I’ve no idea if Father O’Shannessey knows his only remaining living son is now, in fact, dead, but I don’t breathe a word of it. Zeth catches my eye and I get the feeling that the news is better left unsaid. At least by me, anyway, which I’m grateful for.
I let the men talk, and I walk around, imagining how to improve the place, what we can do to freshen it up—an awful lot—and how to draw in a younger crowd. I’m sure Zeth has plenty of ideas of his own, but I can see it myself—the potential the place has. It’s exciting, picturing how everything will work out here, yet I still feel like my stomach’s in knots as I familiarize myself with the place. I know why, too. I can’t think about that, though. Zeth will be good at this, and so will I. It will be our life together. I cast a quick glance over my shoulder, and the two men are watching me, neither saying a word anymore. Zeth gives me a cautious smile, still leonine and confident, but a little secretive, too, and I know everything has worked out the way it was meant to.
******
At five, Zeth drives me back to The Regency Rooms and tells me to wait in our apartment. I make a fuss over Ernie, feeling like crap for leaving him so long, and make myself a cup of tea. Zeth returns shortly after with a backpack slung over his shoulder and two garment bags in his hand.
“Here, you’d better put this on. We’re going to be late.”
“Again?” I eye the garment bag he’s holding out for me. The last time I wore something that came out of a garment bag, we all nearly got blown up. My body still aches every time I move in evidence of that fact. I’m black and blue down one side of my body from where I hit the ground so hard. “Late for what?”
“Less questions. More action. Do I need to dress you myself, Sloane?” He takes a step forward and the challenge is clear in his eyes. From what I can tell, I sincerely doubt he wants to dress me; I get the feeling he’s more interested in undressing me.
“That depends on whether we are actually nearly late for something, or if you think we have time to kill,” I say.
Zeth makes a growling noise at the back of his throat. “Fine. Then get moving.”
I take the dress from him—I’m assuming it’s a dress—and I head for the bedroom. When I unzip the bag, I see it is a dress. A beautiful one, made from Irish-green silk with a huge split up the front. There are matching silk covered heels, too, and a lovely art deco hair comb to match. I get dressed, feeling incredibly seductive as the material whispers over my skin. I haven’t felt like that in a very long time.
At the thought of seduction, I suddenly remember what the concierge told us when we first arrived here: that there were celebrations happening soon. The kinds of celebrations Zeth used to attend before he came back into my life. The concierge had even asked if we wanted to book a booth. My heart is suddenly galloping in my chest. Is he…is he planning on taking me to some sex party? I remember the last one all too well.
I stride out of the bedroom and into the lounge, getting ready to lay into him, but then I catch sight of the man, and I lose any and all ability to speak coherently. In a beautiful black suit, white shirt and black tie, Zeth is magnificent. The small cuts and scrapes on his hands and face only seem to add a savage edge to his beauty. He’s fastening his cuff links, smirking at me as he makes eye contact.
“Everything to your liking?” he asks.
Am I to your liking? He knows damn well he is, the arrogant bastard. I scowl at him. “Are you planning on taking me downstairs to some freaky sex club, Zeth?”
He looks genuinely surprised. I watch the moment when realization dawns on him. “Oh, you think...” He laughs. Actually has the audacity to laugh. “No, angry girl. No more sex clubs for you. Or for me. That is, unless…”
I throw a couch cushion at him, but he sidesteps out of the way, still adjusting his cufflinks. I shake my head, going to him and holding out my hands. He places his in mine, and I carefully thread the silver button through his cuff.
“There.” When I look up, Zeth’s grinning at me.
“What?”
“You’re disappointed, aren’t you?”
“That you’re not taking me to a sex club? No!” I can feel myself blushing, though. I can hear how ridiculous my denial sounds. Zeth’s grin vanishes in a heartbeat. He leans down to me, so that his lips brush my ear when he says, “I can tolerate people watching, Sloane. I can tolerate you wanting to watch others. But we have new ground rules now. No one’s ever allowed to touch you again. And I will never touch anyone else, nor allow anyone to touch me, either. So…all you have to do is say the word.”
A cold, anxious shiver runs down the length of my body, but I’m not anxious because I think he wants that. He’s telling me that because he thinks I might want it. And…I’m anxious because of how the prospect of it makes me feel.
“I don’t want that,” I say breathlessly.