Being Sarah Cameron’s best friend came with a few unspoken rules.

Rule #1: Tannyhill was basically your second home. Rule #2: Kooks before Pogues, always. Rule #3: Stay the hell away from Rafe.

You broke that last one almost immediately.

And now, here you were—pressed against the marble countertop in the Cameron kitchen, Rafe standing way too close, way too smug, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you muttered, glancing toward the doorway, half-expecting Sarah to come storming in.

Rafe just chuckled, like the idea of getting caught made it all the more fun. “You shouldn’t be here. But you keep coming back, Bunny.”

Your stomach flipped, heat rushing to your cheeks. Because he wasn’t wrong.

It started off small—lingering glances, stolen moments when Sarah wasn’t looking, the way his hand would brush against yours just long enough to send a shiver down your spine.

But then it escalated. Late-night drives. Him sneaking into your room at Tannyhill. His hands on your waist, his lips teasing the shell of your ear as he whispered things that made your heart race.

And now? Now he had you cornered in his own damn house, looking at you like he owned you.

“You gonna pretend you don’t want this?” he murmured, fingers tracing slow, lazy circles on your hip.

You swallowed hard. “Sarah will kill us.”

Rafe smirked, leaning in closer, his breath hot against your skin.

“Then we better not get caught.”

And just like that, the rules didn’t matter anymore.