She laughed against my mouth. “Vince?—”
“Later,” I muttered, and kissed her like a lovesick teenager who’d finally cornered his crush behind the gym.
Primal wasn’t even the word. Whatever lived under my skin when it came to her was older than Crow codex. Viking, wolf, something feral that believed in imprinting and raids andyou’re minesaid once and never revoked.
She squeezed her legs a little tighter around my waist, like she’d decided I wasn’t putting her down yet. Correct.
I stepped backward out of the lift, kicked the door panel.
She tipped her head back to look at me properly. “You’re doing your brooding thing.”
“I’m doing my what-is-Atticus-Depout’s-spleen-worth thing.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “You focused on the jet.”
“You were on a plane with four uncles, him, and a security team that doesn’t work for me. And that my morning picture got sacrificed to modesty.”
She laughed, that soft, delighted sound I’d been replaying in my head for days. “I told you I’d make it up to you. I couldn’t exactly text you my panties while Atticus was arguing about runway slots in the seat next to me.”
I grunted, halfway between grudging understanding and still-offended. She leaned in, kissed the corner of my mouth.
“You’ll survive,” she murmured. “Besides… you get the live reveal tonight. That beats a picture.”
That soothed the feral part of my brain. My girl. My sub. My sweet little exhibitionist who would let Veil see the dress but saved the real show for Daddy.
She nestled against me as I crossed the room, arms looped around my neck. I caught a flash of her heels.
“New shoes?”
Her head snapped up, eyes lighting. “You noticed.”
Of course I fucking noticed. I noticed everything on my girl.
“Hard to miss when you’ve got knives on your feet.”
“They’re not knives,” she protested as I lowered her onto the couch. “They’re art.”
She yanked the hem of her skirt up to display them properly, like she’d been waiting all day for this. Deep wine-red heels, shine like they’d never touched pavement, slim ankle straps, obnoxiously high.
“They’re Harrington. Limited drop. Only five pairs in this colour on the whole continent.”
She pointed at the little knot at the back. “And look. Bow.”
A tiny bow sat where the strap met the heel, same shade as the leather, ridiculous and perfect.
“I found a hair ribbon in almost the exact colour,” she let out a deep dreamy sigh, “So obviously I had to buy both or the universe would implode.”
“Obviously,” I said dryly.
She ignored my tone. “You should have seen the saleswoman’s face when I walked in with three Thorne uncles. She didn’t know whether to faint or commission a plaque.”
“What did she do?”
“Brought champagne. Anyway, they only had one pair in my size. One. Some other woman was holding them, but she said she just wanted a picture for Veil, so I—” She broke off. “You don’t want to hear this.”
“I do,” my thumb stroked over her ankle. “Tell me how you outmanoeuvred a stranger for shoes you don’t need.”
“I always need shoes. Fine. I told her the lighting in that section was awful and there was a better mirror by the front. Then I walked off with the box while she was checking her angles.”
