Safe With the Devil

Chapter 4

“I’m not going to your house.”

Dianne’s voice was steady, but her fingers were still slightly cold from what had just happened.

Rafael looked at her like she had said something unreasonable.

“You’re not staying alone tonight.”

“I’ll call security. I’ll stay with my aunt.”

“No.”

The single word was calm.

Final.

She crossed her arms. “You don’t get to order me around.”

He stepped closer — not aggressively, but close enough that she had to tilt her chin up to meet his eyes.

“I’m not ordering you,” he said quietly. “I’m making sure you wake up tomorrow.”

The weight of that sentence hit her harder than she expected.

The parking lot was already cleared. His men were gone. The two attackers taken somewhere she didn’t want to imagine.

“You’re overreacting,” she muttered.

His jaw tightened. “They grabbed you.”

“And you shot at them.”

“I missed on purpose.”

That unsettled her.

Because she believed him.

He opened the car door. “Get in.”

She hesitated.

Then she got in.

⸻

Rafael’s mansion wasn’t flashy.

It was worse.

It was controlled.

Minimal. Clean lines. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. Guards stationed discreetly outside.

Power lived here.

Dianne stepped inside slowly.

“You keep surgeons as house guests often?” she asked.

“No.”

The door locked behind them.

The sound echoed.

She turned toward him. “I can’t stay here.”

“You can.”

“I don’t belong in your world.”

He looked at her in a way that made her stomach tighten.

“You’re already in it.”

Silence stretched.

Her pulse hadn’t completely settled since the attack. The adrenaline was fading, leaving behind something shaky and vulnerable.

Rafael noticed.

Of course he did.

He stepped closer, slower this time.

“You’re still trembling,” he said softly.

“I’m not fragile.”

“I know.”

His hand lifted — hesitated — then brushed lightly along her arm.

The touch was warm. Grounding.

“You were brave,” he added quietly.

That caught her off guard.

Not “you’re mine.”

Not “I’ll destroy them.”

Just that.

You were brave.

Her throat tightened unexpectedly.

“Why do you care so much?” she asked, barely above a whisper.

His eyes darkened.

“Because when I saw his hand on you,” he said slowly, “I stopped thinking clearly.”

That honesty hit deeper than any possessive line.

“You had a gun,” she said.

“Yes.”

“You could’ve killed them.”

His jaw flexed. “I considered it.”

Her breath caught.

“For touching you,” he continued.

The air between them thickened.

“You can’t solve everything with violence,” she said softly.

“I don’t solve everything with violence.”

“Just the things that involve me?”

His gaze locked onto hers.

“Yes.”

Her heart pounded.

This was madness.

This was dangerous.

This was the kind of man she warned herself about.

And yet—

She stepped closer.

“I didn’t ask you to protect me,” she whispered.

“I know.”

“Then why?”

He didn’t hesitate this time.

“Because I’m obsessed with you.”

The word hung between them.

Raw.

Unpolished.

Not romantic.

Not pretty.

Truth.

Her breath stuttered.

“That’s not healthy.”

“I don’t care.”

His hand came to her waist again — slower than before. Giving her time.

She didn’t move away.

“You walked away once,” he said quietly. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I tried.”

His thumb pressed slightly into her hip, grounding her there.

“You were supposed to be one night.”

“I know.”

“But you’re not.”

His forehead lowered to hers.

The intensity wasn’t explosive.

It was heavy.

Like something inevitable.

“You scare me,” she admitted.

His voice softened.

“Good.”

She pulled back slightly. “Why is that good?”

“Because it means you understand what I am.”

“And what are you?”

His eyes searched hers.

“A man who doesn’t let go.”

Her pulse thudded loudly in her ears.

She should step back.

She should leave.

Instead, her hand slowly slid up his chest, gripping his shirt.

“You’re not the only one who hasn’t stopped thinking about that night,” she confessed.

Something flickered in his eyes.

Possession.

Relief.

Heat.

That was all it took.

He kissed her.

Not rushed.

Not wild.

Slow.

Deep.

Like he was proving something.

Her hands moved into his hair. His grip tightened at her waist, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them.

The tension from the attack, the fear, the adrenaline—

It all poured into the kiss.

He backed her toward the wall, not harshly, but with certainty. His mouth moved against hers with growing intensity, like weeks of restraint were unraveling.

When he pulled back, both of them were breathing harder.

“Stay,” he murmured.

It wasn’t a command this time.

It almost sounded like a request.

She nodded once.

That was enough.

⸻

Later, in his bedroom, the lights were dim.

No rush.

No chaos.

Just quiet heat.

He removed his jacket slowly, watching her the entire time. She stepped closer, helping him with his shirt, fingers brushing over warm skin.

Every touch deliberate.

Every kiss slower than the last.

When they finally fell into bed, it wasn’t explosive.

It was consuming.

Hands exploring. Lips tracing. Bodies finding rhythm like they remembered each other too well.

He held her tightly afterward.

Not loosely.

Not casually.

Like letting go wasn’t an option.

Dianne lay against his chest, heart still racing.

“This is a mistake,” she murmured.

His hand slid into her hair.

“Probably.”

She tilted her head slightly. “You don’t sound sorry.”

“I’m not.”

His grip tightened slightly.

“You’re not leaving before sunrise this time.”

Her lips curved faintly.

“That wasn’t your choice last time.”

“It is now.”

She should argue.

Instead, she closed her eyes.

And for the first time since meeting Rafael Aragon—

She slept without fear.

Even if she was sleeping beside the most dangerous man in the city.