Part of him wanted to take a picture to send to Darnell, just so he could share how beautiful his…what was Rafa now? Boyfriend? Lover? Partner? He didn’t care what they called it, but he wanted to share how gorgeous and perfect his Rafa was.
Of course that was a bad idea, although he trusted D explicitly. Nothing taken on a phone was private, and they’d have to be cautious to never provide the tabloids ammunition. It would be bad enough dealing with Rafa’s parents without leaked post-coital pictures of their son.
The reminder of the Castillos dulled the edges of his happy glow. Rafa would obviously have to tell them, and Shane didn’t want to keep secrets. But he had to admit he didn’t relish talking to Rafa’s parents about their relationship. In their shoes, he’d wonder what the hell was wrong with a forty-year-old man who took up with someone almost half his age.
As he watched Rafa murmur and lick his lips in his sleep, Shane wished he could put it into words. He’d told himself Rafa had surely moved on. He’d seen a few pictures of Rafa out at a bar at school with young guys panting after him. The tabloids had breathlessly speculated about who he was dating now that he and Ashleigh had come out.
It had been torture wondering who Rafa was seeing. Shane had hated the thought of Rafa with anyone else, even though he wanted him to be happy. To know now that he was still the only man to ever touch him filled Shane with a primal pride. Maybe it was something lingering from the cavemen days, but he couldn’t deny the surge of possessive satisfaction it gave him.
As he leaned down to wake Rafa with kisses, a flash of movement outside the window caught his eye. He slipped out of bed and hurried to the glass on bare feet, cursing himself for not taking the time earlier to shut the blinds. He’d been sloppy at the beach as well, too wrapped up in Rafa actually being there to pay the attention he should have.
A man disappeared around the side of the house from the beach that ran up to the deck to the right of the bedroom. In that split second, Shane was calculating how long it would take to reach his lock box under the bed and load his gun. Then the man reappeared, carrying a children’s ball.
“Daddy! Throw!” A little boy commanded, racing into view around the porch.
Through the glass, Shane could hear the man’s muffled response. “Okay, but be careful! We have to stay away from the houses.” He tossed the ball back toward the wide strip of public sand in the distance.
Exhaling, Shane tried to let go of the tension. He lowered the blinds and shut them facing up, so sunlight could still get in. Behind him, Rafa murmured and moaned, tangling his feet in the sheets as he kicked restlessly. Then he woke suddenly.
“Shane?” Groggily, he blinked.
Crawling back into bed, Shane let himself smile as he kissed Rafa. “Hey, sleepyhead. Bad dream?”
“No. Just weird. Not bad. Not like…” He shook his head and pulled Shane closer. “Never mind.”
Shane slipped in beside him and pulled the sheets over them.
“No, no.” Rafa kicked the cotton away with a smile. “I want to look at you.” He turned on his side and ran his hand over Shane’s chest, digging in lightly with his blunt nails. “I love that I get to do this now.”
“Me too.” He smoothed his hand over Rafa’s side and hip, wanting to touch, touch, touch. “So, not like what? You were going to say something about your dreams.”
Rafa lowered his gaze. “It’s no big deal. I have nightmares sometimes. The therapist said it’s normal.”
“Nightmares about what?” Shane kept his voice even as the flickers of anger flared to life. He could very well guess.
The puff of Rafa’s long exhale was warm. “The box.”
Shane was torn by the dueling urges to hold Rafa against his chest or punch the wall. Calming himself, he kissed Rafa’s forehead and cheeks. “I’m so sorry.”
Rafa looked at him then, his gaze narrowed. “Don’t be sorry. I mean, you can be sorry it happened and that it was scary and is hard to deal with sometimes, but don’t be sorry like it was your fault.” He touched Shane’s cheek. “Okay? Because it wasn’t your fault. It was Alan’s fault, and it was the fucking terrorists’ fault. You saved me. If I have a nightmare about it, when I wake I remember you lifting me up, and the sound of your voice, and the feel of you kissing me, and knowing that I’d be okay because you were there.”
Shane swallowed hard. “But if I’d—”
Rafa gripped the back of Shane’s head, his gaze unflinching. “No buts. You did everything you could. They came so close to killing you, Shane. Like, it couldn’t have been closer.” He ran his fingers over the side of Shane’s head where the bullet had carved a faint scar. “None of it was your fault. Stop blaming yourself for things you can’t control.”