Page 10 of Relentless Touch

“Couch.” Rio tossed the tissues in the waste basket.

“Bossy even post-orgasm, pussycat.” But his mate pushed off the desk and let Rio guide him to the leather couch. They collapsed onto it, Kevin immediately curling into Rio’s side like he belonged there. Like they’d done this a hundred times instead of once.

Rio’s arm came around him, fingers tracing absent-minded patterns on his mate’s shoulder. His snow leopard softly purred.

“Stop staring at my face,” Kevin said without opening his eyes. “It’s giving me a complex.”

“I’m not staring.” He was totally staring.

“You’re doing something eyeball-y in its general direction.” Kevin’s hand spread across Rio’s stomach, fingers splaying wide. “I can feel it even through my eyelids.”

Rio’s other hand came up, thumb ghosting soft skin, thinking of the trouble his mate was in. His snow leopard wanted to hunt the bastard down and gut him. Make them understand that Kevin was off-limits.

Chapter Three

Rio’s truck had heated seats, which Kevin discovered forty seconds into the drive. He chose to focus on them rather than whatever Rio was doing with his face over there.

Kevin looked out the window.

“Good night at the restaurant,” Rio said. “Before the wildlife showed up.”

“Glad I could provide the evening’s entertainment.” Kevin watched the dark tree line blur past. “Very cost-effective floor show.”

A pause. Rio tried again. “You sleep okay on that couch? It’s not the most—”

“Slept great.” Kevin turned up the collar of the jacket Rio had lent him. “That leather is top-tier. Very ergonomic.”

Rio didn’t force a conversation to fill the sudden quietness, which Kevin appreciated. The truck moved through Crimson Hollow’s main street, past darkened storefronts and traffic lights blinking yellow. Kevin focused on the scenery like it was genuinely fascinating.

He wasn’t trying to be a dick. He was just being practical.

Yet, the night in the office had been…

Stop being delusional. Mate or not, he’s gonna walk away like your mom did when the crazy starts piling up.

Rio turned off the main road, climbing a side street that wound into the mountain’s lower slope. The truck’s headlights swept over pine trees and a gravel drive before landing on a house that Kevin had not been expecting.

He’d built up something in his head. Bachelor pad. Minimalist. Clean lines and no throw pillows.

This was not that.

The house sat low and wide against the hillside, the kind of structure that looked like it had grown there rather than been built. Warm wood siding, a covered porch with actual chairs on it—not lawn furniture, real chairs, with cushions—and a light on inside that threw a soft amber square across the boards of the porch.

“You have a porch,” Kevin said.

Rio pulled the truck to a stop. “I do.”

“With chairs on it.”

“That’s generally where chairs go.”

Kevin got out before Rio could come around to his side, which would’ve been the kind of thing that made his impala do something embarrassing. The night air hit cold and clean, smelling like pine and the faint sweetness of wood smoke. Somewhere above them, the mountain went on for a long time.

Inside, bookshelves ran along one wall, filled with actual books, not just for decoration. A stone fireplace had been laid with a low stack of wood. The rug on the hardwood floor had been there long enough to develop good color. The kitchen opened off the main room, separated by a broad island. Whoever had designed it understood that the window above the sink should face the mountain.

Kevin stood in the doorway and took it in.

“Sit,” Rio said, already moving toward the kitchen.