Page 97 of Nothing More

She turned, and saw Ian’s face fall: a faint groove between his brows, a downward curve of his lips. She felt bad for it…but she wasn’t wrong. Her brothers and their “brothers” had never been short of trouble, but it had never been the sort that bled all over all of them at once; never involved international criminals and rich, powerful backers.

More money, more problems, and all that.

Tenny went off to another of the flat’sfivebathrooms to wash the makeup off his face and change for his next assignment. Shep came in, and he and Bennet and Reese went off toward the front of the flat to talk additional security measures.

“Where’s Cass?” Raven asked. “God, I should know that myself, shouldn’t I?”

“Relax, darling.” Ian moved around the counter and rummaged about. “You’re too hard on yourself. Also, I heard her exclaiming over the computer in the office, so I told her it had been loaded up with four different kinds of design software. She’s in her element, at the moment.”

“That’s something, I guess.”

He returned, bearing a tray laden with crackers, a wheel of brie, two glasses, and a chilled bottle of pinot from the wine fridge.

She let him pour, and then clinked her glass against his. “Cheers.”

“Cheers,” he echoed. “And, speaking of…” His voice lowered a notch, and he glanced over his shoulder, checking they were alone. “As to your earlier question…” His blue eyes took on a bright gleam. “There’s a hidden trapdoor off the terrace, back behind the jacuzzi. It leads to the fire escape.”

She blinked…and then felt her face flush with heat.

He laughed.

She shot him the finger. “Ta.”

~*~

Toly spent longer than normal in the shower. Partly because he hoped that Tenny would be gone by the time he emerged. But also because he lathered his hands three times with the lavender-smelling soap on offer and scrubbed his face again and again, wanting every last smudge of makeup gone. He swore he felt lighter, afterward, his face more mobile…

Not that he did more than scowl at himself in the mirror, after he’d wiped his hand through the steam. This was because of him. Raven being frightened, the club at risk of igniting war with the bratva – all of it. If he’d never joined, never patched in, never abandoned his old post as Obshchak…

It had seemed unthinkable, at the time. Staying. But now, given the delayed fallout, he thought Tenny might be right, the loud asshole: maybe he should take off. Pack his meager belongings and head west.

Or maybe even go back to Moscow, finally confront Kozlov, and accept his due punishment.

He tugged on clean clothes from his bag, left his hair to drip dry, and finally went to face whatever jeering and eyebrow-waggling awaited him out in the apartment.

What he found, however, was a greatly-reduced crowd.

Shep and Bennet were parked in front of the TV, arguing over ESPN commentary. No sign of Tenny or Reese, or even Ian. He found Raven alone in the kitchen, standing at the counter chopping onions.

He lingered a moment, in the threshold, unseen, to admire the way she absently, impatiently tucked her hair back behind an ear, and picked the knife back up. She’d pushed the sleeves of her dress up, and her forearms flexed, lean and strong, as she passed the knife through the onion, again and again,clack-clack-clackon the thick wooden cutting board. There were lights mounted under the cabinets, a warm yellow glow, and they gilded her perfect profile. Her lashes threw dramatic shadows on her cheeks, smooth as fine porcelain in the soft light.

Two impulses warred inside him, one expected, the other surprising.

He wanted to walk up behind her; rest his hands on her waist, and slide them lower. Lean in until he felt the silk of her hair on his face, and could smell the Chanel she’d dabbed on her neck that morning. Press in close, until she could feel him all down the length of her back; until she shuddered, and let out a little unbidden sound, and leaned back into him, encouraging. It was easy to imagine all that would follow, the ways it was already familiar, but would be new, still, becauseeverythingwith them was still new.

But he wanted to approach her from the side, too. Tuck back the strand of hair that was already trying to slip past her ear again. Stroke her cheek, and offer her a soft expression, when she turned her head to look at him. He didn’t know how todosoft, really, but he thought he could look like a welcome place, if he tried. Like someone it was safe for her to be around, to show her uncertainty and fatigue to.

He'd never been “safe” for any woman before. For anyone, really.

The thought that he could be – that he wanted to be – held him rooted in the threshold, indecisive. In the end, he decided to simply walk forward, and let proximity determine his course of action when he was close enough to touch her.

But he’d miscalculated. In his socked feet, across sleek, expensive tile floors, he moved soundlessly, and she didn’t notice him until he hit the end of the island. Then she started. Hard. The knife clattered to the cutting board; bits of onion flew like confetti. Raven sucked in a sharp breath and he hated how big and wild her eyes were in the moment before she cursed under her breath and shook her head. Closed her eyes a moment.

He had the distinct impression that she was angry with herself, her own reaction, rather than him. But he pulled up short anyway, an arm-and-a-half span away. “Sorry.”

“No.” She blew out a breath and opened her eyes again, defeated-looking. “It’s me. It’s just…ugh.” She started gathering bits of onion from the counter, and craned her neck to peer across the island.

Toly went to pick the ones up off the floor. “Where is everyone?”

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