30. RAVEN

30

RAVEN

Mayflower: Nine o'clock. My place.

The message from Maddy comes early afternoon, and from then on I have a hard time focusing on anything else.

She is taking charge, and I can't fucking wait to see what she meant last night. If that were a date, I would've brought flowers or a bottle of wine. But I am not a fool. We are not dating. And I don't want to look stupid by even attempting to play this game.

I'm wary and not quite sure what this evening is about when I change into a fresh black T-shirt and jeans and study myself in the mirror.

Five minutes to nine, I pull up at her house and park my bike, getting tense with every step up the stone path toward her door.

For a second, I'm startled by a shadow on her porch.

It's Ali.

Fuck. It completely slipped my mind, despite the fact that Nilanski called me this morning when he took over the day shift.

"We installed the motion sensors here and around the house," Ali reports in his monotonous voice. "They are connected both to Nilanski and my phones. I didn't want to leave, as she didn't let me know if she was going out tonight or not."

"She is not. If she does, I'll be with her," I say. "You are off for the night."

He nods and walks away, and I can't help thinking that this guy who has a special relationship with prayers now knows more about me and Maddy than any other guy on this island.

I listen to his footsteps disappear and feel the tension curl inside me when I knock on Maddy's door.

I wasn't prepared for this. None of the dozen scenarios that I turned over in my head before coming here imagined this, the girl opening the door for me.

For a minute, there's a glitch in my brain's matrix as I stare not at Maddy but at Milena Tsariuk, the spitting image of her from the videos and social media pictures, sans the blonde hair.

Tonight, Milena Tsariuk is at Ayana for the first time in two years, being her gorgeous self.

I study her black, sparkly minidress, loosely hanging on the tiny straps off her shoulders and a hemline so short that if she bent even an inch, I would see her panties. Her long legs end with impossibly high heels with little bowties. Her hair is ironed to perfection, the slick brown curtain of it framing her meticulously made-up face. Smoky eyes, thick black eyelashes, lip gloss.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Her hand is on the door as she takes a graceful step back and puts her weight on one leg, smiling.

Even her voice is different when she says, "Come in." It's husky and sexy, and as I take a step inside, I know I'm stepping into a parallel reality.

Sure enough, the lights are dimmed. Electronic candles flicker all around the room, and a neon party light softly glows. Sexy house music is playing, making her studio feel like a private club lounge.

The room smells like alcohol and food being cooked in the oven and expensive perfume.

Not a date , I remind myself, but everything about this feels and smells like it.

Her heels click against the tile floor as she slowly turns around before me, modeling, her pretty eyes smiling. "You wanted to see Milena Tsariuk? You are the first one on this island."

She turns and strides toward the coffee table, bends her knees, gracefully picks up the remote, and takes the music down a notch.

No, I can't see her panties, but the hemline rides so high that the sight of her bare tanned thighs makes my body burn with anticipation.

Maddy is magnetic, so incredibly sexy, so not like… her. I don't know how I feel about it. Not sure if she is being herself or putting up a show trying to please me with that sex-bombshell look.

"Would you like a drink?" she offers softly like some sort of escort girl.

Maybe I just haven't had girls like this around me. Sure, there was Angelica, wealthy and spoiled, but way looser and more informal when we went out.

Maddy has this sophisticated polished look.

"Sure," I say, watching as she saunters toward the kitchen island, her hips swinging, her legs bare and impossibly long, her posture straight and confident. That well-practiced elegance is something you can't teach in a day.

"Whiskey?" she asks.

So, she knows what I drink. I never told her. But sure enough, she pulls out a bottle of my favorite, special reserve. They don't keep it in Ayana bars, I have to order it from the mainland. She has a bottle, and I have a feeling it's not a coincidence.

"Neat?" she asks, her eyes flicking from the bottle up to meet mine.

"Yes," I say. But she already knows that.

She picks up a half-full martini glass and my drink and sashays toward me.

"You started without me?" I joke without a smile.

She smiles though, that calculated movement of her lips, not too eager but sexy-like, as she passes me the drink. Even her fingernails are painted a pretty deep coral.

"On the mainland, Milena would've had several by now. Pregaming was her favorite thing. Cheers!"

She gracefully brings her martini glass to mine, long enough for a tiny clink, and takes a sip. Even her sipping a cocktail is fucking sexy, and God help me if she has more of that sass ready for me tonight.

She drinks her martini way too fast, then brings the chair, elegantly dragging it by its back to the center of the room, like she's about to perform. I watch her over the rim of my glass as I take sips and sips of whiskey.

"Sit," she orders in that soft but authoritative voice.

All right.

I obey, and then she takes the glass out of my hand, empty, though I don't remember when I drank it all, and makes us another round of drinks. When she walks back and passes me my drink, I hold my breath when the sexy minx nudges her legs between my knees and takes a seat on my lap, swinging her leg across her other thigh and mine. She sets her hand on my shoulder. With a cocky smile, she takes a sip of her drink and studies my face.

"So, Raven, tell me something about yourself."

Touché. She is playing my game, saying my lines, mimicking my moves.

We start talking about nothing. Just short phrases, flirty questions. Sip-sip. It's one more drink, then another. She notices my glances at her drink when she gets off my lap to make another round and chuckles.

"Trust me, Raven, I am not getting drunk." She expertly shakes the vodka and ice in a tumbler like she's done it a hundred times before, and she probably has. " Milena could drink those all night and always have perfect judgment. I've been out of the game for a while. I forgot what it feels like, but I like it."

She flicks her eyes at me from the kitchen, smiles, walks back, never breaking our eye contact. When she perches herself on my lap, I know that I can spend the entire night like this, with her sweet ass on my thigh, her perfume tickling my nostrils, my hand resting on the small of her back as my thumb gently strokes her.

This definitely feels like a date, but I keep the reminder in check—Maddy is a player, just like me.

After this drink, she gets up and sets our glasses on the counter, then turns up the music and stands several feet in front of me.

Her hips start moving, her weight shifting from one leg to another. Her head follows, slowly swaying to the music rhythm.

"Do you dance?" she asks softly.

"No."

She smiles. " I do. I looove dancing."

She is dancing, and she's dancing for me . I can't get enough of the sight. That slick, long hair, makeup, and the sparkles on her dress make it all look like some fantasy.

I don't know what happened between yesterday and today, but sweet Maddy is gone. And now I have Milena Tsariuk doing a private dance for me.