Page 73 of Snag
I frown. “Some of Disa’s journals are missing?”
Zaya shrugs, pivoting in my lap so she can pull her knees up and tuck her toes under my thigh. I carefully direct her away from my still semihard cock with a gentle pressure on her hip, but she wasn’t really heading that way.
“I read the latest entries,” Zaya says, thoughtfully smoothing her hand over the front cover of the green leather journal she’s holding. “No hints of whatever took her from the property.”
I make a noise to let her know I’m listening, but not wanting to interrupt. Zaya was always open and trusting, eager to trade stories and even more eager to seek out information or new experiences. But the reincarnated Zaya — if that’s even the proper term for coming back from the dead but still inhabiting the same body — is closed off. Not secretive, but intensely private.
Zaya’s gaze shifts to the photographs propped on the windowsill, tapping the journal lightly against her chin. “I wanted to match the dates.”
“Between Disa’s journals and Mack’s photographs?”
“Yeah. It gave me a starting point.”
“And … ?”
“Couldn’t find them.” She looks at the armoire, then shudders as if abruptly cold. “There’s something in there,” she whispers. “Something that belongs to me.”
I rub my hand up and down her spine without thinking about it.
Zaya turns to look at me, head tilting and hair trailing over one bare shoulder. If she dropped that shoulder just a little more, the gown would simply slide off … maybe even so far as to expose her breast to my greedy gaze. And if I took a taste then, she couldn’t blame me, right?
Zaya’s focus drops to my mouth, then back up to peer directly into my fucking aching soul.
I keep my gaze on her face, even as I see her nipples hardening against the lightweight silk of her dress. She only has to shift her leg a bit to the left to feel the ready budge of my cock.
Her gaze flicks to my mouth again, and she lists toward me. Then, blinking, she catches herself, straightening her spine.
I open my mouth to tell her she can kiss me, that I want nothing more than to kiss and cuddle as the morning becomes day, but she looks back down at the journal.
“Actually.” She quietly clears her throat. “I found another picture yesterday … or rather, the day before yesterday … I’m not keeping perfect track right now.”
“Understandable.”
She quirks a smile at me.
My heart squelches, then picks up its pace. Its lust. It has to just be all-consuming lust and the staticky bond between us. Because I don’t know this Zaya. I don’t know this Zaya enough to love her. Again.
She allows the journal to fall open in her hands. “Ifound this in the cemetery where Mack was digging when he died. Oh —”
Zaya flinches, and the journal slides off her lap, falling to the floor in a flutter of pages.
“Don’t do that without warning!” she practically shouts.
I stiffen, raising my hands. What the …?
“Not you,” Zaya snaps, huffing at me. “I’m with Rath in the tower. You don’t need my permission.” She shakes her head, looking at me. “Why would he need my permission to join us?”
I hear Rought’s chuckle from the lower hallway, then his rapid footsteps on the stairs.
“He’s … can you communicate telepathically?”
Zaya twists her lips, playing at being peeved about it even though she’s practically glowing. “Apparently. I thought it might just be with the gryphon.”
Rought, wearing nothing but jeans like he just rolled out of bed and realized he shouldn’t wander around the house naked, all but bursts up the stairs onto the upper floor of the tower, grinning madly. “Not just the gryphon!”
Zaya opens her mouth to protest, but Rought lunges around the desk, cups her face, and kisses her robustly.
Robustly enough to press Zaya against my chest. Her sweet ass is now very suddenly nestling my rapidly hardening cock.
