Page 90 of Lost & Found

“Stop,” Lisa said playfully, hitting him. “Isabella, do you do piercings? At your shop?” she asked, her cheeks flushed, and I smiled.

“We do.”

“Maybe we could talk later about them.” She blushed deeper while everyone around the table teased her.

“Anytime,” I offered.

Our food arrived, and I was never so grateful for something else to do with my mouth than talk. The remainder of the day was spent sightseeing and visiting many of the places Lisa and her family loved.

Pasha and I found our rhythm, which wasn’t really any different from when we were at home, except we touched more, held hands, and flirted more openly. It was natural for us, and somewhere along the way—I let go.

Main Street looked like something pulled from a postcard. Brick storefronts lined both sides of the road, hanging flower baskets swaying in the breeze. The smell of roasted coffee drifted from an open café door.

We’d been walking for the better part of an hour—laughing, stopping for photos. Lisa pointed out places she swore had ‘the best pie in the state’. The bookstore sat between the coffee shop and an antique store, its windows cluttered with trinkets. Of course, the women zeroed in on it.

“Oh, we’re going in,” Shelia declared, already reaching for the door. “Isabella, you started this.”

I glanced down at her. She was leaning back against my chest, my arm wrapped around her waist.

“Have fun, princess,” I murmured in her ear.

A soft groan—half dramatic, half reluctant—escaped as she let her head fall back against me before finally peeling herself away.

God. She’d been finding reasons to touch me all day. Fingers grazing. Hips brushing. Leaning in closer than necessary. Was it for show? Or was she anchoring herself? Marcel planned to call later to check in. He’d want an update on how things were going emotionally.

Would telling him she’d been clinging to me and that I was there for her every step of the way make things awkward? Or was that exactly the type of reassurance he’d want? Before I could overthink it, I tugged her back to me, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. The other girls pushed through the bookstore door, the bell chiming overhead.

“Pick up something dark for us,” I teased as she stepped away again.

“Dark you say?” She turned, eyes flashing. “Anything in particular? Stalker? Primal?”

Chase choked behind me. I smirked. “Surprise me. You know what I like.”

This pretending was dangerously easy. I understood the implication in her tone. The private joke threaded between us. But did those books really exist? Or was she just bluffing her way through it, like she had at breakfast?

Victoria was the reader. Kinsley was the follower, and the damned Italian princess before me was an instigator through and through. Later when we were alone, I’d ask her. Maybe. Would it be strange to kiss her again? The thought lingered longer than it should have.

Fuck it.

I caught her hand before she disappeared inside and lifted it to my mouth, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. Her breath hitched. Now look who was acting like the needy one. The bell chimed again. I stayed where I was, making sure she was safely inside. Only when I saw her talking with Lisa did I turn toward the guys.

“Man, you’ve got yourself a wild one,” Chase said with a low whistle. “Fairy porn, dark romance and game nights? Something tells me it’s not your average strip poker, either. Am I right? And what the hell is ‘primal’?”

I smiled. “Primal is a whole mood. It has layers. It’s about instincts. It’s about control. Earned. It’s rougher. More animalistic than polished. Think less choreography, more hunger.”

Chase blinked.

Reggie snorted. “Hunger?”

Trent titled his head. “Doesn’t it involve costumes, masks, and such?” he asked.

I glanced at him. “Yes and no. Stripped down at its basic level, sure. But it’s more in the way you pursue. It’s about physical tension, letting control shift without losing it or sight of the end goal.”

Chase frowned. “That sounds complicated.”

“It’s not,” I said. “It just requires trust and maintaining boundaries established beforehand.”

Poor guy was lost, like I’d switched to Russian mid-sentence. Then his attention snapped back to something he could grasp.