The storm had caught you both off guard. Rain pelted down in sheets as you sought cover under a dimly lit awning, your breathing uneven from running. Just as you turned to shake the water off your jacket, you saw him—Rafe Cameron—standing a few feet away, his tall frame barely sheltered from the downpour.

He was soaked to the bone, his black t-shirt clinging to his torso, outlining every sharp muscle and defined angle. His hair was plastered to his forehead, darker now from the rain, drops sliding down his cheek and neck. He wasn’t even trying to stay dry; he looked like he belonged in the storm, like it had been made for him.

When he turned, his piercing blue eyes locked onto yours, and for a moment, the rain seemed to fade into the background. His lips curved into a smirk, slow and deliberate, the kind that sent shivers down your spine. He ran a hand through his wet hair, pushing it back as his gaze dropped just slightly, sweeping over you in a way that made your breath hitch.

“You okay there?” he asked, his voice low, barely audible over the rain.

You nodded, but your heart was racing. “Didn’t think you’d show up,” you managed, keeping your voice steady despite the tension crackling between you.

“Didn’t think you’d care,” he shot back, stepping closer, his movements slow and deliberate, his wet clothes brushing against yours as he stopped just short of touching you.

The space between you was electric, the storm around you mirroring the storm brewing in his eyes. “You look good like this,” he murmured, his smirk softening into something almost genuine. “All soaked and caught off guard.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to hide the way your cheeks burned. “Don’t flatter yourself, Cameron.”

His laugh was low, almost a growl. “Too late for that.” He tilted his head, his eyes locked on yours, daring you to look away. “What are you so afraid of?”

The rain kept pouring, but all you could feel was the heat radiating off him, the pull of something unspoken.