Chapter 9: Fork and Fiasco

Rafael awoke with a start, the shrill trill of his watch alarm cutting through the haze of his dreams like a blade through silk. His hand, heavy with sleep, fumbled for the off switch. He pressed it down, the sound finally ceasing, but the insistent beat of his pulse refused to follow suit. Blinking, he rubbed at his eyes, trying to shake off the last remnants of slumber. But as the fog lifted, he found himself locked in a gaze—no, too close—a face mere inches from his.

Arabella.

Her features were soft and relaxed in sleep, the delicate curve of her cheek bathed in the soft glow of morning light, her lips parted ever so slightly as though caught in a dream. Her hair was a wild tangle around her head, a cascade of dark waves tumbling in all directions. The sunlight streamed through the glass walls of the room, bathing her in a golden halo, and for a moment, Rafael felt as though the universe itself had paused to allow him this one, perfect snapshot of her.

She was, in the most maddening way, perfect. His breath caught in his throat. His gaze traced the gentle curve of her lips, so inviting, so full, so—he shook his head, trying to banish the thought. This was not the time for weakness.

But his body didn't listen to reason.

His heart was pounding, a furious beat echoing through his chest as though it were a drum summoning him closer. The bed, a soft, shifting sea beneath them, had conspired to bring them even closer during the night. They had unknowingly drifted toward one another, the subtle rocking of the waterbed inching their bodies together. It was as though fate itself had thrown a lifeline to his desires, making the space between them a mere suggestion.

His gaze lingered on her lips. Just one kiss, he thought, his mind unraveling. The ache in his chest throbbed, low and primal. A simple touch—just one taste of sweetness. Surely it wouldn't hurt.

Rafael leaned forward, his movements slow and deliberate, as though not to startle her from the dream world she inhabited. He brushed his lips gently against hers, a whisper of a kiss. Strawberries. The taste was faint, intoxicating. It lingered, pulling at him, urging him to taste more. His hand found her hair, his fingers threading through the strands as he leaned in, pressing his lips to hers with more insistence, the kiss deepening.

But before he could lose himself completely, the air was shattered by a sharp, enraged scream.

Arabella's scream seemed to reverberate off the walls, an operatic crescendo of outrage that would have done a soprano proud. Rafael, wide-eyed and suddenly very awake, scrambled backward like a man confronted by a charging bull—albeit one armed with a stainless steel fork.

The waterbed bucked beneath them, conspiring against his every move. His knees slipped, his hands flailed, and all the while, Arabella advanced like a tempest in silk pajamas. Her hair, wild from sleep, was a tangle of vengeance framing her face, and her eyes burned with unholy fire.

"Arabella, for the love of God, put the fork down!" Rafael's voice cracked as he dodged another jab. His usual charm, the swagger that had seduced countless women, was entirely useless against this pint-sized fury armed with cutlery.

"Stay still, you degenerate!" she hissed, her aim improving as adrenaline coursed through her.

The fork narrowly missed his shoulder, plunging instead into the waterbed with a squelching hiss. A tiny geyser erupted, spraying them both, and Rafael let out a strangled laugh, equal parts disbelief and panic.

"You're stabbing the bed now? What did the bed ever do to you?" he yelled, ducking as another stab sent a second stream of water into the air. The mattress heaved beneath them, more ocean than bed at this point, and Rafael made the mistake of looking down. His soaked robe clung to him, the floor beneath already pooling with water.

Arabella didn't even flinch. "Better the bed than you, you conniving, lip-stealing—"

Her insult was cut off by a resounding pop. The waterbed gave up the ghost. With a sound like a dam breaking, the entire structure burst, releasing a deluge that swept them both off their feet. Arabella shrieked, her arms flailing as she slipped, her weapon clattering harmlessly to the floor. Rafael was caught in the tide, landing with an unceremonious thud on the now-soaked carpet.

For a moment, there was only the sound of rushing water and their ragged breaths. Arabella, sprawled like a waterlogged doll, pushed herself upright, blinking water from her eyes. Rafael, lying flat on his back, stared at the ceiling, laughter bubbling up despite the chaos.

"You!" she spat, pointing a trembling finger at him, her fork now forgotten. "You—are the absolute—"

"Most charming man you've ever met?" he supplied, rolling onto his side. He propped himself up on an elbow, grinning despite the rivulets streaming from his dark hair.

Arabella's cheeks flushed, not with sleep this time, but with the kind of incandescent rage that made grown men beg for mercy. "Charming? You kissed me while I was asleep, you—!"

"Technically," he interrupted, "I kissed you twice. That's double the offense, if you're keeping track." His grin widened, maddeningly unrepentant. "You taste like strawberries, by the way. Delightful."

Her gasp was sharp enough to cut glass. "You—"

"—are also very wet," he added, eyeing her with a deliberately slow, appreciative once-over. Arabella froze, then followed his gaze. Her thin cotton pajamas clung to her, soaked through, and the realization hit her like a freight train.

With a growl of frustration, she grabbed the nearest pillow—sodden and heavy—and hurled it at his head. It landed with a wet splat, drenching him further, but Rafael only laughed harder.

"You're impossible!" she snapped, her hands flailing in indignation. "Do you think this is funny? My hair is ruined, my bed is ruined, and—"

"Our morning's ruined?" he offered helpfully. "I disagree. This is the most fun I've had in weeks."

Arabella lunged, intent on throttling him, but the slippery floor betrayed her. She went down again with a splash, and Rafael, trying to help, only managed to tumble after her. They landed in a tangled heap, his arms braced on either side of her, their noses nearly touching.

"Arabella," he murmured, his voice suddenly soft, the teasing edge gone. His dark eyes flicked over her face, lingering on her lips, and for one electrifying moment, the air between them shifted. The chaos faded, leaving only the sound of their uneven breaths and the faint drip-drip of water hitting the floor.

Her chest heaved, and her gaze darted to his mouth. "Don't even think about it," she whispered, her voice trembling but resolute.

Rafael's smile returned, slow and wicked. "Too late."

And before she could protest, he pressed his forehead to hers, grinning like the devil himself. Arabella groaned, slamming her hands into his chest to shove him off.

This time, he rolled away without protest, lying on his back beside her, still laughing. "I'd say this counts as an unforgettable morning, wouldn't you?"

Arabella sat up, dripping and seething, and fixed him with a glare that could have melted steel. "You're buying me a new bed. And a new fork."

***

Vivian swept into Velvet Vogue Co. like a storm. Her heels clicked sharply on the polished floor as the secretary scrambled after her, pleading, "Ms. Vivian, please, he's in a meeting!"

Vivian ignored her entirely, pushing through the door to Rafael's office and slamming it shut behind her. The sound echoed, cutting off the secretary mid-apology and leaving Rafael staring at the intruder with a mixture of irritation and resigned amusement.

"You didn't return my call!" Vivian's voice cracked with fury as she stormed toward him, her designer bag swinging at her side like a weapon. "Where were you last night?"

Rafael, reclining in his leather chair, raised an eyebrow and leaned back further, utterly unruffled. "I was at home. Why?" He folded his arms over his chest, his tone dry. "You don't own me, Vivian."

Vivian's jaw tightened, her nostrils flaring. "Who is she, Rafael? Huh?" Her voice rose to a shriek. "The new bitch! Tell me who she is so I can rip her apart!"

Rafael exhaled slowly, the edges of his patience beginning to fray. "Vivian, how many times do we have to go through this?" He stood, his broad frame towering over her, though his voice remained calm. "We're friends. That's all. That's final."

The word final seemed to ignite something in her, but instead of responding, she stood there, her chest heaving with anger. Then, with an exaggerated huff, she spun on her heel and stormed out, slamming the door so hard the walls trembled.

Rafael ran a hand through his hair, muttering under his breath. God help whoever she decides to spy on now.