“So are you going to tell me where we’re going?” she asks, watching Muddy Creek give way to open highway.
“Nope.”
“Charlie.”
“Wills, patience.” I glance at her, grinning. God, she’s beautiful. And I do slip my hand onto her thigh.
“We’ve noticed,” Beau says dryly from the back.
She twists to look at him, and I catch the way she chews on her bottom lip with her indignation. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means,” Jake says, leaning forward, “that you’re terrible at waiting for surprises. You always have been.”
His chin is practically on her shoulder now, and I see her fight the urge to lean back into him. She’s getting more comfortable with us, with touch, with letting herself want.
“I’m great at waiting,” she protests.
“You opened all your Christmas presents early when you were eight,” I say, the memory surfacing easily.
“How do you even know that?”
“Caleb told me. Said you rewrapped them so perfectly your dad never knew.”
Her face flushes, and I want to kiss every red splotch. But I keep driving.
“That was one time.”
“You also tried to break into the coach’s office to see the roster for the softball team after tryouts,” Jake adds.
“I was being proactive!”
“You got caught and had to run laps for a week,” I remind her.
“Okay, so maybe I’m not great at waiting for surprises,” she admits. “But in my defense, surprises make me anxious.”
“This is a good surprise,” I say quietly. “Promise.”
“Okay,” she says. “I trust you.”
“Good girl,” I murmur. I give her thigh a hard squeeze and bring my hand a little bit higher. Her scent spikes sweeter, more intense.
From the back seat, Jake groans. “Charlie, if you’re going to do that, warn a guy.”
“Do what?” I ask, keeping my voice innocent even as my Alpha purrs at the way Willa’s scent is flooding the cab now. Buttercups and vanilla, thick and sweet and aroused.
“Make her scent spike like that. It’s—” Jake shifts. “Distracting.”
I can see Willa’s face heating in my peripheral vision, and I can smell the embarrassment mixing with her arousal. My hand tightens on her thigh, reassuring.
“Sorry,” she mutters.
“Don’t apologize,” Beau says, his voice dropping into that dangerous Alpha register. “We like it.”
And I don’t miss another swelling of her scent.
We pull off the highway twenty minutes later, heading into Silverwood.
I turn down the side street, and there it is—Sanctuary Premium Nesting Supplies.
