Outer Banks heat was merciless, clinging to your skin and turning the bedroom into a sauna. You flipped your pillow to the cool side for the third time, only to groan when it was warm again within seconds. Next to you, Rafe sprawled across the mattress like he owned it—like he owned everything—completely bare and completely unbothered.

“Can you not look so smug when I’m dying?” you muttered, fanning yourself uselessly with the edge of the sheet.

Rafe cracked one eye open, his lips twitching into that infuriating grin. “Smug? Baby, I’m just comfortable. You’re the one torturing yourself in clothes.”

You glared. “Some of us don’t immediately strip the second the temperature goes above eighty.”

“Some of us,” he said smoothly, rolling onto his side, “know how to survive the heat.” His gaze dropped deliberately, slow and heavy, before finding your eyes again. “And you love it.”

You hated how right he was. The heat had already plastered your tank top to your skin, and every second in it felt unbearable. He stretched closer, arm sliding over your waist, bare skin hot against yours. The smirk never left his face.

“Admit it,” he whispered, his voice brushing your ear. “You wanna do the same.”

You sighed, the air thick in your lungs, and shoved the shirt over your head. His grin widened instantly. When the shorts followed, he leaned back like he’d just won a prize.

“There she is,” he murmured, eyes gleaming with triumph. “My girl finally gets it.”

“You’re insufferable,” you muttered, settling against the pillow.

Rafe only pulled you closer, his chest pressed to your back, lips brushing your shoulder. “Maybe. But now you’re naked in my arms, so I’d call that a victory.”

Despite yourself, you laughed softly, the tension melting into the heat. He kissed your skin once more, smug and satisfied.

“Face it, baby,” he whispered, smugness dripping from every word. “You’ll never sleep dressed again.”