Small piles of celery and carrot waited on a cutting board. Beside them, directly on the marble, rested a lump of dough in plastic wrap. He gestured to it. “You could roll out the crust.”
She went to wash her hands and do just that.
He was by no means a chef, but he knew his way around a kitchen, and after several meals with him, she’d learned that he liked to get everything in order before he started. Everything chopped, seasonings portioned, dishes and utensils laid out before he started. A rolling pin and the flour cannister waited beside the dough, and so she dusted the marble and got to it.
“Did you handmake this?” she asked.
“No. Defrosted it.”
It was warm and pliable, easily manipulated.
From the corner of her eye, she saw him scrape the carrots and celery into the pan with the onions. “How’d your meeting go?” he asked, and, much to her amusement, she could detect a bit of effort in his normally-flat voice; he was trying to sound friendly and interested.
“Quite well.” Her own voice, in response, was livelier to her own ears than it had been all day. She felt positively refreshed standing here next to him, rolling out pie dough. “He might be the most annoying brat on the planet, but Tenny can occasionally be very useful. The heiress was fascinated, and it’s full-swing ahead with my gala contribution.”
“And you’re happy about that.” It was mostly a question…but a teensy bit of an accusation.
“Well. Galas can be fun – I’ve been to some fabulous parties and charity events in my time – but mostly they aren’t. I don’twantto go, so I wouldn’t say I’mhappy. But with the new agency…not to mention the way my name rubs up against Waverly’s after Nikola’s death…”
“Yeah.”
“It’s necessary, I think. Even if Donovan Smith is a smarmy arsehole.”
“What about Greg?” He didn’t manage to sound light.
Raven skated him a sideways look; watched his brow furrow as he added rosemary and thyme. “I thought we already discussed Greg. And his” – she lowered her voice further; if she put a little purr into it, that was between the two of them – “lack of appeal.”
Toly snorted – but his brow smoothed again, so she counted that as a win. “One part of the meeting didn’t go so well: I was going to take Ian as my plus-one, but Tenny said he was going with me, so I guess that’sthatplan changed.”
“It’s not a bad idea,” he said, to her surprise. “If something happens, he knows what to do better than Ian.”
Her laugh was more of a cough. “I swear, I’m surrounded by men more anxious and worried than a doctor’s office waiting room full of old ladies. What could happen at a gala?” When she glanced over, she met his judgmental, sideways look. “Okay, I take your point. But I don’t think that will be a problem. After all…” She trailed off as her stomach soured. The smell of dough and raw flour sickening, suddenly.
After all, the real threat was to Toly, not her.
He stirred a measuring cup of cream into his veggies. Added a plate of already-cooked chicken.
“Was it terribly boring here all day?” she asked. “I’m sorry you’re cooped up.”
He stirred, and didn’t answer for a moment. “I went to the gym,” he said.
“Oh, that’s good. Is it as lovely as everything else here? Ian said there’s trainers on staff to help with stretching and cooldown. I might have to try it myself.”
Another hesitation. Then: “Yeah.” And: “Is the crust done?”
~*~
“Mm, where are you going?” Raven asked, voice slurred with sleep.
Toly paused, halfway through lacing his boot. When he turned back toward the bed, nothing but a hulking black shape against the dark of the room, his leather jacket creaked faintly, giving away the fact that he was dressed. A sliver of moonlight fell in through the crack in the drapes and he prayed it wasn’t enough for her to see him: fully-clothed, jacketed, hair tucked into a dark beanie.
“Out for a smoke,” he said.
She hummed again, sheets rustling as she stirred. She was naked beneath them, and for a moment, the thought of smooth skin, a ready, damp kiss, nails biting into his shoulders, nearly dragged him back into bed. “You can smoke in here, silly,” she murmured.
He finished his laces, stood, and went to the edge of the bed. Felt across it until he found her arm, soft as satin under his palm. Stroked along it, and felt the fine hairs lift beneath his touch. He didn’t think it would ever get old, the way she responded to him physically. “I need to step outside. Can’t sleep.”
Her hand fluttered against his chest, and then gripped his shirt. Damn it, she was waking up, getting more clear-headed by the second. “I could help with that.” Her voice in the small dark hours was a marvel: gone was the crisp, cool tone of the office, or even the apartment when she was addressing Bennet or Shepherd, or her brothers. Here, she was all warm invitation, half-drunk with want and pleasure. “Come here.”
