Dragon Bound (Elder Races #1)(68)

The bathroom door opened and the scent of Chanel wafted across the room. The men fell silent. Pia walked out wearing her short pink robe. She entered the dressing room and shut the door.

Dragos scowled. “Get a personal shopper for Pia. Make sure a longer robe is on the list.”

“Right.” Graydon looked like he was being tortured.

“Are the contractors done repairing the other bedroom?”

“Almost,” Rune said. “There was some structural damage when you, uh, punched the wall. They’re working hard to be as quiet as possible. Since it’s on the other side of the building, the noise shouldn’t be too bad. They already know they may have to stop at times, and they’re prepared to work around your schedule if necessary.”

He looked out the windows and rubbed his chin. “When they’re through, have them put up a balcony wall. Tell them to go halfway around the building and put gated fences on each end. That’ll still leave plenty of open ledge.”

Pia emerged wearing low-rider jeans and a tight blue long-sleeved jersey shirt that bared her midriff. She carried a cloth zippered bag under one arm. She paused, looking from the three men to the food cart and the unmade bed, her expression uncertain. She looked much calmer.

Dragos unfolded from the couch and walked toward the cart. “Come eat your breakfast with us,” he said. He put his empty plate on the cart and retrieved her bowl of oatmeal and a spoon. “Would you like some coffee?”

She nodded, trailing behind him to the couches. Graydon started to his feet.

Dragos put her oatmeal and spoon on an end table by the couch where he was sitting. “I’ll get you a cup,” he told her. Graydon paused halfway out of his seat.

She gave Dragos a wary scowl. “Are you sucking up?”

“Of course.” He bent to give her a swift kiss. Dusky color touched her cheeks. He touched one high, delicate cheekbone.

She glanced sidelong at the two other men. They were dressed in jeans and T-shirts. Leather jackets were thrown over the back of the couch, and each man wore a shoulder holster and gun. She suspected they both had several other hidden weapons.

Graydon looked like he was watching a train wreck. Rune sprawled, long legs stretched out, his expression unreadable. She curled up at one end of the couch, thanked Dragos for the coffee as he set it beside her and concentrated on keeping her head down and eating her breakfast while the men talked. She was so hungry again she almost inhaled the apple walnut oatmeal.

She pulled out of her bag a bottle of nail polish remover, cotton balls and a bottle of Dusky Rose nail polish. She cleaned the chipped red polish off, tucked cotton balls between her slender toes and began to paint her toenails.

From what Dragos had described, Cuelebre Tower was a small city. Just from listening to the men, she got the merest glimpse of how vast and complex Cuelebre Enterprises was. It was quite the global corporation.

There was a pause in the conversation. She looked up. Dragos had angled himself toward her, one long leg hooked up on the couch cushions, an arm draped across the back. His head was tilted as he watched her work. She glanced at the other two men. Still not a whole lot of friendly coming from that quarter. She looked down at her half-painted toes and her cheeks burned.

“I’ll go into the bathroom,” she said.

“No,” Dragos said. “You are to be comfortable here.”

She sighed and muttered, “You just can’t dictate things like that happening, big guy.”

“I can dictate anything I want,” he told her.

She rolled her eyes. She decided to try to ignore the other two men and went back to painting her nails. She finished one foot and started on the other.

“Anything else?” Dragos asked the gryphons.

“One last thing,” Rune said. “The Elven High Lord is demanding a teleconference and proof of Pia’s well-being. She’s become somewhat of a problem.” The gryphon’s tawny, expressionless gaze flicked to her; then he looked away.

Sudden anger burned. “I am not a problem,” she announced. She finished painting her little toe. “I am a ‘tactical consideration.’ ”

Dragos dropped his hand to her shoulder. He squeezed her. She glanced sideways at him. He smiled at her. He said to Rune, “The Elven High Lord can go f**k himself. You can quote me.”

“Ms. Giovanni,” Rune said. “Forgive me. I did not mean to imply that you are a problem. I meant to imply that the Elves are turning the subject of you into a problem.”

Chin resting on upraised knee, she looked at the gryphon. The apology seemed too easily offered, his handsome face too smooth.

I don’t think you meant that, slick. She looked at him hard and made sure he saw it.

But now was not the time to pick another confrontation. Instead, she said, “If they’re turning the subject of me into a problem, why don’t we just make it go away?” She turned to Dragos. “You could have the teleconference and let me be there.”

His white teeth showed a little too much as he enunciated, “I have no intention of pandering to that son of a bitch’s demands.”

She set aside the nail polish and put her hand over his. “Is this important?” she said to him. He looked at her from under the dark slash of his brows, gold eyes obdurate. She rubbed her thumb over the back of his hand. “Wouldn’t it be better if the Elves would just shut up and go away? Hey, what if they stopped throwing a fit at you walking across their backyard. It’s not like you ate their tulips or dug holes in their lawn. You didn’t piss on any trees when I wasn’t looking, did you?”