Chapter 16: Section Nine

Rafe lived in a narrow brick house in Islington with a boiler he refused to let anyone else touch.

I stood on his step at ten that night with my coat buttoned wrong.

He opened the door in his shirtsleeves, with a pencil behind his ear and no surprise at all.

"You've had a day," he said.

"I told a hundred people I was sleeping with you."

"You did. I was there." His mouth moved. "I'm still recovering."

I stepped past him into the hall.

It smelled of cedar and toast.

"I didn't come to talk about the board," I said.

"Then what did you come for?"

I shut the door behind me and turned the lock.

"Your rule," I said. "A desk, and nothing else. Do you remember it?"

"It was your rule."

"You threw it back at me on Sunday."

"I did."

"I'm throwing it back." I took hold of his collar. "Nothing between us but a desk. Where's the desk, Rafe?"

He stood very still.

Then I watched understanding arrive on his face, slowly.

"Upstairs," he said. "I work in the bedroom. It's a terrible habit."

"Then show me."

He kissed me on the stairs.

He kissed me against the wall at the top, with my coat sliding off one shoulder and his hand spread flat on my back.

By the time we reached his room, I had already undone half his buttons.

It was a plain room with a drafting table under the window, a big bed and a lamp left on.

I pushed him down to sit on the edge of the mattress.

"Stay there."

He looked up at me.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Don't."

"Yes, Willa."

That was worse, and I felt it low in my belly.

I took my sweater off over my head.

I took off my bra and let it drop, and I watched his eyes go down and stay there.

His hands curled on the covers.

He didn't reach for me.

"You're allowed to touch," I said.

"I'm trying to do this well."

"You're doing it very well." I stepped between his knees. "Touch me."

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