Page 75 of Nothing More

Cassandra was hanging off Shep’s arm as she exclaimed over a massive blue spruce, and Toly wondered if perhaps this whole thing was a hallucination, becauseCassandra was hanging off Shep’s arm. Christ. At least she wasn’t in the clutches of a potential would-be murderer, though, which was more than he could say for her sister.

Raven and Greg stood several paces back, heads inclined slightly together as they spoke, too low in this loud place for him to know if they were complimenting the tree…or one another.

The painful thing was: they looked good together. Natural. Two people of similar station, groomed and cultured in the same high-society circles. Her dark hair against his blond, his strong build against her elegant slimness. Ingles was the sort of man she could take to a museum afternoon, or an evening at the opera. He could smile, and shake hands, and blend seamlessly with the crowds at her runway shows; perfect for ribbon-cuttings, and ship christening, and any other extravagant, rich-people activities she might attend. They would have lovely children, a dark-headed boy, a girl with golden waves; joint Christmas cards with a vacation photo, their perfectly perfect family posed on a beach in Mykonos, on the slopes of the Swiss Alps.

He could see it, all of it. Wedding announcement in theTimes. Spreads inVogueandVanity Fair. Raven still elegant at sixty, hair laced with iron, arranging the skirt of a young starlet about to make her red-carpet debut, dressed head to toe in Raven’s dreams and hard work, a household name in her black sunglasses, and wrap dress, a leisurely wave before the smoked limo window rolled up and the car pulled away from the curb.

Toly wasn’t an artsy person. Wasn’t prone to flights of fancy, fits of imagination, or romantic notions. He didn’t envision the future, not even for himself. Why, then, was it so easy to imagine Raven’s? And why did it fill him with an ugly, empty sort of ache when he tried, and utterly failed to imagine any sort of future for her that included the likes of him?

Greg leaned even closer –motherfucker, I’ll stick a knife in… – said something, and then turned to head for the hot chocolate stand.

Toly didn’t panic easy; that particular emotion was never more than a pulse in the pit of his stomach, quickly dispelled by the proper course of action.

Tonight, it caught him off guard. He’d stopped tailing and begun simply staring, standing like a dumb animal, stewing and wishing for impossible, ridiculous things. He had time only to take a few sideways steps, out of Greg’s line of sight. Then he braced his shoulders for visual impact.Turn around!a voice in the back of his head shouted. But he didn’t – he couldn’t. Could only stay rooted, waiting…and felt a bit feral, ready for a challenge.See me, asshole. See me, you rich bastard. You wanna smile? I’ll give you the Glasgow kind.

He was alarmed by the aggression bubbling inside him.

Aggression that was all for naught, because Greg never noticed him, and strode over to buy hot chocolate, leaving Raven alone, and gazing after him.

The sight of her, standing with her gloved hands clasped together over the strap of her bag, breeze toying with her hair, was devastating. Because she was gorgeous, but real, with her pink cheeks, and tree needles clinging to her coat sleeves, and a single lock of hair catching in her lipstick and needing to be smoothed away. And also because she still wore that considering look, as her eyes followed Greg across the lot.Why not him?that look said.I could make it work with him.

A memory from last night reared up vivid and palpable in his mind, filled it edge-to-edge. Raven naked, hands braced on the mirror, her face contorted with pleasure until she looked pained. Her pale skin sheened with sweat, hair clinging and curling on her shoulders, her legs spreading wider, inviting his touch. And him behind her, all in black, his eyes wild, his fingers digging bruises on her waist, and hips, and breasts. Recalling the way she’d looked undone at his hands sent the blood pooling low in his belly; it would be very, very easy to let go, to follow the memories through to the next stage, and the next, until he was ramrod hard in the middle of a tree lot.

Instead, he tried to shove the thoughts away, and throttle his physical reaction to them. Tried to choke down all this bitter resentment he’d never felt before and had no idea what to do with.

Then Raven turned her head a fraction, and spotted him.

Her expression flashed to shock, to wariness, to something else entirely, some emotion that left her lips parting – and then pressing tight together. Eyes widening, jewel-blue scattered with white from the Christmas lights – and then narrowing, cautious. The color on her cheeks deepened, and he didn’t think it was from the cold. Didn’t want it to be, anyway.

He debated, in the span between heartbeats. Turn around, walk away? Go back to stalking, watching, protecting…or go closer? Say something? Say…

Say what, he didn’t know, but words built like heartburn in his throat, and next thing he knew, he was striding toward her.

He had the pleasure of watching her brace herself: shoulders squaring, chest thrusting forward, head lifting, throat working as she swallowed. When he’d halted in front of her, close enough that her windswept hair tickled his arm, her gaze flicked to his mouth, and he found himself tonguing his lip ring automatically. Her pupils expanded; her breath hitched audibly.

When she spoke, her voice was calm and cool, completely at odds with the hectic blush on her cheeks. “In the market for a Christmas tree, are you?”

Clearly, he wasn’t the only one with memories from last night. And wasn’t the only one enjoying them, either.

Inwardly, he grinned, victorious. Outwardly, he took a noisy slurp of hot chocolate and said, “Sure.”

Her gaze darted left and right, and she leaned in closer – swayed in, off balance, catching herself with a hand on the back of his wrist, her touch warm as a brand through gloves and layers of clothes; it made him want to strip right there, and pull her against him, skin-to-skin. He wanted between her legs again with sharp urgency; wanted to taste her there, to slide his cock through her slick and into her tight, gripping heat. He wanted it like a junkie wanted a hit, so badly his throat went dry and his hair prickled along his scalp, and his next breath left his lungs hurting.

Jesus, this woman. Jesus Christ.

“What are you doing here?” she hissed, brows drawing together. “Has something else happened?”

“No. Nothing–”

“Oh.” Greg was back, too close, too loud. “Um.”

Instincts honed over years of practice told Toly that the best course of action would be to slosh hot chocolate in the man’s face. Blind him, burn him. When he bellowed – which he would – and slapped at his face, he’d have a perfect opening to kick him in the balls. When Greg bent double, wheezing and about to be sick, two quick movements would unsheathe the knife up Toly’s sleeve and slide it between two ribs. He could palm the knife back up his sleeve, and Greg would bleed out all over the ground before anyone had a chance to see that it was Toly who’d stabbed him. He could grab Raven, bundle her behind him, whistle to Shep to bring Cass, and they could be gone in under a minute.

But Raven’s eyes went wide, expression caught-out, and Toly took a breath, and a sip of his drink, and turned his head slowly to regard Greg Ingles. When he did, he spotted Bennet standing a few paces behind Raven, frowning at them.

He’d been so caught in his own head he’d never noticed the man, a realization that left his stomach lurching.

You’re compromised,a voice tsked in the back of his head.You’re fucked.

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