Page 5 of Wraith’s Betrayal

"My brother's in a motorcycle club. I'm not naive."

"Could've fooled me." The words came out rough, unplanned. Color touched his cheekbones. "Blade said you lost your job?"

Subject change. Fine. For now. "Marketing coordinator at a tech startup. They decided to 'restructure' which meant firing half the staff." The lie came easy. No need to mention that Derek had orchestrated the whole thing, sabotaged my presentation, made me look incompetent. All because I'd finally tried to leave him.

"Denver's tech scene is rough. Lot of competition."

"Yeah, well. Maybe Montana's hiring."

"You planning to stay?"

The question carried weight. I took a pull from my beer, buying time. "I don't know. Blade wants me to, but..."

"But you're not the type to let your brother run your life."

"You've known me three days."

"I pay attention."

The way he said it, quiet and intense, made heat pool low in my belly. Everything about him was controlled, contained, but underneath I sensed something wild. Something that wanted to break free.

"What did you notice?" The question slipped out before I could stop it.

His fingers tightened on his beer bottle. The tendons in his forearms flexed, and I found myself staring at the contrast—scars over muscle, damage over strength.

"Raven..."

"It's just a question."

"No, it's not." He set his beer down, standing abruptly. "I'm going to check on the food order."

He disappeared into the kitchen even though we both knew the food wouldn't arrive for at least thirty minutes. I heard him moving around, probably fighting the same battle I was.

When he came back, he'd rebuilt his walls. Face neutral, body language closed off. We ate dinner with the TV on, using the noise to avoid real conversation. But I kept catching him looking. Quick glances that lingered on my mouth, my throat, the curve of my shoulder where my shirt had slipped.

"I should shower," I announced when I couldn't take the tension anymore.

"Towels are in the cabinet." He didn't look up from his laptop where he'd retreated after dinner.

The bathroom was small but clean. Basic male grooming supplies lined the counter. His toothbrush, his razor, his soap. Intimate items that felt too personal to be near. I turned the water hot, letting steam fill the space, trying to wash away the frustration of wanting something I couldn't have.

But the hot water only made it worse. Every nerve felt sensitized, aware. My skin tingled with phantom touches—how his hands might feel, rough and sure. How he'd touch me if we weren't trapped by my brother's threat. I pressed my thighs together, fighting the ache that had been building since I'd first seen him.

I'd just wrapped myself in a towel, hair dripping, skin flushed from heat and want, when I opened the bathroom door and collided with a wall of muscle.

Wraith's hands came up automatically, catching my arms to steady me. The towel slipped dangerously, barely covering my breasts, leaving my shoulders and too much of my chest bare. His gaze tracked the movement, lingering on the exposed skin, before snapping back to my face.

We stood frozen. His hands on my bare arms, thumbs aligned with my pulse points where my heart hammered. This close, I could see the scar that cut through his left eyebrow, the tension in his jaw, the way his chest rose and fell too fast.

"Sorry," I breathed, but didn't move away.

His fingers flexed on my arms. The calluses on his palms caught on my wet skin, sending sparks through me. "You should..." He swallowed hard, throat working. "You should get dressed."

"Should I?"

"Raven." My name came out strangled.

I rose up on my toes, bringing our faces closer. His breath fanned across my lips, beer and mint and him. The towel slipped another inch. His gaze dropped to the swell of my breasts, visible above the terry cloth, and his hands tightened enough to leave marks I'd treasure later.