Page 149 of Pack Baby for the Silver Foxes

“It isn’t weird.”

“You said that in your weird voice.”

I kissed her hair. “Coffee, and then a walk?”

“And you can...” She went quiet.

I waited.

“Show me the pack room,” she said. “If you want.”

Hudson closed his eyes.

I pressed my mouth to her temple. “Love, we would want that very much.”

“Good.”

“You’re sure?”

She sighed. “Lincoln, I’ve had two orgasms, a lecture on emotional replacement, and a conversation with my unborn children about gender politics. I’m as sure as anyone can be under these conditions.”

Hudson laughed softly.

I held her tighter.

Chapter 25

Mary

Presley lived in Kensington, in a house that made me briefly reconsider every opinion I’d ever had about old money. It wasn’t vulgar, which would have been easier.

Vulgar wealth could be judged from a comfortable distance. Presley’s house was worse. It was beautiful in that effortless London way, all pale stone, black railings, tall windows, and a front door polished to the shine of a man who had never once worried about rent.

Sienna stepped out of the car first and scanned the street.

I waited because I’d learned, under protest, to let my bodyguard do her job.

“Clear,” Sienna said.

I climbed out.

“Does clear actually mean clear or security-person clear, where there may still be seven hidden dangers and you simply enjoy suspense?”

“Actually clear.”

“Disappointing. I had a joke ready.”

“You can save it.” Sienna bit down on a smile as she followed me up the steps.

The door opened before I reached the bell.

Presley stood there in jeans, a loose cream sweater, and fluffy socks, her hair piled on top of her head in a knot that looked accidental and somehow perfect. She was pretty in a warm, chaotic way.

“Mary,” she said, as if we were old friends. “Come in before Kensington notices.”

“Does Kensington object to omegas?”

“Not omegas, loitering, and anything that may reduce property values.”