Page 26 of Nothing More

“No,” Michelle said between unsuccessfully suppressed giggles, “you’re in New York. It’ll have to be a mob man instead.”

Concealed tattoos, and an insider knowledge of the mailing of body parts.

She drained her glass and said, “Absolutely not.”

But her pulse kept fluttering, and her palms started to itch, and, maybe it was the wine talking, but if she couldn’t have her post sans fingers, or couldn’t take a trip to Tokyo…would a tumble with a Dog really be the worst decision she’d ever made?

Thoughts thus muddled, she bid goodbye to Michelle and baby Claire, pulled on clothes – a taupe Chanel tracksuit – and ventured back out into the main part of her flat to see about dinner.

The TV was on in the living room, Cass parked in front of some sort of dating show that involved lots of tears and drinks thrown in faces.

Bennet and Toly were in the kitchen, standing on either side of the island. Bennet appeared to be disconnecting a call, a takeout menu lying on the counter in front of him. He turned as she entered the room, which proved she wasn’t as quiet as she’d thought, even barefoot. He waggled the phone. “I ordered food from that place down the block. Sound good?”

“Sure.” She steeled herself, a moment, the mere span of a blink, before she shifted her gaze to Toly.

He stood bent forward at the waist, elbows on the countertop. He’d shed his jacket, and now wore a rather ratty, faded black sweater with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. She glimpsed ink on the inside of his right forearm, and the left, nearest her, was wrapped in grayscale tattoos all the way down to the wrist. A pack of wolves running beneath a full moon and a skein of tattered clouds; Cyrillic lettering she couldn’t read. He was looking at something on his phone, but glanced up when she entered, an unnerving lifting of his eyelids, a snap of refocusing attention that didn’t shift his head so much as a fraction.

Not quite human.

Unfit for polite society, and unapologetic about it.

She thought of Michelle’s teasing. She’d never been one to tease about men and romance before. Being a wife and mother had softened that part of her; brought it out into the light in a wholly unexpected way.Are either of them decent to look at?

Gulp.Yes.

The next best thing is a good shag.

Absolutely not.

She set her glass in the sink and passed through to the living room, where Cassandra launched into an unprompted explanation of who’d been spotted making out with whom in the hot tub on her trashy television program. Raven was struck by the idea that she shouldn’t allow her little sister to watch this sort of thing: seventeen, bursting with hormones, and certainly not romantically repressed the way Michelle had been at this age, it was only a matter of time before she zeroed her sights in on a boy – one who hopefully didn’t fly Dog colors – and then there’d be no stopping her. Thank God Reese had turned out to be taken, but they might not be so lucky next time.

The food arrived, and Bennet had remembered that Raven liked the café’s grilled chicken salad with the pear vinaigrette on the side, hold the blue cheese. Miles joined them, and they ate in the living room, spread out along the huge sectional, Bennet and Toly in the two arm chairs. Miles explained that he’d synced the camera in the entryway with his phone and laptop, and set alerts so that he’d be notified if there was any activity at the door while they were away. Raven forced herself to eat, and felt better for it; drank down three glasses of water until her head was clearer and her blood sugar set to rights.

It was an almost normal, nearly pleasant evening.

But then Toly would do something like recross his legs, or get up to throw away his takeout container, and the sight of him in her flat, when he’d never been beyond the foyer before, would bring up the whole, horrid day again, from Donovan Smith to the finger, to being made to feel helpless and unable to make her own decisions. Frustration built as a pressure in her chest each time he reminded her of his presence.

At least, she chose to label it asfrustration. Safter, that way.

“Bedtime,” she told Cass at eleven, and endured the usual griping.

Jetlagged, Miles had fallen asleep on the sofa, and she roused him and sent him off to the blue room rubbing the grit from his eyes like a sleepy child.

Then it was the three of them. Bennet, who had become a sort of fixture over the last few weeks…

And Toly, perched on a stool at the kitchen island like a crow portending doom.

“There’s a second guest room,” she told him. “Fresh towels in the ensuite.”

He’d produced a fox-edged deck of playing guards from a pocket somewhere and was dealing a hand of solitaire on the counter. Paused with the Queen of Hearts half-pressed to the marble to shoot her an unreadable look. “That’s okay. I’m fine here.”

Raven was too tired to hide a sigh. “Yes, you look it. And how will you perform tomorrow if you’ve sat up all night in my kitchen?”

A beat. “I always perform,” he deadpanned. “Don’t worry about it.”

He said it without a shred of suggestion, not so much as a meaningful look, but the double-entendre struck her nonetheless. Warmed her cheeks.

“Fine.” She offered both palms and backed out of the room. “I’m going to bed. I’d think someone who threw around accusations of hypocrisy would understand the need of a good night’s sleep, but what do I know? I only run a multi-million-dollar, international company.”

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