Page 76 of The Rust in Her Hair

Sometime in the last few weeks his scent has become the smell of safe to me, and now every breath of it loosens something at the base of my spine.

"You don't have to do that," he says, glancing over his shoulder. "You're the guest."

"I've been here for a while now,” I point out. "At some point, the guest becomes a mooch if they don’t help out." I set the plates beside him, then lean against the counter across from him. "Plus, carrying plates and then watching you do all the real work is well within my skill set."

He huffs a laugh, then grabs the plates.

We fall into our evening routine—him scraping plates into the trash and stacking them in the racks, me dragging the towel over counters that are already clean.

I wipe the same stretch of yellow laminate twice, then a third time, because the truth is nothing back here needs me. But standing in this warm little kitchen with Adrian, close enough to catch his scent every time he moves, feels too good to miss.

Adrian tells me about a job site, a beam that came in two inches short and how Nico nearly had a stroke over it, and I laugh. He glances over at the sound, watching me laugh with a look that makes my stomach flip, and a plate almost slips out of his hand before he catches it against the edge of the sink.

"I love that sound,” he says it to the dish in his hands. “Your laugh." He looks at me with those deep bluish-green eyes. "It's a really good laugh."

Heat climbs up my neck, but I’m feeling especially brave today. "Well, I love hearing you actually talk," I say, teasing him. "So I guess we're even."

Adrian sets the plate in the rack and turns to face me, one eyebrow going up. "I talk."

"Now you do." I fold the towel over my hands. "The first few weeks I was here, I don't think you said more than two words to me. I was starting to think you'd taken some kind of vow of silence."

Color creeps into the alpha’s face, bright red across those sharp cheekbones, and he drops his eyes to the counter between us.

"Yeah, well." The tips of his ears go pink. "I get kind of flustered around pretty girls."

My heart stutters, then takes off. Warmth floods into my cheeks as the big alpha moves, closing the small space between us

This close, I can see the pale scar through one eyebrow and the way his blue-gray eyes have gone dark, and his gaze drops to my mouth and stays there.

The kitchen goes very quiet.

I should step back. He isn't mine to want. He belongs to three men who have been nothing but kind to me, three people laughing in the next room. I should be respectful and back away.

But I don’t care anymore.

I want to belong to them, so bad I can taste it.

"Lyra." Adrian lifts his hand slowly, giving me every chance to turn away, then he cups the side of my face. His thumb drags across my bottom lip, tracing the shape of it, and my breath goes thin. His eyes come up to mine, and there's a question in them, raw and scared and wanting.

Then he leans in and presses his mouth to mine.

Every inch of me tingles.

I've never truly been kissed before, and it’s better than anything I’ve ever imagined.

Adrian's lips are soft and warm and careful against mine, and the whole world narrows down to that single point of contact, to the pine and clean-rain scent of him and the quiet feel of his mouth.

My eyes fall shut as my fingers tighten in his shirt.

A small sound catches in my throat, and it undoes something in the alpha.

His hand slides into my hair, cupping the base of my skull, and he tilts my head just so, angling me the way he wants me. The kiss deepens. His mouth moves over mine slow and certain, coaxing my lips apart, and I go pliant against him, dizzy and warm and wanting more of something I don't even have a name for yet.

Then Owen laughs in the other room.

It's nothing, just Owen's bright, easy laugh at something Nico said. But it's enough to make Adrian go still. His hands freeze on the side of my face, and I feel the wanting drain out of him.

His hand falls away from my cheek as he pulls back.