I turned and started walking back into the house. I had to force myself to have this mental conversation: the one where I told my real future husband that I'd gone hot tubbing naked with Rafe Stryker. I had to ask myself: how would I feel if the tables were turned?

I hadn't heard him get out. I hadn't even heard the sound of wet feet on the deck. But when his arms came around me and I was pulled back against that cold, muscled, tattooed chest, I didn't even struggle. His breath tickled in my ear.

"Aubrey-- you're all wrong for me. You're good, and sweet, and innocent, and strong-- and I'm way turned on by you. Maybe you're the challenge, but I can't seem to keep that thought going long enough to stop being with you." He was kissing my neck, and his hands were over mine around my middle, lacing the fingers. "You're everything I should have had."

"And you're my perfect bad boy dream." I leaned my head back against his shoulder, knowing he was right. I wasn't his type and he wasn't mine. We had attraction-- what else?

He blew on my skin causing goose bumps. "Skinny dipping in ice water wasn't a good choice." He whispered, and I snorted. "Let's go in."

He let me go and I turned the hot tub off, replaced the cover and the flip flops, and led the way inside.

"I'm going to shower." I told him, and when he smiled enigmatically, I put my palm up flat. He hung his head, curiously rejected, and turned back to Kell and Maille's room where our stuff was.

He didn't join me. I breathed a sigh of relief.

The water was nice, it felt cleansing and relaxing after the excitement and giddiness of the sexually charged atmosphere we seemed to generate. I don't remember ever feeling this way about anyone else. Nor had I ever let anyone take such liberties with me, nor put myself in any kind of position to allow liberties at all. Maybe I was-- at twenty-nine-- starved for liberties. Maybe I secretly felt like I was being passed by when it came to liberties and I needed a bad boy rocker to get the juices flowing.

That was kind of weird.

I dressed in the bathroom in Maille's pajamas, which were in her closet pajama drawer. I chose light blue plaid flannel bottoms, white socks, and a white t-shirt. I put on a white sports bra, as mine was somewhere out on the lawn, and combed Maille's comb through my hair.

When I got out I heard the shower running in the kid's bathroom, and saw that Rafe's stuff had been moved to the kid's room. Another sigh of relief. I went out and started the water for hot chocolate.

Rafe looked squeaky clean when he joined me a few minutes later, dressed in black gym pants and a black t-shirt, showing off his black scruff and black hair coming in on top of his head. His eyes were so fiercely blue in any light, it simply made his looks heart-stoppingly beautiful. He wouldn't be bad to wake up to every morning for the rest of my life.

He started talking immediately, and we took the mugs to the dining room table which was simply part of the kitchen area. I listened in rapt attention as he talked about his relationship with Kareem Williams, the second producer guy we'd met down at the cafeteria. He'd known him a long time and felt he was being mentored somewhat by him. A producer's job in the music industry was changing apparently. I wouldn't know, even though my brothers, Zack and Parker were well known and very successful music producers. My family owned a production company.

But Rafe was explaining how beat makers who used their laptops to mix and manage a song, were not producers, but that beat maker studios were cropping up all over the place: ProTools, Logic, Fruity Loops, called digital music creation stations. He was very against these. He said these guys were not visionaries like Kareem, and himself. They didn't gather ideas or stimulate projects, they didn't coach artists and musicians, control recording sessions, or write material. It all came to them. They were not true producers. He on the other hand-- and guys like him-- were revolutionaries using the best of previous producer's abilities and goals and learning even more. Kareem had an MFA in Media design, an MS in Entertainment Business (which, it turns out-- so does Rafe) and a BA in Recording arts.

I had to apologize profusely for simply thinking he had a minor in vocal performance the other day. It seemed somehow insulting that I had thought that. Although again, people in my family had degrees in vocal performance.

Rafe went on to tell me about people he knew, networking he was building, engineering and mixing music, playing instruments, financing projects and developing and nurturing upcoming artists. He spoke enthusiastically about some of the artists he was coaching, asked if I followed any TV talent searches, and I had to admit, I'd only seen them a few times-- mainly at friends' houses. He wasn't put off but told me about winners of his show who went on to put out their own albums, who were now touring, who had potential. He loved the discovery of it.

I had washed the cups and teapot and was leaning against the counter just listening to his voice, so energetic, so mesmerizing. He spoke with his very slender, knobby hands-- guitar player hands I had once observed. He didn't always look right at me but included me in every word he spoke. He wasn't self-absorbed or boring at all. He told stories as well.

About touring, about gigs.... these kinds of things were second nature to me. In my home, I was a listener. Like now, I listened to music industry and performing arts industry magic happening all around me and had-- all. my. life.

I love my family. They have this kind of energy and charisma. I'm deeply ingrained in it. I recognize and cherish it. But I never really did participate in it. I'm not just different-- I'm the black sheep that wasn't "industry".

No one ever said that. Everyone politely asked me all the time how things were going. They were politely in awe of me.

And it wasn't like Cassie-- the family almost completely ignored her. In gatherings, she was not a black sheep because she'd married Matthew, but she was outcast. Groups would literally gravitate away from her. She also had this backward electromagnetic current that was like a genetic defect and others in the family had it as well. Cassie's was particularly strong and offensive apparently. And her personality-- she was way smart-- and a little stand-offish.

No one was ever like that with me. I was the baby. You can't ignore the baby. Don't you know? They just won't be ignored.

Rafe had stopped and was watching me. "Am I killing you with boredom? Sorry."

I shook my head slowly. "I think I drifted a little. But not because you're boring. Just the opposite, I think I was processing."

He stood up and came over to the opposite side of the counter and leaned across it to look me in the eye. "I know I'm not your type, but don't write me off just yet."

********