Oh, shit.

Kes stood up, his body tensing against his brother’s wrath. “I could say the same thing about you the other night.”

My eyes whipped between the two men. How much did Kes know?

Jethro's eyes flashed, looking over Kes’s shoulder directly into mine.

I saw a question and an answer.

Did you fucking tell him?

Because I didn’t.

My heart bucked against my ribcage. Subtly, I shook my head, giving him my oath that our secret was still safe.

Jethro relaxed just a little. His gaze landed back on his brother—the man he now saw as a rival.

“You can’t monopolise her all the time, Jet.” Kes spoke quietly, keeping his temper in check. I didn’t want to come between family, even if it was the worst family on earth who meant to exterminate mine.

Jethro balled his hands. “You’re forgetting I’m the firstborn son. She’s mine until I tire of her. Only then can she be chased. But until then…” He prowled forward, closing the distance. “She’s fucking off limits. Got it?”

Kes stood taller, his arms locked by his sides. He didn’t look like he would back down. Seconds ticked past, the late summer sky filling with throbbing testosterone.

I waited for the kindling of a fight to erupt, but Kes rolled his shoulders admitting defeat. “Fine. But I’m not waiting until you tire. Fair’s fair, brother. I’ll catch you around.” Prowling away, he turned to wave goodbye. “See you soon, Nila. Remember, my quarters are always open to you.”

The moment he’d disappeared, Jethro rounded on me.

I huddled on my lounger, wishing he wasn’t towering above and blotting out the sunshine like the devil incarnate.

If he wanted to berate me for what happened the other night, then so be it, but I wouldn’t take his temper without drawing blood of my own.

But just like Kes had shed his animosity, Jethro managed the same.

His face settled from rage into normalcy. Bowing, he held out his hand. “Come. There’s something I’ve been meaning to show you.”

My jaw dropped to the floor.

I’d never seen anything so spectacular and perfect and inviting in my entire life.

Is this real? Or am I in a dream?

“What—what is this place?”

Is this what Kestrel meant when he said Jethro had something to show me?

Jethro placed his hand on the small of my back, pushing me forward. The double doors behind him closed. Leaning against them, he never took his eyes from my wonder-filled face.

“It’s yours. Your quarters. Your real quarters.”

“I—I don’t understand.”

He chuckled softly. “The buzzard room was a stupid idea I had to keep you in line. I’ve grown up a little since then.”

I had so much to ask, but all I could do was drift forward in awe.

The room was huge, completely open plan with arched walkways leading to a sitting room, dressing room, bathroom complete with huge shower and claw-foot bathtub, and a bedroom that looked straight from a Persian souk. Acres of divine beaded material hung in heavy swathes from the teak four-poster bed.

But it was the room we stood in that fascinated me.

It was better than any haberdashery I’d been in.

Far exceeding any priceless material market I’d travelled to with my father and brother on expeditions to find exclusive textiles.

The walls were decorated with floor-to-ceiling racks. Bolts and bolts of every colour fabric imaginable hung enticing and new. Ribbon spools, lace sheaves, threads of every style and width rested on huge tables groaning with scissors, needles, chalk pens, and tape measures.

In the centre of the room stood three sizable busts, two full-size models to design the perfect dress on, and a skylight above, which drenched the space in natural light.

Comfy couches, love-seats, and velour stylish chairs were scattered beside bookcases full of histories of fashion; there was even a fish tank in the corner with tropical fish glowing in pristine turquoise water.

My fingers ached to touch everything at once.

Then my eyes dropped to the carpet.

Deep emerald richness glowed with elegance and the repeating design of W.

“This is the Weaver quarters. They’re only shown and offered when the current Weaver fully understands her place.”

I couldn’t stop my smirk, turning to stare at him. “I haven’t learned my place.”

His face remained locked of emotion. “No, you haven’t. And my father won’t be happy that I’m giving you this so soon, but…things changed.”

My heart sprung into an irregular beat, waiting for him to continue.

But he didn’t.

Moving through the room, he stood out in his black shirt and grey slacks like a spot of ink or a stain on such pretty fabric. He didn’t belong.

I followed him. Finally seeing what I should’ve seen all along.

He doesn’t belong in these rooms.

He doesn’t belong in this house.

He doesn’t belong with this family.

Everything I knew about Jethro was wrong. And despite his task and our fates that were horribly entwined and shadowed with death, I wanted to know him.

Following him through the space, I slammed to a stop as he spun to face me.

His face twisted. “I don’t want to talk. I don’t want to discuss what’s happening or even try to fucking understand it.”

My stomach flipped over at the lust glowing in his gaze. “Okay…”

Closing the distance between us in one large stride, he captured my cheeks, holding me firm. “I want to fuck you again. So fucking much.”

I couldn’t breathe.

“You’re asking my permission?” I whispered.

His face contorted. “No, I’m not asking for your damn permission.”

“Then…just do it.”

The air solidified and for a second, I thought he’d throw me away and storm off.

But then his fingers dug into my cheeks and his mouth crashed against mine.

WHAT THE FUCK am I doing?

I’d spent the past week working for my father, having sessions with my sister, and running the latest diamond shipment—not to mention the frantic hour I’d had after fucking her and sneaking into the security room to destroy the camera footage.

I was playing with fucking fire. And instead of getting burned and becoming a puddle of melted ice water, I was stronger, better, firmer in my convictions than I’d been in…well, forever.