Page 41 of Savannah Royals
“I bet.” Tony leans in close, his eyes crinkling with amusement before he whispers in my ear. “You might wanna tell Abe to cover his hickey before Paul sees it. Just a suggestion.”
“What?”
“The vamp bite…on his neck.” He raises an eyebrow. “I mean,Idon’t care what you two got up to in the closet, but I bet Paul will.”
I glance at Abe, and sure enough, he’s sporting a tiny red bruise where his neck joins his shoulder. I give his black shirt a quick tug to hide the evidence. Abe looks down and sees what I’m doing, his eyes wide and accusing. I smile apologetically.
Looks like Plan B was slightly more dangerous than either of us realized.
Bynoonthenextday, pandemonium reigns. The news is everywhere. It’s all anyone can talk about. I can’t take two steps in the Academy corridors without hearing someone whispering about the heist.
“Did you hear?”
“The Wolfpack!”
“They hit Astor Manor.”
“Astor Manor?”
“Was Harry home? Is he okay?”
“They’re menaces.”
“They’re vigilantes!”
“They’re extraordinary.”
“They’redangerous.”
CHAPTER TEN
“Paul?”Islamthedoor of his city flat.
“In the kitchen, doll.”
“What are you doing?” I’m taken aback as I enter the room. “It smells amazing in here.”
Paul pauses over a saucepan. “I’m trying something new—cooking.”
“What? I didn’t even know youcouldcook.” I lean around him. Two small chicken breasts sizzle in a pan, smothered in a simmering, deliciously creamy sauce. There’s an uncorked bottle of wine on the counter, flanked by two glasses.
“I don’t usually bother,” Paul begins, “but Abe mentioned something about you needing some good romancing…”
Sensing danger, I cross my arms. My green eyes flick to his. “What exactly did the traitor say?”
“Relax, Kat.” He laughs. “I’m not mad. Abe didn’t tattle. I saw the hickey.”
“Oh.” I gnaw on my lip. “I’m sorry, it was my fault. He wanted to rest, and I…I told him I was bored.”
Paul turns to dice an onion, light glinting off the blade of his chef’s knife. His eyes are downcast when he finally speaks. “Doll.” He sighs, the endearment punctuated by a heavy, thudding slice of the knife. “We’ve never talked about exclusivity, have we? I understand you—who you are,what you need. And sometimes, where Abe is concerned, you just can’t seem to help yourself.”
I look closely at Paul before I reply. His tone is neutral, but his grip on the knife is tight, white-knuckled.
Paul and I have never laid down any formal rules where our relationship is concerned. After nearly ten years together, founded and grounded in hell itself, there’s a certain level of implicit understanding. The door may be open, but at the end of the day, we always come home to each other. We’ve both had our share of fleeting flirtations and dalliances with marks, but they mean very little when two people are bonded the way Paul and I are. Abe is the rare exception, and our trust with him is absolute, forged in the same fire that welded Paul and me together.
“Would you prefer I try though?” I finally ask. Abe has been a rotating player in our bedroom for years, but I’d be lying if I said he came without strings. I’m not opposed to exclusivity with Paul, but I want to hear the words from him. For him to ask.
Paul shrugs and turns back to mind the stove. “I love the way you are, Kat. You’re impulsive and passionate, and you chase adventures. It’s why we’re so good together…because I’m built exactly the same way. Abe doesn’t bother me.”
