Page 41 of The Devil’s Lair

“Which is?”

“We are in agreement about no physical relationship between us, but I’d like to go a little further.”

Her shoulders straighten. “Go on.”

“No touching bare skin of any kind other than my hands. No friendly kissing, even on the cheek.”

A dozen questions flit across her face, and I don’t blame her. I’d be curious if she’d said the same to me. No sex is one thing, but to say no touching, even in a platonic sense, is odd. But if she asks, this will also be one of those “I’m not telling you because it’s private” situations.

She doesn’t ask, just dips her chin in acknowledgement. “The only problem I see is that Isla may want to touch you. She often presses her hands to my face or kisses me, and she’s obviously taken with you.”

“Isla is different. I’m fine with affection from her, and I’m not saying I’m going to freak out if you nudge me with your elbow, rest your head on my shoulder, or even hug me. My sister often hugs me, and I don’t have a problem with it. Only with bare skin. I don’t know why. It’s just the way I am.”

My last comment slips out without meaning to. I brace, aware I’ve probably invited more curiosity, more potential questions. Rebecca, though, doesn’t pry.

“I understand. Your boundaries are yours to set, Tobias, just like mine are to me.” She gives me a close-lipped smile. “I think we’ll make a great partnership.”

“I do, too.” I get to my feet and hold out my hand. “Shake on it?”

She stands and slides her palm against mine. Her skin is warm and soft, and I admit, it doesn’t feel awful. The complete opposite, in fact.

“Friends?” she asks, head angled to one side.

“You may regret that. I’m a lot to take.”

She chuckles. “You never did need that assistant, did you?”

“With the amount of work I toss Bea’s way, she’d disagree, but no. I only wanted to make you feel comfortable enough that you’d let me help you.”

“And marrying you will definitely stave off Felicity’s custody play?”

“Honesty time? I could eventually get Felicity to back off without you marrying me, but this will provide an extra layer of security to make sure she doesn’t regroup at some point in the future and come at you again. No judge in this land is going to rule in favor of removing a child from the De Vils care. By taking my name, you’re securing Isla’s future, and your own.”

“And you get to keep your club.”

That’s true, as long as the diversionary tactic of marrying Rebecca works. If it doesn’t, then I’ve got a fight on my hands with Dad. A fight I have to win. While keeping The Lair was my initial motivation, in marrying Rebecca, with her aversion to physical relationships that matches my own, I also stave off the future problem of marriage to a woman from our circles—one that is unlikely to have the same repugnance as I do.

“We’re both winners.”

“I like the idea of winning for once.” She hooks a thumb over her shoulder. “I should go and find Isla. I’m sure Saskia is probably crawling the walls by now.”

“I’ll let Dad know your decision.”

“Okay.”

As she walks away, I call out, “Bye, fiancée.”

She pivots, chin tucked, a faint flush across her cheekbones. “That sounds weird.”

“But good.”

“Yeah.” She smiles. “I guess it does.”

I down the rest of my coffee and head to Dad’s study. He’s on the phone when I enter, and he motions for me to sit. I fiddle with my shirt cuffs, oddly nervous. A few weeks ago, I was merrily living my life, working hard in the family business, playing harder, watching people have sex at The Lair. Now, I have a scar where a bullet almost killed me, a fiancée, and soon, I’ll be a stepdad.

Even I couldn’t have written that playbook, and I have a more active imagination than most.

When Dad ends his call, he slides his phone onto his desk and pinches the bridge of his nose. Dark circles frame his eyes, and he looks tired.