Cora looks between us. “Is that unusual?”
“More than unusual,” I explain. “It’s unprecedented. Xavier treats the Hunt like a business transaction. Three days, then done. But Mira...” I let the implication hang.
“Holy shit,” Ryder whispers. “That explains the personal favor comment.”
Dominic shakes his head in disbelief. “I never thought I’d see the day.”
I turn to Cora, offering my most charming smile. “It seems your friend has managed the impossible by putting a leash on the most dangerous man in Ravenwood.”
Dominic doesn’t look pleased by this development, but I recognize the strategic advantage immediately. Xavier Blackwood’s attention, even as an extension of his apparent feelings for Mira, is valuable currency.
“This changes nothing about our arrangement,” Dominic announces, clearly attempting to reassert control.
“On the contrary,” I counter smoothly, “it changes everything strategically. Xavier Blackwood’s attention is like having an insurance policy.”
Ryder nods, leaning back against the couch. “Probably smart to play nice until we figure out exactly what kind of interest he’s taking in our situation.”
Cora watches us with those sharp eyes that first caught my attention at the charity gala. The momentary fear has faded, replaced by something more calculating. She’s already learning to use Xavier’s protection to her advantage. Clever girl.
“So, what happens now?” she asks.
“Now?” I offer her my most disarming smile. “We finish dinner. The world keeps turning. Our arrangement continues as agreed, just with an added layer of... oversight.”
Dominic scowls but doesn’t contradict me. Ryder returns to his abandoned plate with nonchalance, though the tension in his shoulders betrays his discomfort.
As we settle back at the table, I study Cora over the rim of my wine glass. The bruise on her jaw is practically gone now, but the memory of how she received it remains fresh. Her father’s violence.
I’ve always prided myself on anticipating every variable, controlling every interaction. But this—Xavier’s involvement, Dominic’s softening toward Cora, Ryder’s unexpected tenderness, my own confusing reactions—none of this was in my calculations.
For the first time in years, I can’t predict what happens next. And the most disturbing part? I’m not entirely sure I want to.
30
RYDER
Iwake with sunlight streaming through unfamiliar curtains, momentarily disoriented before remembering—I’m in Dominic’s penthouse. Our new home. With Cora.
The memory of last night’s dinner flashes back—Dominic acting weird as fuck, knocking over his water when our fingers touched. The tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife. Part of me wants to roll over and go back to sleep, but my stomach growls in protest.
Dragging myself out of bed, I don’t bother with clothes. It’s too early for that shit. I shuffle down the hallway in just my boxers, running a hand through my bedhead and yawning. Dom’s place is ridiculous—all sleek lines and modern furniture that probably costs a small fortune. I’m gonna break something expensive before the week is out, guaranteed.
I turn the corner into the living room and freeze. Cora stands in the kitchen, her back to me. She’s wearing nothing but a silky nightgown that barely reaches mid-thigh, the material so thin it’s practically transparent in the morning light. Her hair falls in messy waves down her back, and she’s holding a steaming mug of coffee between her hands.
My mouth goes dry instantly. “Hey, princess,” I say, my voice raspier than intended.
She turns, startled, almost sloshing coffee over the rim of her mug. Her eyes widen as they land on me, then drift down, taking in my tattooed chest and arms, lingering on the detailed sleeve that covers my right arm from shoulder to wrist. I’ve never felt self-conscious about my ink before, but something about the way she studies me makes heat crawl up my neck.
Then her gaze drops lower, to where my boxers are doing an absolutely shit job of hiding my growing erection. Fuck. Nothing like morning wood combined with the sight of a gorgeous woman in silk to make things obvious.
The air between us crackles with tension. Neither of us speaks for a beat too long.
The moment stretches between us, and then something in Cora’s eyes shifts. The flash of interest I thought I saw hardens into something cold.
She narrows her eyes, lips thinning. “Morning,” she says, voice clipped.
Then she simply turns her back on me, like I’m not even fucking there. Like, I’m not worth acknowledging beyond the bare minimum of courtesy.
Fuck this.
