Chapter 5: Two A.M.

At two in the morning, I was cutting the corridor video on my laptop when someone knocked on the guesthouse door.

I knew the knock by now.

It was three slow raps, and then a pause.

"Your light's on," Rafe said, when I opened it.

"I'm working."

"You've been working since eleven."

"You've been watching since eleven."

"It's my job."

He stood in the doorway in a black sweater, rain on his shoulders, with his jacket hooked on one finger.

He looked at the laptop behind me, where Eugene's hand was frozen in the air.

"I heard what happened in the hall," he said.

"Did you see it?"

"I saw her face after. She sat in the car for an hour."

"Do you feel sorry for her?"

"I feel sorry for everyone in this house," he said. "Including the ones who deserve it."

I stepped back, and he came in, and the door shut behind him.

The cottage felt very small.

I was twenty-seven years old, and I had been alone in rooms with dangerous men my whole life.

None of them had made my skin go warm from across a room.

"Why did you walk me out of the ballroom?" I asked.

"Because Eugene meant it."

"Meant what?"

"The harbor." He put his jacket on the chair. "I've worked for him thirteen years. He's never said a thing he didn't mean."

"And you stopped his guards."

"I did."

"Why?"

He looked at me, and the grey of his eyes was nothing like the harbor.

"Because I wanted to," he said.

I crossed the room.

I don't remember deciding to.

I put one hand flat on his chest, over the sweater, and felt his heart under my palm going as hard as mine.

"Rafe."

"Maeve, I'm thirty-four. I work for the man you're going to ruin."

"Twenty-seven, not stupid. I know exactly who you work for."

"If you want me to leave, say so now."

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