Page 93 of Lost & Found

The four of us stood there in an awkward cluster, conversation teetering on another edge.

“What do I know how to use?” Isabella chimed in from behind us.

I shifted subtly so I was angled toward her. “Nothing important,” I said. “What did you find?”

She held up a small bag, triumph lighting her features. Everyone had a bag. Everyone except Hannah. Of course. Surely they had a self-help section. She could have found something.

“I opted for a male author this time,” Isabella said. “Messaged Tori. She said you’d love this one.” She gave the bag a small shake. “Not only does he write the lifestyle authentically, but he lives it, too.”

She owned the moment, performing perfectly. A rush of pride hit. This was definitely going to be mentioned when I spoke to Marcel later. Knowing Isabella, she wouldn’t be aware of the vibes she was giving off.

“A male author, huh? Well now, tonight’s evening activities just got more interesting.” I ran the tip of my index finger from her hairline down the side of her face before tucking her hair back. “We’ll have to compare notes. Male gaze versus female gaze.”

Her breath caught—barely noticeable—but I felt it. Her pupils darkened and her pulse raced at her throat.

“Not my idea of a good time, but whatever floats your boat. I don’t know about any of you, but I could use a drink or five,” Hannah grumbled.

The air shifted instantly. Hannah and her damn discontent once more sucked all the joy out of the moment. Chase glanced at me. I held his gaze a second longer than necessary. Maybe this trip would open his eyes. Maybe he and Lisa would finally see the real Hannah.

I’d made excuses for her for years, so partially my fault. I shielded her. Taken the fall more times than I could count.

Lisa clapped her hands together, sensing one of Hannah’s meltdowns coming. “Why don’t we head back to the hotel and spend the rest of the day at the beach?” she asked. “They have an amazing bar,” she added.

Relief rippled through the group, and we set off. As we started walking, my mind drifted somewhere dangerous. Isabella in a bathing suit. I’d overheard her at the spa after that full wax ordeal—declaring she was going to strut her stuff come hell or high water.

I couldn’t wait to see if she actually did it.

We got back to the hotel and the minute the door clicked shut behind us, Isabella toed off her socks and shoes before flopping backward onto the bed like she’d just finished a marathon. I followed, settling at the foot of the mattress, my back resting against the carved wood of the footboard.

She didn’t say a word. Just shifted and stretched her legs out. Then her feet landed in my lap. I glanced down with a smirk. Her toes flexed once. Twice. The soft pads of her feet dragged lazily over my thigh and drifted higher.

Lightly and teasingly, she wiggled the damned things across my cock. My eyebrow lifted. Her eyes were closed, dark lashes resting against her cheek like she was exhausted. But the faintest curve at the corner of her mouth gave her away. Her toes brushed over the front of my jeans again, a subtle glide that made my stomach tighten.

“You’re bold,” I muttered.

She wiggled them once more in silent confirmation. I caught one of her ankles before my mind started down the path of a foot job. I dragged her foot fully into my palm instead.

“Peopling is so hard, Pasha,” she huffed.

Her fingers went to her temples, rubbing. Up close, I noticed her nails were painted a deep, glossy red—sharp, perfectly shaped. They matched the ones on her toes. Dangerous. Every inch of her was.

“You handled it well,” I said, kneading my thumb into the arch of her foot. “How was the bookstore? Did you really buy a romance novel written by a man?”

“Yeah,” she said, cracking one eye open. “Tori swears not many men can pull it off. Worst-case scenario, you’ll enjoy it,” she teased. “It has lifestyle elements in it.”

“Liar.” I scoffed.

Her response wasn’t verbal. She got up, reached into the bag, and sensually walked back over to the bed. I shook my head. She lobbed the book at my chest and took her position again.

Once more her feet found my thigh and trailed up until they caressed my dick. Again.

“The Bratva’s Stolen Princess?” I read incredulously.

I was expecting something sleek and dark. The cover made me bark out a laugh. This was not what I had in mind. Some tatted guy who looked like he was about to cry, moody as fuck.

“Oh yes,” she said. “Flip it over. Read the back.”

I turned it and scanned the text. I cleared my throat. “From the moment Lev—” I stopped mid-sentence and looked at her. “Seriously? You found one with my nickname?”