Page 50 of Pistols & Peonies

Frazier blinks, recovers, and tips his head. “Understood. Anything else, Commander?”

“No. Dismissed.”

He slips out as silently as he arrived, the door closing behind him with a soft click of the latch.

I try to go back to the reports waiting on my screen, but the text swims in front of my eyes, my mate still on my mind. The thought of her settles under my skin like an itch I can’t scratch– the more I try to ignore it, the more insistent it becomes.

Another knock sounds at my door barely two minutes later, irritation flaring hot.

“Did you forget something?” I snap as the door creaks open, not even bothering to look up.

There’s no answer.

I lift my gaze, and all the air is punched from my lungs in a single, brutal rush, like I’ve taken a hit I never saw coming.

Because it isn’t Frazier standing in my doorway.

It’s Violet.

For a split second, all I can do is stare. She’s a goddamn vision– dark hair spilling loose down her back, blue eyes bright and wild. She’s wearing a little pair of denim shorts and a tiny black tank top, every inch of bare skin a dangerous reminder of how easily control slipped through my fingers before. How easily it could again. And still, one look is all it takes to demolish whatever defenses I had left, my mouth going dry as she steps inside.

Violet knocks the door shut with a hip and leans back against it, folding her arms and lifting her chin in challenge. “We need to talk.”

I clear my throat and shift in my chair. The sound of her voice immediately dredges up the memory of how she sounded coming apart in my arms, thighs tightening around my hips, nails digging into my back. I lock it down fast, forcing the image out of my head as quickly as it entered.

“You know how a door works, mate?” I grumble, schooling my expression into one of detached neutrality. “It’s polite to wait for an answer before barging in.”

She flashes a smile so sweet it’s almost convincing. “I’m not here for etiquette lessons, Commander. I’m here because you ghosted me for two days and I’m not getting any sleep.”

I lift a brow. “And that’s my problem because…?”

Her head tilts, eyes gleaming with something sharp and knowing. “Because you’re not sleeping either.” Her gaze flicks over me, quick and assessing. “You look like shit. How long do you really think you can keep this up?”

Fair point.

I grit my teeth and drum my fingers against the desk, irritation and something more ferocious coiling together in my chest. “So,” I say, voice flat. “What do you suggest, then?”

She pushes off from the door and stalks toward me, dropping into the chair opposite mine like she owns it. “We need to come up with some sort of arrangement,” she quips. “The lake house exile isn’t working for me.”

I scrub a hand down my face. “I prefer the lake. The quiet helps me focus.”

“How’s that going since the Pairing?” she snorts.

I cut her a glare, hands curling into fists atop my thighs. Apparently, sleep deprivation hasn’t dulled that sharp tongue of hers in the slightest.

“Listen,” she sighs, unapologetic. “I don’t give a shit where we sleep, but it needs to be in the same place. Or my wolf’s going to chew a hole straight through my damn skull.”

I frown at her, but I can’t argue with that. I feel it in my bones– the constant gnaw of need that’s only intensified since the last time we touched. My wolf is just as restless as hers, endlessly raging against my restraint, refusing to settle unless she’s near.

I square my shoulders, heaving a long-suffering sigh. “Fine. I’ll stay here tonight.”

She narrows her eyes, clearly expecting a catch. “That easy, huh?”

I shrug. “Just a minor adjustment to my schedule.”

She leans forward, elbows braced on her knees, gaze sharpening. “What are you hiding out there at the lake, anyway?”

“Could ask you the same,” I reply coolly. “You gonna tell me which club you work at, or do I have to find out myself?”