A Kiss

Dahlia

The words hung in the air like a blade hanging by a thread.

Orin stopped reaching for his glass. Rafe beside me went entirely, unnaturally still. I could feel the cold sweat breaking out at the nape of my neck, but I forced my expression to remain smooth, confused, utterly innocent.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Hollis," I said, keeping my tone light, polite. "I believe you must have me confused with someone else. I’ve never had the pleasure of meeting your family before today."

Maelis didn't answer. She simply stared at me for three more agonizing seconds before turning on her heel and walking out of the dining hall, the heavy oak doors closing behind her with a definitive thud.

"Well," Orin muttered, a dark smirk returning to his lips as he leaned back. "That was dramatic. Who did she mistake you for, Mercer? A ghost?"

"That’s enough, Orin," Rafe said. His voice was quiet, but it carried an edge of absolute finality that made his brother bite his tongue.

Rafe turned to me, his hand moving to the small of my back. His touch was firm, possessive, dragging me away from the table before I could utter another word. He led me through the grand hallway, toward the glass doors opening out onto the courtyard terrace. The rain had lessened to a mist, the night air freezing cold against my skin after the stifling heat of the dining room.

The second the doors clicked shut behind us, isolating us on the dark, stone terrace, I spun around to face him.

"Who was she talking about, Rafe?" I demanded, dropping the polite tone entirely. "She looked at me like she’d seen a bloody corpse. What is going on in this house?"

Rafe didn't answer. He stood under the overhang, the dim yellow light from the estate illuminating the hard, ruthless contours of his face.

"You're blowing the cover," he said coldly. "Orin is watching us through the glass right now."

I glanced over my shoulder. Sure enough, Orin was standing near the terrace windows inside, watching us with a sharp, calculating glare.

"I don't care about Orin," I hissed, turning back to Rafe. "Your grandmother just implied—"

Before I could finish, Rafe reached out, grabbed my waist, and pulled me violently against his chest.

The impact knocked the breath from my lungs. Before I could process the sudden shift, his hand slid up to the back of my neck, his fingers tangling into my hair, pulling my head back.

"If you're going to pretend to be obsessed with me," he whispered against my lips, his breath hot and smelling of dark wine, "at least look convincing."

Then his mouth slammed down on mine.

It wasn't a gentle kiss. It was an invasion. It was hard, ruthless, and filled with a cold, desperate dominance that made my head spin. He pressed me back against the cold stone pillar of the terrace, his heavy frame trapping me entirely. His tongue demanded entry, sliding past my lips with an authority that left no room for protest.

For one terrifying, electric second, my brain short-circuited. My hands came up to his chest to push him away, but my fingers tangled into the expensive wool of his coat instead. My heart hammered against my ribs, reacting not to the act, but to the sheer, terrifying intensity behind it.

The anger surged back just as fast.

I tore my mouth away from his, pulled my right hand back, and slapped him across the face with everything I had.

CRACK.

The sound echoed off the stone walls of the courtyard like a gunshot.

Rafe’s head snapped to the side. Silence fell over the terrace, heavy and suffocating. Inside, I could see Orin pressing his glass to his lips, staring at us through the window in absolute shock.

Slowly, Rafe turned his head back. A red mark was already blooming across his sharp cheekbone.

He didn't look angry. He didn't look surprised.

Instead, his dark eyes locked onto mine, and his lips curved into a slow, terrifying smile. He wiped a trace of moisture from the corner of his lower lip with his thumb, his gaze burning through me.

"Better, Dahlia," he whispered, his voice dangerously dark. "Much better."