AllFreeNovel
Share Us
We would take care of her in a rusty shed if we needed to. And I doubt any of us would care, once her heat perfume kicked in.
But this is beyond comfortable or sufficient.
This is every bit as perfect as she is.
The theme is clear—sunrise on one side and sunset on the other. She even lined them up from east-to-west—a weak, buttery flare on the eastern wall of the round room, and a bright, orange disk sinking into the western wall’s “horizon.”
I touch one of her cheeks, bending to scent-mark the other. “It’s lovely. Did you hire an artist to do the painting?”
I hate the thought of anyone outside our pack inside this sacred room, but she needs to have everything exactly the way she wants it. She shakes her head, though, and I feel relieved.
Until she says, “I did the paint myself. For Cassian.”
Because sunrise was their thing. She planned the theme of her dream nest based on those mornings they spent together.
If I wasn’t already painfully in love with her, I would be right this moment. With this woman who loved Cass when I couldn’t; and kept him alive for me while I was trying to get our life back on track.
“You really are an angel,” I rasp.
And then I kiss her.
chapter
fifty-one
I can still taste Smith an hour later.
Our kiss didn’t last more than one brief second. A soft brush of his lips. One sure, leisurely glide of his tongue along mine.
While I was still in shock, he led me down to his Range Rover and told me to get comfortable. I found out why when he pulled onto the interstate, heading east.
On our way, he asks me questions.
Not inquiries—things about the house, my plans, the pack. But actual, personal questions that only seem aimed at getting to know me better.
Ignoring the way my lips still tingle, I tell him about meeting Cassian, becoming friends with Meg, and what my job used to look like—before his investment group purchased Proper Coffee.
He asks thoughtful follow-up questions and some that just feel silly—cats or dogs? (Cats are obviously smarter and cleaner). Chocolate or vanilla? (The correct answer is why choose?) Favorite color? (Seasonal.) Food? (He says croissants don’t count and demands I name “an actual meal,” to which I begrudgingly admit I’m a sucker for really good pasta.) Place?
That last one stumps me a bit. I haven’t really had the opportunity to travel much. The only excursions I ever went on were state-funded field trips to various Florida locales.
While I explain, blushing from embarrassment at sounding so uncultured, Smith’s warm palm finds my thigh, squeezing gently. “You would love Paris,” he muses. “All the pastries and flower markets. Versailles. The art. Great shopping, too.” He smiles wryly. “Although Cassian would moan in every store, and Damon would bitch at every museum.”
I look down at his hand, the long fingers slowly stroking my skin. That one touch—this whole evening—feels like a gesture.
I’m not sure when or why it started, but I’ve noticed things like this more and more. Sweetly nuzzling my face before he leaves in the morning, the way he’s tempered his intensity to make his stares less intimidating and more steadying.
He’s really trying.
And I want to try, too.
Swallowing nerves, I try for an even tone. “Maybe… that could be a good trip for just the two of us?”
Smith turns his head, casting me a stunned look that quickly melts into the first true grin I’ve ever witnessed on his handsome face. It’s a beautiful smile—warm and masculine—made even more genuine by the way his eyes crinkle.
“That’s an excellent idea,” he praises. “I’d love to take you shopping there.”
I try for a completely innocent look. “Buy yourself some new pocket squares?”
