Page 341 of A Vicious Love

His tone shifted. “Understood.”

“Good.” I ended the call and set the phone aside.

The morning stretched around us. Somewhere far off, bells rang from the estate, probably announcing food, or another coded ritual I would be expected to endure later. House Alder remained quiet. Ours.

For now.

I liked that too much.

Dangerous, this private domesticity The knowledge that no one in Harlan needed me in this exact second more than she did. Or maybe I needed her and was too proud to phrase it honestly.

Her fingers traced shapes over my chest.

She smiled, then yawned.

I touched her chin, tilting her face up. “You’re sore, tired, and staying in this bed until I’m satisfied you can walk without making me homicidal.” I cupped the back of her head and brought her mouth to mine. The kiss stayed gentle. I made sure of it. Last night had rewritten us in ways neither of us fully understood yet, and her body needed care more than hunger. But she still melted into me, and that made gentleness harder than it should have been.

When she shifted her hips, I caught her waist. “Careful.”

Her eyes lowered. “I forgot.”

“No, you tested.”

Her mouth twitched.

“Brat.”

“Maybe.”

I stared at her.

She blinked up at me, a picture of false innocence.

“You’re becoming a problem.”

“I thought you liked problems.”

“I solve problems.”

“And me?”

I brushed a thumb over her lower lip. “I keep you.”

I kissed her before the emotion could overwhelm either of us.

A knock came downstairs twenty minutes later. Two soft taps. Staff, not family. Reeves had clearly threatened the universe into obedience.

I made Sienna stay in bed while I pulled on trousers and went down to receive the tray. The girl delivering it kept her gaze on the floor with the terror of someone who had been informed that upper-level eye movement could result in exile. Excellent.

The tray was excessive.

Coffee. Tea. Fruit. Eggs. Toast. Pastries. Butter curls arranged with insulting skill. Jars of jam, each labeled by aunt, which meant Reeves had failed to prevent ideology from entering the cottage.

I carried it upstairs. Sienna had pulled the sheet to her chest and sat against the pillows, looking so thoroughly fucked.

“You look happy,” she said.

“I had an excellent night.”