Page 27 of The Maine Event (Romancing the Workplace #2)

I reach for Dan’s belt, fumbling with the buckle in my haste. He pulls back just enough to help, undoing his pants and letting them drop to the floor. I can see the evidence of his arousal straining against his boxers, and my mouth goes dry.

With shaking hands, I hook my fingers in the waistband and tug, freeing him. He hisses as I wrap my fingers around him, giving an experimental stroke. The velvety smooth skin is hot against my palm, and I marvel at the weight of him in my hand.

“Rachel,” he gasps, his hips jerking involuntarily as I stroke him again, firmer this time.

Emboldened by his reaction, I find a rhythm, reveling in the soft groans and muttered praises falling from his lips. He feels incredible, and knowing that I’m the one making him feel this way is intoxicating.

Dan’s hands grip my hips, his fingers digging into my skin as he tries to maintain control. I can tell he’s close to the edge, his breathing ragged and his muscles taut. Part of me wants to push him over, to watch him come undone at my touch.

But then he’s stepping back, gently removing my hand. His chest heaves as he tries to calm himself, and confusion washes over me. Did I do something wrong?

“Dan?” I question, my voice small and uncertain.

He shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. “We can’t. Not here.”

Understanding dawns as I take in our surroundings—the boathouse, Rebecca’s haven. Guilt churns in my stomach as the reality of what we were about to do crashes over me. What was I thinking, letting things go this far in a place that means so much to him?

“I’m sorry,” I say, tears pricking at my eyes. “I wasn’t thinking.”

Dan cups my face, his thumbs brushing over my cheekbones. “Don’t apologize. I want this, Rachel. I want you. But not like this. You deserve better. Not here… not now.”

His words break my heart. I know he’s trying to put me first. I know he means it. But I was completely lost in the moment. Why wasn’t he?

I reach for my discarded top, suddenly feeling exposed and vulnerable. Clutching it to my chest, I try to regain some semblance of composure. The silence stretches between us, thick with unspoken emotions and lingering desire.

Dan clears his throat, about to say something, when a voice cuts through the tension.

“Dad? Are you out here?”

It’s Chloe, calling from the backdoor of the house. The sound of her voice jolts us back to reality, reminding us of the party going on inside. Our responsibilities as hosts come crashing down on us, and we share a look of understanding tinged with regret.

I quickly slip my top back on, fumbling with the buttons as my fingers tremble. Dan adjusts his clothes, trying to erase the evidence of our heated encounter. We both know we can’t ignore Chloe’s call, but part of me wishes we could stay here, cocooned in this moment, forever.

“I’ll be right there, sweetheart!” Dan calls back, his voice strained.

He turns to me, apology written all over his face. “Rachel, I…”

I shake my head, forcing a smile. “It’s okay, Dan. We should get back. People will be wondering where we are.”

He nods, but the longing in his eyes tells me this isn’t over. We’ve opened a door that can’t be easily closed, and the implications both thrill and terrify me.

As we make our way back to the house, I can’t help but feel a pang of disappointment. We were so close, so ready to take that leap, and now we’re back to square one. But I know Dan’s right. We can’t rush this, not when there’s so much at stake.

We pause at the backdoor, taking a moment to collect ourselves. Dan reaches out, giving my hand a gentle squeeze. It’s a silent promise, a reassurance that this isn’t the end.

Then he’s pulling away, plastering on a smile as he steps inside to greet his guests.

I smooth down my clothes and tuck a stray lock of hair behind my ear, steeling myself for the rest of the evening. I know I’ll have to put on a brave face, to pretend like my world hasn’t just been turned upside down.

The sounds of laughter and chatter from the party drift through the open backdoor, a stark contrast to the intimate moment Dan and I just shared.

As I step into the kitchen, I’m greeted by the sight of Dan, ever the gracious host, offering drinks to a small group of guests. He catches my eye across the room, and for a fleeting moment, the mask slips. I see the same longing, the same unspoken desire that I feel mirrored in his gaze.

But then someone cracks a joke, and the moment is gone. Dan laughs along with the others, the perfect picture of a carefree, charming host.

I, on the other hand, feel like I’m navigating uncharted waters. Every smile, every laugh feels forced, a poor imitation of the genuine emotions coursing through me. I’m acutely aware of Dan’s presence, of the way his eyes linger on me when he thinks no one’s looking.

I pour myself a glass of wine and take a sip, letting the rich, fruity flavor linger on my tongue as I survey the room.

The guests have thinned out, but those who are left are still thoroughly enjoying themselves, with laughter and chatter filling the air.

I spot Chloe across the room, her face lit up with excitement as she shows off her new dance moves to a group of admiring adults.

There’s a commotion near the front door catches my attention. A man with a camera slung around his neck pushes his way past whoever opened the door, followed closely by a woman clutching a notepad. My stomach sinks. I had completely forgotten about the big announcement.

Dan’s face hardens as the journalist bombards him with questions. “Mr. Rhodes, are the rumors true? Are you making a comeback to acting?”

“I’m not answering any questions,” Dan says curtly, trying to shepherd the reporters out of his house. But the persistent reporter wedges her foot in the doorjamb.

“The public has a right to know,” she insists. “Are you planning to leave Maine and return to Hollywood?”

Anger flashes in Dan’s eyes. “This is a private gathering. You need to leave, now.”

Confused by the hostile exchange, I approach Dan and the unwelcome guests. Why is he so upset by a little media attention? This could be great publicity for his career.

I touch Dan’s arm lightly. “Why don’t we just answer a few questions? It couldn’t hurt, right?”

Dan pulls away, his jaw clenched. “Rachel, please stay out of this.”

Undeterred, I turn to the reporter with a bright smile. “Hi there! I’m Rachel Holmes, Dan’s PR consultant. While we appreciate your interest, this is a private event for friends and family. If you’d like to schedule an interview, I’d be happy to arrange something later.”

“Actually, we were invited,” the greasy-haired photographer waves an invitation in the air before he snaps a few shots of me and Dan, the flash blinding us momentarily. Dan shields his face, his frustration palpable.

“No interviews,” he snaps. “I want you both to leave. Now. This is private property.”

I try to smooth things over, maintaining my professional composure. “As I mentioned, we’re not answering questions today. Please respect Mr. Rhodes’ privacy and leave the premises.”

The reporter scowls but finally relents. “Fine. But this isn’t over. The public deserves to know what’s really going on with Dan Rhodes.”

As they reluctantly depart, I close the door and turn to Dan, perplexed by his reaction. Why is he so resistant to the idea of relaunching his career? I only want to help him reach his full potential.

But the look on Dan’s face stops me cold.

“Where did they get that invitation?” Dan asks, with a mix of anger, hurt, and disappointment.

My heart sinks as I realize I may have overstepped. “I only wanted to help?—”

Dan brushes past me without a word, leaving me standing alone in the hall, my mind reeling.

I thought I was doing the right thing, but now I’m not so sure.

I need to find a way to fix this, to make things right.

But first, I need to understand why Dan is so opposed to returning to the spotlight.

I really thought he’d turned a corner agreeing to this party.

Deflated, I wander into the living room, feeling like an outsider. The once lively atmosphere now feels stifling, and I can’t shake the sense that all eyes are on me. I carry on past them to the stairs and head up to take a moment to collect my thoughts.

As I sink down onto the top step, my head in my hands, someone asks Alexa to play some music, and moments later the buzz of conversation resumes and the party’s back on.

I sit there on the steps, my heart pounding in my chest, trying to make sense of how the night unraveled so quickly.

Just an hour ago, everything felt perfect—Dan and I, tangled up in the warmth of the boathouse, so close to crossing that line I’ve been teetering on since the moment I met him.

But now, the party that was supposed to be his big comeback has turned into a circus, and I’m the one responsible.

I thought I was giving him back his purpose, his passion, but all I did was drag him back into the spotlight he never wanted to face again.

My stomach twists with guilt and frustration.

I was so sure I knew what was best for him—so sure that I could make it right.

But now all I can think about is the hurt in his eyes, the way he looked at me like I’d betrayed him.

The noise of the party filters back through the air, but it feels distant—like it belongs to someone else’s life.

All I know is that I’ve made a complete mess of everything, and for once in my life, I have no idea how to fix it.