by An Latro
Pool rooms always conjuror memories of Caleb and high school. She slips out of the cover-up and he looks away as she moves to the edge of the water, dipping a toe in hesitantly. A smile turns her lips. He pulls out the bottle of rum, taking a thoughtful swig as Emma eases her way into the warm water.
“Come on. Therapy.”
He rolls his eyes and toes off his shoes. His button-down goes next, exposing his skinny torso and tapering waist, and she flushes, swimming to the edge of the pool and reaching for the rum as Seth slides his jeans down.
They spent too long together on the island to not be comfortable together—and she saw him in less when they were doing surgery before that—but it’s different watching him strip now. She shakes her head and swallows some rum as Seth lowers himself into the water. He winces as some of his weight hits his shoulder, and she reaches for him instinctively. Then he’s submerged and Emma slides away, watching his face as the strain eases.
They swim in silence for a while, drinking until her stomach twists and she retreats to the edge of the pool, lying on a chair while Seth swims and floats on memories.
“Why don’t you trust him?” he asks, and she doesn’t need to ask whom. It irritates her that he keeps bringing up Rama—she is content here, floating on the high and moment with him. But the question is waiting, and she would never willingly disappoint Seth.
She shrugs, eyes closed as she lolls on the chair. “Because he’s not us. And I don’t trust him not to change his mind—what happens when he decides he doesn’t want me?”
There’s a splash, and she opens her eyes and then he’s crouching next to her, water clinging to his eyelashes as he stares at her. “Do you think he will?”
“It’s not that unusual, Seth,” she says, her stomach twisting as her heart beats impossibly hard. She forces a smile.
“Anyone who doesn’t want you is blind. And an idiot,” he says, touching her cheek, eyes soft.
She moves before either of them can react, pressing her lips to his in a fleeting kiss. His fingers are still a searing heat against her cheek, and she can taste rum and chlorine and pot on his lips, and a unique spicy flavor that is all Seth. His fingers curve, slightly, holding her to him, and she catches his lip in her teeth, biting lightly as she arches up to him.
He jerks away, and his eyes are wide and stunned.
“What the fuck?” he spits. His lips are glossy and red, and she can’t help but stare at them, fascinated. His fingers twitch as she licks her own lips, catching the taste of him. She shrugs, a carefully careless movement.
“You don’t want me. Why should Rama?”
Seth doesn’t say anything as she lies back down, and she closes her eyes, waiting for him to yell or storm out. Instead, he sighs and reaches for the almost empty bottle of rum, dropping into the chaise next to her. “Is this how your evenings with Caleb went too?”
She snorts, a surprised laugh escaping her, and Seth smirks. The expression fades too quickly, and he says, softly, “Emma.”
“I know, Seth. I know.” She closes her eyes, and they sit in silence, each lost in thought.
Chapter 19. The Golden Buddha Thai Restaurant, Midtown, November 15th
Rama Glances Over The Room Again. Kai is in the back, managing the kitchen staff. The prince is nervous, absurdly so. It’s a dinner—that is all. A dinner with the woman he loves and the king he has chosen to serve. It's not a meeting to decide any important details. Just a meal, a gathering of royals at court.
That's all. That is more than enough.
He shakes his head, trying to dislodge the thoughts. The guards at the front of the little restaurant are stirring and Rama shifts, rising from his chair. He watches as the Bentley glides to a stop and Dom slips out, scanning the street as he opens the door. He helps Emma out and Rama pauses, staring at her, all red-gold hair and warm smiles in a vintage green dress and fuck-me red heels.
For a moment, blue eyes lazily look around and he can see Caleb, and his heart hurts. Then Seth steps out of the car behind her, and she looks up at him. That is all Emma, the pure adoration that she has always given him, as he places a hand at the small of her back. She reaches up and adjusts his tie, patting it, a gesture so comfortably thoughtless.
Seth ushers Emma inside, and Rama straightens as they pause in the doorway, taking in the empty dining room, assessing it for threats before moving deeper, to where he waits.
“Good day, Ratchaphure,” Seth says formally, extending a hand. Rama shakes it and dips his head.
When he looks up, Emma fills his view, and he sees the delicate necklace she's wearing—a thin gold chain and four petal flower resting on the high neckline of her dress.
For a moment, it's like meeting her again—ridiculous bows and a necklace of flowers and so much beauty it's hard to breath. Will she ever not take his breath away? He stares long enough that a flush rises in her cheeks. It pulls him from his thoughts, to wave at the table.
"Sit, please."
They do, Seth holding Emma’s chair as she sits down. She leans back, and despite the flower dangling at her throat, she’s reserved, not looking at him.
His heart drops as they arrange themselves, almost ignoring him. Seth leans down and murmurs something in Emma’s ear and she nods slightly.
Anger blossoms. He snaps an order in Thai, and it draws Emma’s gaze. She smirks, the first crack in her reserve.
One of the kitchen staff appears with a bottle of Mekong whiskey, tiny porcelain cups and a boat of sushi and sashimi. He nods his thanks, and Emma frowns. She isn’t used to seeing this brusque side of him, but then, she has only known Rama as a lover.
Seth glances at Emma and she leans forward, pouring three shots of whiskey. Both men watch her, the move so feminine and domestic. As if she has been to a hundred sit-downs, and defused a thousand tempers——like a geisha quietly owning the moment.
This is how, Rama thinks, she is used. As a distraction and something to be underestimated. He makes a soft noise and her blue gaze lifts, almost lazily. There’s danger lurking in her eyes, and his mouth goes dry as she extends the shot.
Then her lips curve into a smile and she says softly, “To the success of our joint venture.”
The scale flips. The formal tension slides into sexual tension. The eye contact weights into flashes of desire, and he swallows thickly. He looks away, at Seth, who makes the tiniest one-sided smirk.
“Chok dee,” Rama says, and they drink.
He watches Emma grimace with a reserved smile. She's used to less abrasive drinks, but here, in his territory, they will do things his way, the Thai way. He thinks momentarily of the girls in his bars at home, passing the whiskey and chattering about the previous night's spoils. Then he shakes himself. There's no place for thoughts like those now.
“So, how are things within your syndicate? This move must be making waves among your people,” Seth says.
Rama's eyebrows lift before he can stop them. Seth never asks about the Ratchaphure's well-being. Rama never considered that the Morgan would give a shit.
He says, “Perhaps. If there are waves, they're waves of excitement. My people have been waiting for a long time to make this step.”
Emma's eyes widen and she glances at him. It's such a subtle hint at Caleb, but it stings none the less. He ignores her attention, picking out a couple pieces of tuna, and a couple from the Dragon Roll—eel, avocado, and cucumber. He continues.
“We're just waiting for the green light from you.”
Seth's loading a few pieces of sashimi, and sampling the Dragon Roll and the Imperial Roll. He waits to reply, dipping a piece in his soy sauce and savoring the flavor. He moves with such ease, and a patience that grates on Rama's nerves. Always, Seth ekes out every bit of drama in every situation, draws out the moment with unerring skill. It's not quite the seduction in which Rama is so practiced, but it falls along the same vein. He takes a sip of water, then finally grants an answer.
“You'll have that green light j
ust as soon as I've discussed the matter with my Cuban colleagues.”
Rama chews his tuna slowly, staring at the king with a careful mask. Seth is not the only one who can manipulate the dynamic among them. Rama had to teach Caleb the same damn thing. He dabs his lips with his cloth napkin, then folds it into his lap—a flaunting show of western etiquette.
He says, “You haven’t spoken to him?”
“For a venture like this, after the regime change, I think it would be best for this meeting to happen in person. A show of respect. And I would like him to meet Emma.”
Emma's head jerks toward Seth, open surprise playing her features. So Seth didn't even tell her. Anger makes a rise in Rama's gut.
He leans forward, that apparent anger flashing in his eyes. “You will take her? She just came home.”
“That isn’t up for discussion,” Seth says sharply.
Rama opens his mouth to say something and Emma stands abruptly. “Excuse me.”
The boys watch her go, watch the frustration manifest in her movements. Of course she'd be mad that Seth blindsided her in a formal setting. Or is the anger for him? It’s so hard to read her these days.
“Taking her is dangerous,” Rama says. “Why is this important? You are a king; why are you asking permission for this?”
“I respect the Cubans. I won’t betray that alliance, just like I wouldn’t betray an alliance with you,” Seth says evenly. This is a king, quietly disapproving.
Rama flushes and Seth leans back, studying his ally. “I know that you love her—she told me about the tattoo. But she isn’t yours to protect.”
The Thai prince sits forward, furious suddenly. “I took bullets for her, Morgan.”
Seth doesn’t react to his anger and it dissipates, slows to fascination as he watches the Morgan king pour two more shots.
“I understand and respect that. I am grateful for that devotion. But Emma is my cousin, my queen. She is a Morgan first and always.” He lifts one of the shots and extends it. His voice hardens, turns frigid. “And I’ll kill anyone who threatens her. Don’t presume that I'd put her in harm's way.”
Rama takes the shot and stares hard at Seth. “Trusting anyone to protect Emma is difficult.”
Seth smiles, and the king is gone, suddenly. “Believe me, friend. I know.”
Rama hesitates, and then, “How do you deal with everything threatening her?”
Seth grins and shrugs. “I try to trust her. If I could, I'd send guards to the bathroom with her. But she's a Morgan—being safe is not in our nature. And she would never tolerate it.”
“She doesn’t listen to you?” Rama asks, eyes widening and tone raising in pitch.
Seth laughs, “No. Why do you think she first went to your club?”
“I went because you needed information,” Emma says tartly. Seth’s gaze lifts to her, and Rama starts to turn.
And the world explodes.
Gunfire fills the air, and the front window shatters into a rain of glass. Seth shouts—her name—and Rama shields his face with his arm.
Guards are yelling, returning fire, and Rama shouts an order. He flips the heavy wood table on its side to shield them. Then he drops down to where Emma is crouched. Her arm is bleeding, her dress splattered with bits of glass and blood. Her eyes are furious.
There’s a lull in the gunfire and then, a mocking voice. “Come out, little Morgan whore!” Seth stands suddenly, his guns drawn.
“No,” Rama shouts, jerking the gun down. Seth wheels on him, his eyes furious as Rama calls an order in Thai.
There’s another spatter of gunfire and Emma jerks hard on Seth’s leg.
“Get down, you idiot,” she snaps.
“What the hell are you doing, Rama?” Seth snarls. His eyes are wild, and it occurs to Rama that he has never seen Seth like this—furious and out of control, driven to protect the person who means the most to him.
“I want them alive,” Rama says softly. “And my men will bring them.” Seth meets his eyes and smiles.
“It’s clear,” Dom yells, and Emma springs to her feet. She’s shaking, and for a moment, Rama wonders if she is hurt more than he believes. But then she curses, and the knot of fear relaxes a little.
“Kai,” he calls. There’s a shuffle and the large Thai guard drags a man into the destroyed restaurant. He’s unconscious but Seth’s eyes narrow.
“He doesn’t work with Oliver—I don’t know who he is. Fuck!”
Rama has heard of the outrageous tantrums Seth is so renowned for, and he wonders if he's about to see one. He waits, quietly, like the good Buddhist he is, but it doesn't come. Instead, Seth stills, and the only evidence of his rage is in his eyes.
“You have a truce with them,” Emma says, her voice shaking. Dom comes up on one side of her, and she takes the wet towel from him absently. She swipes at her arm and hisses.
“I do.” Seth glances at her, and his eyes widen. “What the fuck is that?”
“It grazed me,” she says absently. “If we have a truce, than why the hell did he just order a hit?”
“Emma. Sit down and let Tinney wrap that up—you just got shot for fuck’s sake.” Seth says, exasperation leaking into his tone.
“I will get your answers,” Rama says coldly. “Leave the yet mae to me.”
“Rama,” Emma starts.
“He attacked my territory,” Rama says, looking at Seth, ignoring Emma completely. “And he attacked her while she wore my mark. By rights, he is mine to deal with. I will get the answers you want before I kill him.”
Emma gasps softly but neither of them look at her. Seth stares at Rama for a long moment, and then nods. “We leave for Cuba tomorrow. Deal with this shit,” he says, his tone hard.
Rama gives him a cold smile, and Seth pulls Emma closer. She’s swaying, the ugly gash on her arm trailing blood down her elbow and forearm to drip down her fingers. Tinney appears from nowhere, his hands utterly gentle as he cleans and wraps the wound. She whimpers once, but her face remains blank as he tends to her. Finally the assassin steps back and Seth shifts.
“Emma, let’s go.” He nods once at the Thai prince, standing too still and quiet in the dining room.
Rama inclines his head slightly. Tinney and Dom usher the Morgans to their waiting Bentley, and Rama is left standing in the wreckage of his restaurant, the would-be assassin at his feet.
Chapter 20. Graystone Apartments. New York City. November 15th
Seth Murmurs Something and then lowers his phone, slipping it in a pocket while he stares out the massive window into the darkness. Behind him, Emma is sleeping on her couch, curled into a blanket and pillow. Her arm is bare and free of the blanket, a startling white against her pale skin. A hint of pink is starting to seep through and he stares at that, his hand clenching around his phone in his pocket.
Behind him, the elevator dings and he forces himself to take a deep breath, forces some of the tension from his shoulders as he turns away from Emma to watch Rama approach.
The Asian prince is watching him with cautious eyes. His dark gaze darts past Seth and he stares at Emma for a moment.
The emotion in the younger man's eyes is stunning—all warmth and fury and pride and love. It eases the tight feeling in his chest and at the same time, he wants to smack Rama—any man—for looking at Emma with such a possessive stare.
“What did you need?” Rama asks, dragging his gaze away from her reluctantly.
Seth loosens his grip on the phone and nods at her. “She’s packed and the plane will be here in the morning. Can you stay with her for a few hours? I need to pack and tie up some loose ends before we leave.”
Rama’s eyes widen a little, and Seth makes a small smile, acknowledging the oddity of his request. “I can’t leave her alone, not after last night. And you’ll take care of her.”
There is so much unspoken in those small words. Rama stares at Seth for a long moment, and he can feel the trust in the Morgan king. Even Caleb had not trusted him enough to share
Emma.
Rama doesn’t speak, merely nods, a deep, courtly gesture. “I will stay until you return.”
Seth grips the younger man’s shoulder, a brief gesture of solidarity. Then he gives Emma one more stare and his face closes, locking away the turbulent emotions he’s been fighting since the world erupted in a wash of plate glass.
Then he walks away, and trusts his ally with her.
The elevator swishes softly, a noise that relaxes some of the tension in Rama. He toes off his dress shoes, aware of the blood still on the soles, and pads deeper into the apartment.
She’s still wearing her dress, the green stained by blood dried rusty red. Sleeping, she looks young, impossibly innocent—the same way Caleb did when he finally found rest after nights together. Rama shoves a hand through his hair and breathes a low, Thai curse. There is no room, just now, for ghosts. No room for anything but this princess blinking at him sleepily.
“Rama?” she says, his name wrapped in questions.
“Seth asked me to come.”
She shifts, perking up at her cousin’s name, and it hurts. More than he wants to admit, it hurts. “He left. He’ll be back in the morning.”
Emma nods and shifts, sitting up and stretching. She grimaces, pain creasing her face and Rama moves to her side, sitting and taking her arm. There is still blood, dried on her arm and in the tiny creases of her fingers.
“You should shower,” he says. “And then sleep.”
She stares at him for a long minute, and then stands abruptly and goes to the bar. “Mali,” he says, worry seeping into his tone, but he doesn’t stop her as she pours her drink—scotch on the rocks.
“Caleb would be so pissed I got shot,” she murmurs. “He never did, you know.”
Rama doesn’t answer. He knew—Caleb didn’t carry physical scars from the violent life they lived. Just the ones on his soul that he hid from all but those closest to him.
Emma would know about those. He moves, stepping into her and wrapping his arms around her waist. Her head tilts to the side, and his lips find the soft curve of skin, laying a gentle kiss there as the uneven feeling settles. Here, with her safe in his embrace, the fear recedes. He can breathe and think, and the ghosts loosen their grip, just a little.