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I pin her hands next to her head, locking her hips under mine. The expression on her face is irritation, not fear, and that makes me angrier.
How the fuck could she think to just walk in and speak to him?
Everything I’ve been working toward is a path to ending Ivanov—not to avenge my parents, the way I’d always intended, but to preserve my future. And if I accomplish that, I hope it can be Rae’s future too.
Raegan won’t have a future if she puts herself in harm’s way.
“He’s dangerous,” I say.
“I understand.”
“Clearly you don’t. How am I just finding this out now?”
“I should’ve told you before or after we fucked in the bathroom?” She shifts out of bed and grabs one of my shirts from the closet. “You should probably get dressed. Unless you’re hoping Barney will fix that situation for you“—a nod at my cock—“because I’m not going to.”
Raegan buttons the shirt and slips out of the room, leaving the door ajar and me speechless.
* * *
RAE
“Señorita!” Natalia declares as I come down the stairs, showered and dressed in denim shorts and a flowy black shirt.
“It’s so good to see you.” I’m not big on gestures, but when the housekeeper hugs me, I can’t help returning the squeeze a little.
“Nothing for me?” Ash drawls as he comes down the stairs after me.
Natalia shakes a fist at him. “You made Toro lose money betting on your team.”
“You should’ve bet on the other team,” Harrison comments from the kitchen.
“We can’t. You’re family.”
The three of us enter the kitchen, where Harrison is barefoot and drinking an espresso from the machine.
“Lose the French press?” I quip as I get a glass for water.
He stiffens as I brush his hip reaching for the cupboard.
When I mentioned La Mer in bed, he looked at me like a vengeful god ready to rain down fury on hapless mortals. He’s clearly not over it.
“On the patio,” he bites out before I’ve had a chance to take a sip. “I don’t want Natalia worrying about this.”
We head out to the patio overlooking the ocean and take seats on opposite sides of the table.
“Talk.”
Though I don’t owe him an explanation, Mischa is his nemesis. I understand why he’s taken aback.
“I played Wild Fest this year. My career hasn’t just recovered. It’s exploded,” I say. “When the top one hundred list came out, I was swimming in offers. The single I released last fall got new life. I have money.”
Sometimes it still feels like a dirty secret.
“I don’t own a house, but I could. I could support not only my cousin’s charity but half a dozen more.”
His jaw works as if he’s proud of what I’ve done but disinclined to deviate from the point he dragged me out here to talk about. “You realize it’s not because of the list. It’s because of you. You embracing who you are. Playing with joy.”
His gaze drops to my wrist, where I’m fingering the tattoo.
