The rain came swiftly—without a whisper of warning. One moment, Erin was leaning back into the cradle of the swing, feeling the gentle creak of ropes and Xander's silent presence behind her, and the next, a cold droplet kissed her cheek, followed by another, and then a dozen more.
She blinked and looked up. "Rain?"
Before she could fully register it, it came down in sheets.
Xander cursed under his breath, rising instantly to shield her with his body. "We need to go back. Now."
She opened her mouth to agree, but her legs refused to cooperate, the pain flaring with the movement. "I—I can't—"
He didn't wait for a second word. In one smooth movement, he swept her up into his arms, the swing creaking behind them as it was abandoned to the wind and rain.
The moment should have been chaotic—drenched clothes, hurried breaths, water soaking into her hair—but it wasn't. It felt still. Almost suspended.
She didn't realize how close his face had gotten until he looked down, brushing wet strands of hair from her forehead. Her breath caught. She reached up without thinking to do the same—his hair slick and heavy with water—and their eyes locked.
A jolt of thunder cracked above, startling them both, and they moved instinctively—too quickly, too closely.
Their lips met.
It wasn't soft. It wasn't deep. Just a fleeting brush of lips, accidental and wide-eyed. They both froze.
Then—
"We need to get inside," Xander muttered, voice hoarse.
She nodded rapidly. "Yes. Now."
He carried her quickly back toward the house, neither of them speaking. Their hearts pounded louder than the storm.
The moment they stepped into the room, the door clicked shut behind them with a quiet finality. Rain still drummed against the windows, a muffled rhythm that filled the silence between them. Xander didn't speak—not at first. His eyes were fixed on her, dark and unreadable, but heavy with something unspoken. Something that made the air around them feel thicker.
Erin's heartbeat quickened under the weight of his stare. She opened her mouth to say something—anything—but her voice faltered when he took a step toward her.
"Xander—" she began, but he didn't wait.
His hands found her waist, pulling her flush against him, and before she could fully process what was happening, his lips were on her neck.
Warm.
Possessive.
He didn't kiss her gently—he sucked, hard, on the side of her neck, like he wanted to leave a mark. Her breath caught in her throat, her fingers tightening slightly on the fabric of his shirt as heat crawled up her spine. It was too much, too fast, but a part of her didn't want to pull away.
"Xan—" she tried again, her voice breathless, but he moved along her jaw, the brush of his nose against her skin sending shivers down her spine. His mouth hovered over hers, his breath mingling with hers, and she saw it then—in his eyes.
Desire.
Raw and undiluted.
The kind that made her chest clench, made her legs weak, made her forget the ache in her body and the bandages wrapped around her leg.
But just as his lips moved closer to hers, she flinched. A sharp, involuntary jerk as pain shot through her leg like lightning. She sucked in a breath, and that one reaction snapped him out of the trance.
Xander blinked, as if coming back to himself, and his gaze dropped down.
That's when he saw it—the dark stain beginning to bloom through the bandages.
His hands fell away from her waist almost instantly, and the hunger in his eyes gave way to panic.
"Sh*t," he muttered, stepping back.
Erin, still catching her breath, followed his gaze and saw the same thing. The gauze was no longer white. A deep crimson had seeped through the lower edges, trailing faintly down her skin.
The ache she'd been trying to ignore now pulsed with a sharper intensity.
She opened her mouth, ready to reassure him—to say she was fine—but before she could, Xander was already moving.
Xander gently laid her down on the bed and examined her leg. His brows furrowed. "Damn it."
Erin followed his gaze. Her bandages were stained again. The swelling had worsened.
"I shouldn't have brought you out," he snapped.
She flinched, misunderstanding. "I said I wanted to go. I told you it was fine. Don't—"
"I'm not angry at you," he interrupted, voice tight. "I'm angry at myself. I knew better. I just—"
He didn't finish the sentence. She stared at him, stunned. For a moment, all she could do was listen to the rain batter the windows.
He turned away and grabbed a towel, gently drying her hair without speaking further.
Later, as the sky began to shift into evening tones and the rain faded to a whisper, Xander returned to her room, this time with a fresh shirt and dry sweatpants. "You'll catch a cold in that," he said simply, setting them beside her.
He left and she changed and lay back, staring at the ceiling, lost in thoughts of the garden, the swing, the kiss that wasn't supposed to happen.
Not long after, Xander entered again, his arms reaching out toward her without a word.
"Dinner," he said, and before she could argue, he had already lifted her into his arms once more.
But on their way downstairs, they heard the whispers.
"I swear I saw them in the garden. He had his face buried in her neck."
"No way. Erin's not like that."
"Please. She's playing the long game. Why else would the CEO be carrying his maid around like that?"
"A slut with a plan."
Xander stopped mid-step, body going rigid.
Erin could feel the fury radiating off him before he even turned to take a step in their direction.
"Xander—" she called softly, placing a weak hand on his chest. "Don't. It's not worth it."
He didn't move.
"Please," she said again. "Let it go. Let's just… go eat."
Reluctantly, he turned back. The glare didn't leave his face, but his feet moved forward. Slowly, steadily, he carried her down the last steps.
Neither of them spoke a word as they reached the dining room. But the silence between them wasn't empty.
It was full of questions neither of them dared ask.
And full of answers neither of them could say aloud.