Page 212 of Nothing More

“Not true, now. Not anymore. I’m downright paternal these days.” When Toly looked over at him, he grinned and winked. “After all: a man can change, can’t he?”

Toly took a drag off his smoke, and thought of all his wants, unboxed, shining, possible. Achievable. “Yeah,” he muttered, and felt the first tug of a smile, the first he’d felt in a week. “I guess so.”

~*~

All the society pages and gossip columns reported the regrettable stepping-down of Greg Ingles from his position as gala co-chair. No one could say for certain why he’d stepped down, nor where he’d gone, for that matter. No one had seen him. But they were quick to sidestep into the next story, which was that the esteemed Raven Blake, runway model turned modeling and fashion mogul, had graciously stepped up to take his place, and would be co-chairing the gala alongside Donovan Smith, as well as auctioning off the exclusive opportunity to receive a styling from her at an event of the winner’s choosing.

The night of the gala was heralded by light, fluffy snow, the red carpet out in front of the hotel backed by decorated Christmas trees. Inside, there were dozens more trees, all decked in red and gold and silver; nets of twinkle lights were pinned along the ceiling, and dangled in long strings down over the windows. Orchestral versions of classic Christmas songs were piped through the sound system, and a low, excited chatter swelled over the auction tables, as men in tails and women in glamorous gowns picked up pens and vied for slots on the lists.

“I thought silent auctions were supposed to be silent,” Toly muttered, and let go of her hand long enough to reach up and tug at his bow tie.

She swatted his hand away gently, and recaptured it with hers; he laced their fingers tight right away, squeezing hard. He’d been doing that, lately. Reaching, touching, locking them together. Clingy in a way she’d never thought she would like, but which she now found she craved, with him.

She smoothed his tie back into place and chuckled. “Silent just means there’s no auctioneer, not that everyone has to be queit.”

“Hm.” His gaze made another too-sharp trip around the vast room, brows drawing together, caution plain on a face left exposed by his slicked-back hair.

It was Tenny who’d suggested they go public – and who’d suggested that, in said public, Toly should adopt his false persona of Yuri, the temperamental Russian model. Toly needed some acting lessons, and more practice at dealing with this sort of crowd, but it was a rather brilliant idea. Keeping a low profile before hadn’t spared him Misha’s wrath and machinations. Now, with Kozlov’s blind eye, with the bratva and the club on tentative peace terms, hiding in plain sight was a smart bet. In public, to protect any possible club connections, he would be Yuri.

And in private, he was Anatoly Kobliska, Lean Dog, fiancé, grumpypants.

Hand already at his throat, she couldn’t resist reaching up to tap lightly at the scar on his lip, still pink and fresh, stitches removed. His gaze shifted down to her, and softened, open and tender and welcoming in a way that had been wholly new, and wholly wonderful when he came back down the hill that day in Albany, Devin helping him along and calling him “son,” Toly laughing at something her father had said. He’d caught her eye from across the yard, and though his eyes were red-rimmed, and his mouth wobbly, he’d smiled at her, and her heart had soared. It had felt like a beginning.

Itwasa beginning.

She said, “You look very handsome.”

His nose scrunched up.

“You do!” She laughed. “You saw yourself in the mirror before we left. You know I’m right.”

His eyelids lowered a fraction, and his look turned predatory. “About that mirror…”

“Yes.”

“…want to get in front of it when we get home?” He leaned in close so his lips brushed her ear. “The dress is nice, but I’d rather see you in that silk robe.”

She knew he meant the one she’d worn on their first night, that impromptu, thrilling, grappling moment standing at her dressing table.

She shivered. “Yes, well…I suppose that can be arranged.” She let him breathe on her neck a moment, wanting more, wanting everything.

Then she stepped back and put on her showy, public persona smile. “But first, darling, there’s someone you simply must meet. We’ve all this schmoozing today, and then I thought we’d have brunch tomorrow with the Fleishmans–”

He rolled his eyes, groaned, and said something in Russian. Tenny was teaching her, and she recognized the phrasefucking bore, among others.

She held out her hand, bracelets jangling, and wiggled her fingers.

Still muttering, rather showily, like Tenny, he slid his hand into hers without hesitation. Fingers lacing, fingers squeezing.

Here, that firm grip said.I’m here with you.

Raven squeezed back, and towed him into her world of diamonds and finery, dreaming of tattoos and cigarettes and heated, adoring looks in mirrors.

She’d worked hard to make a name for herself, to carve her place in this industry, and she was bloody proud of the fact. But what really mattered, what sheloved, was this.

Only this, and nothing more.

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,

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