d been reacting to the damage the divorce had done to her self-esteem—and, on a more primitive level, she’d been trying to find the same physical satisfaction she’d known when she was married. It was tough to go without the love, pleasure and comfort she’d enjoyed with Jack.
But Smuggler’s Cove was her place of last resort! She couldn’t make it impossible, or even uncomfortable, to live here. Why create new obstacles to make life hard when she was already struggling to overcome old ones?
Going to bed with Rafe was a stupid move. But he’d been telling the truth when he’d said he could do a lot better than he’d done eighteen years ago. She wasn’t sure she’d ever experienced anything like the hour or so they spent together, starting with that very first kiss. Jack just hadn’t approached lovemaking in the same way. He’d been too practical, almost...mechanical, at times. But Rafe was all about the moment—every moment—and that created such intensity.
Now that he’d satisfied her, however, she was embarrassed to have gone after what she’d wanted so aggressively. She couldn’t imagine what he had to be thinking.
Maybe she hadn’t changed much since she was sixteen...
Or maybe he wasn’t thinking anything. Maybe he was just happy that he’d managed to get lucky. For some men, it could be that simple, right? And, over the years, he must’ve had a lot more sexual experience than she did, at least with different partners. Another one-night stand couldn’t mean that much to him.
Feeling slightly better once she’d assured herself of this, she checked the digital alarm clock next to his note. It was three, so she scrambled out of bed. If there was any chance of pretending this had never happened, she couldn’t be here when he got home. Besides, she was anxious to check her phone to see if Keith had called, and she’d left it at her place.
The image of Rafe carrying her off, Tarzan-style, entered her mind as she finished dressing. She covered her face in embarrassment, even though there wasn’t anyone around to see her. Supporting her weight had seemed natural and easy for him. There’d been something primal in his ability to do that with such ease, and it had made her excitement skyrocket. But Jack would never have attempted it. He wasn’t capable of carrying anyone; he put his back out if he lifted a heavy suitcase. So she told herself she didn’t care what he’d think of her and Rafe. She had to quit seeing everything that happened in her life through her ex’s eyes, quit evaluating her actions and choices as if his opinion still mattered.
Because it shouldn’t, even if it did.
Once she was dressed, she decided to leave Rafe a note. It seemed the polite thing to do. She wanted to put some sort of official end to what they’d done, and a hastily written thank-you provided the added benefit of allowing her to escape this uncomfortable situation without having to deal with him directly.
Using the pen she found not far away, she turned over his note and wrote on the other side. “Sorry I made you late for work. I hope you had a great day.”
No, that last part sounded odd. He’d probably connect that to what they’d done, so she crossed it out and tried again.
I hope the repairs are coming together for you. Don’t worry about the furniture. I’m sure your daughter needs your time more than I do. You work hard enough as it is. I’m going to see if my mother will send her caretaker over with the truck.
She’d had no business asking Rafe to help in the first place. Why should he have to fill in for Keith? She was just being stubborn. Yesterday, even while she shivered on the beach, she’d sworn she’d do anything before going to her mother.
But approaching Josephine was suddenly preferable to relying on her new neighbor.
Should she end her note with some reference to the sex? Maybe include a thank-you? Tell him she’d had a nice time?
No. She couldn’t do that without sounding dismissive or shallow—or glib. Come to think of it, there wasn’t much point in writing what she’d just written, since he had the key to the cottage where the furniture was stored. If she managed to wrangle other help, he’d know about it long before he got home because she’d have to get the key.
“So much for that.” Somewhat relieved and yet disappointed at the same time, she wadded up the note and tossed it in the trash can in Rafe’s bathroom. While she was there, she was tempted to go through his medicine cabinet to see what he wore that smelled so good. She was ready to blame everything that’d happened today on his cologne. It was certainly easier than blaming herself...
Going through his medicine cabinet was intrusive, like searching through his drawers, so she refused to abuse his trust in that way. But she couldn’t help glancing around his house as she left. Rafe’s bungalow was much neater than she would’ve expected. The furnishings weren’t expensive or particularly tasteful—nothing that would meet with her mother’s approval or show up in a decorating magazine—but they weren’t tacky, either. For a guy who’d had so little growing up, she thought he’d done quite well for himself. If she had to describe his decorating style, it would be “sensible and comfortable.” His bedroom, although slightly more Spartan than the rest of the house, followed this theme. So did his living room, which contained a large flat-screen TV, along with an overstuffed sectional and chaise, a recliner with an accent table nearby and a coffee table in the center.
He hadn’t hung much on the walls, though. It wasn’t as if improving that space could benefit Laney, since she couldn’t see. And Maisey guessed he didn’t care enough about art to bother.
Or perhaps he’d get to that with time. She had to remind herself that he hadn’t lived in Smuggler’s Cove for very long. Jack would want his space to “show well” should anyone see it. But Jack was a different kind of man—very fastidious and driven.
Maisey was almost at the door when she spotted a pile of children’s books on the coffee table and had to stop. She loved books, all books, but especially children’s books, even if it was only to look through them to admire other people’s work.
Half hoping she’d discover a Molly Brimble story, she sorted through the stack. None of her books was