She moves closer, her warmth calling to my scales like sunlight. “You can tell he really loved his wife. The way he documents everything, it’s like he wanted to prove to the world that their love should be accepted.”
“Yes. It was good work that he did. That’s why we must take care with our appraisal.”
For the next several hours, I focus on the meticulous work of appraising Marcus’s collection. Each piece requires careful consideration—not just of its magical properties, but of its historical significance and current market value.
Aubrey proves invaluable, her organizational skills helping me track the subtle details that affect pricing: age, condition, provenance, and most importantly, the strength of any remaining enchantments.
As the afternoon light shifts to evening, we start setting aside certain items as “priority lots” for the eventual estate sale. It’s when Aubrey lets slip a little yawn that I check my pocket watch. The hour is later than I realized. “We should finish for today. The rest can wait.”
Aubrey nods, then stretches in a way that emphasizes her beautiful curves. “What time is it? I lost track somewhere between the enchanted combs and that fascinating set of love letters.”
“Nearly eight.” I begin gathering our documentation, purposefully not watching how she arches her back to work out the stiffness of sitting too long. “You’ve been tremendously helpful today.”
She gives me a tired smile that somehow outshines all the magical artifacts surrounding us. “Thanks for trusting me with this. I know it’s important work.”
“You’ve more than proven yourself capable.” The words come out softer than intended, weighted with meanings beyond simple professional approval.
Her tired smile shifts into something warmer as she catches my tone. “Have I?” she asks, and the way she looks up at me through her lashes makes my tail curl tight. “Proven myself?”
She looks so innocent, yet I must wonder if she knows exactly what she does to me. The scent of her—now mixed with traces of old magic from handling artifacts all day—calls to a primitive instinct.
“In ways I never expected,” I admit, watching as she gathers her notes with slightly trembling hands. “Though perhaps we should head back to the shop. It’s a long drive.”
She nods, stifling another yawn. “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.”
As we lock up the study and bid farewell to Gloria Blackhorn, I’m aware of Aubrey’s every movement—how she walks closer tome than strictly necessary, the way her hand brushes against my scales as we navigate the darkened hallways.
The drive back is quiet and intimate. Aubrey hums softly to the playlist to keep herself alert, and I’m mesmerized by how the passing streetlights paint patterns across her skin.
When we finally pull into a parking spot behind my shop, she turns off the engine and slumps against the steering wheel with a groan. “I know my apartment isn’t that far away, but God, it feels like a long walk right at this moment.”
“You could…” I hesitate, then continue carefully, “My bed is considerably closer.”
Aubrey’s breath catches, and the scent of her arousal hits me like a physical force. My tongue flicks out instinctively to taste it, and her eyes track the motion with obvious heat.
“Your bed?” She straightens slowly, her heartbeat quickening in a way my heightened senses can’t help but notice. “I thought you were joking, but… you never joke.”
“No,” I say softly, watching how the streetlight catches the flush spreading across her cheeks. “I never joke.”
A moment passes between us. Then she laughs—a small, breathless sound that makes my entire body tighten with want. “Well, in that case… It would be pretty foolish to walk all the way home when there’s a perfectly good bed right here. Above us.Your bed. Which is…” She stops, pressing her lips together. “I’m rambling, aren’t I?”
“Yes.” I allow fondness to color my tone. “Though I find it rather charming.”
Her pulse spikes at that, and the confined space of her car makes my more primitive instincts surface—the urge to wrap around her completely, to taste every inch of skin, to…
“Sundar?” Her voice has gone slightly husky. “Are we really doing this?”
I speak carefully. “Only if you want to. The offer was genuine, but there’s no pressure to—”
“I want to.” The words come out in a rush, then she adds more softly, “I really want to.”
Her words send a wave of possessive heat through me. My control, already fragile after a day spent surrounded by her scent, finally snaps, and I lean in, our faces inches apart.
“Then come upstairs,” I say, my voice dropping to a growl. “Let me show you exactly what being mine means.”
The scent of her desire is immediate and intoxicating. She manages a shaky nod, and I have to force myself to keep my tail away long enough for us to exit the car. But the moment we’re both outside, my tail finds her, coiling possessively around hercurves as I guide her toward the shop’s back entrance, and up to my apartment.
Chapter 11
