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I turn around just as Rayne pushes open the bathroom door. She has a soft smile on her face. I can tell she refreshed her makeup in the bathroom. Her lipstick is a little brighter than it was before, the muted pink color shimmering in the lights above the dance floor.
When she looks up and sees me standing on the dance floor instead of her dance partner, her eyes go wide. She scans the bar, searching for him. And I loathe that she’s looking for him instead of looking at me.
“What did you do to him?” she snaps, marching across the floor to stand directly in front of me. “Where did he go?”
“Who?”
She jams a finger against my chest. I can tell by the way she winces that it hurt her, but she quickly balls her hand into a fist and hits me with that instead. “Don’t lie to me. What did you do to him? Is he okay?”
“Are you talking about that guy you were dancing with? He seemed unwell. He probably left to sober up.”
“Garrett wasn’t drunk,” she grits out.
I fling an arm towards the door. “Then by all means, go findGarrett. Sounds like the two of you had a real soul-deep connection.”
“We were just dancing.”
“And going home together, or so I hear.” I didn’t plan to share that I knew that little tidbit, but it slipped out. I’m not drunk by any means, but I downed enough to feel a healthy buzzing in my veins. Enough to loosen the lid on everything I’ve spent five years bottling up.
Her blue eyes flare and her jaw clenches. A little divot appears on her chin. I don’t remember seeing it before. She starts to talk, but I reach out and brush my thumb over the mark. “What is this?”
“What is what?” She slaps my hand away.
“Is that a scar?”
Rayne lifts a hand to her cheek. “Oh. Yeah. It’s nothing.”
“You didn’t use to have a scar there.” I would know—I’ve kissed that spot. I’ve tasted her there and everywhere else, and in the five years that have been since then, I’ve re-lived every single moment that passed between us. If it was there before, I’d remember it.
I reach for her face again, but Rayne dodges my hand. Maybe I’m drunker than I thought, because she shouldn’t have been able to outmaneuver me like that.
“Lots of things have changed since we last saw each other,” she bites out. “Like, I can go to bars and meet whoever I want. I’ve had a life the last five years, Kirill. You don’t get to show up and have any control over it. I’ve changed. I’ve had—I’ve changed, okay? I’ve changed.”
Something flashes across her face. A darkness that settles over her expression for a single moment, weighing down the corners of her mouth before it slips away.
“Do tell,” I drawl. “Fill me in on everything. Catch me up.”
“I’m not telling you anything.”
“Then some things haven’t changed: you’re still as fucking stubborn as you ever were.”
“And you’re still a fucking asshole,” she spits, her chest pressed against mine. She tries to struggle away from me, but our bodies are magnetic. “You haven’t changed, either. You’re still a smug, condescending bastard who doesn’t recognize how important people like me are to the smooth running of your life. Is Sonya still folding your laundry? How would you get on without your personal chef to blend your smoothies and German there to handle all the business you don’t want to deal with?”
I think back to my peanut butter and whiskey dinner last night. If Rayne knew about that, she’d have a field day. It almost makes me smile.
Almost.
“I’ve earned my life, Rayne. What have you done in the last five years?”
Her jaw clenches, and I think she’s going to say something. Her breath hitches, her chest brushing against mine.
Then she shoves hard against me and backs away. “You had no right to blow up my night, Kirill.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “I didn’t do anything.”
“What did you even say to him? Knowing you, it was a threat. Why should we talk things out or be reasonable when you can threaten violence and get what you want?”
“That’s a great question.”
