Page 63 of Nothing More

Undeterred, he said, “To my knowledge, you aren’t dating anyone.”

“Awfully confident in your knowledge, aren’t you?”

“And,” he went on, “given your current security situation, it seems unlikely you spent the evening chatting with handsome strangers in a bar or club, which narrows the pool of potential snogging partners considerably.”

“Ian,” she warned.

He tilted his head. “It’s not that one out there, is it? He has a certain…rough appeal, I suppose, if you’re into that sort. I couldn’t tolerate the chatting, though. All that ‘tough guy’ patter. Horrendous.”

“No,” she said, appalled. “I didn’t snog Shepherd.My God. Give me more credit than that.”

“Who, then?”

She glared some more.

“Come now, this isn’t fun. If I can’t gossip about boys with my favorite girl friend, then who–” His eyes blew wide. “No.”

Damn him for his prying, and his perceptiveness. Their tastes were too similar for himnotto have figured it out, she figured.

“You didn’t.”

“You’re right: I didn’t,” she lied. Badly.

“Anatoly. It was him, right?” His grin spread slow and sharklike, wicked in its delight.

She sighed. “Ian…”

“That’s not a denial.” He sat forward, cupped his chin in his hand, and radiated fascination. “My goodness, but this is a riveting development. How did it happen? Did you initiate? Or did he? What’s that lip piercing like?”

She groaned and covered her eyes, unable to continue looking at that shit-eating grin. “Please.”

“Yes.Pleaseprovide me with all the scintillating details.”

Raven was not a gossip. Partly because it wasn’t in her nature, partly because loose lips sunk ships in her industry…and partly because, when it came to her romantic entanglements, there wasn’t much to gossipabout. There was no reason to brag about a little tepid, missionary position following a few sloppy, fish-mouthed kisses. Rolling apart, no cuddling, no pillow talk. She hated the memes the Americans made about English sex – “jolly good,” “brilliant,” “I say” – but her own adventures in sex had been very like that. Hadn’t been anything like adventures at all.

Until last night.

She sighed again, and finally uncovered her eyes to find that Ian had grown serious.

“Raven,” he said, all joking aside, now. “What is it?”

She swallowed. “Detective Dixon got the lab results back on the finger and the ear.” And she proceeded to tell him the details, as Toly had relayed them to her last night, while Ian’s brows climbed steadily toward his hairline.

“You could have led with that,” he said, when she was finished. “Christ. The Butcher, you said? What was the last name? Rosovsky?” He pulled out his phone, and she waved him to stillness before he could start texting nefarious contacts.

“No, don’t. Toly’s investigating.”

His already-lifted brows quirked doubtfully. “It sounds as thoughTolyis the very reason this is all happening. Is he the best one to lead the charge?”

“I don’t thinkhe’sthe reason it’s happening,” she countered. “If the bratva wants to attack the club, there are far softer targets than me, and far more direct ways of going about it.”

“Is that you talking…or him?”

She sent him a narrow look, and asked, sharply, “Since when do you know me to speak for anyone but myself?”

He nodded in concession. “Fair. But still.”

“Still nothing. All we’re doing is guessing at this point. We need more answers, and if I have to put up with Casanova out there” – she gestured to the door – “for a few days until we get them, so be it. I am notsoft, Ian. I’m not going to go to bits and let my judgment of a dangerous situation be clouded.”

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