Maybe it was the food.
Maybe it was myfriend.
Maybe it was the way he’d finally made me understand.
Maybe it was the beginning of an idea I realized was tickling the back of my mind.
All I knew was that, for the first time since I’d woken up to that letter, I felt…stronger. More purposeful. I needed Stevie, and for the first time, I had a thought of how I was supposed to convince her to come home.
Tome.
Brakkor was watching me as he chewed, and I—suddenly filled with a bloom of hope—smiled at him. “Idon’t care what everyone says about you, Brakkor, you’re not an idiot.”
He snorted and, since his mouth was full, lifted his middle finger in my direction, a useful piece of human communication my guys had all adopted.
I reached for my beer with my free hand as I bit into the surprisingly delicious sandwich. It was time for action.
In a few days, I’d be in New Orleans, and gods willing, so would Stevie. I had to convince her she had a place here with me.
On Eastshore.
Making the world a better place.
Chapter Fourteen
Stevie
My palms were sweaty.Oh God, my palms were sweaty, and iftheywere sweaty, what did that mean my armpits looked like?
I resisted the urge to check, and pressed my hands to my dress, then immediately cursed myself and pulled them away, not wanting to ruin the delicate beading.
Instead, I paced.
I paced from one side of the formal sitting room to the other in these stupid strappy heels that made my calves look awesome and my steps ridiculously small.
Still…I looked amazing. I could admit that.
When I’d left Eastshore, I’d taken most of the clothing Garrak had purchased for me. After all, what washegoing to do with a pair of size fourteen jeans? And it wasn’t like I was leaving him for good, I just needed to work some shit out.
Point is, I also grabbed this completely gorgeous gown, with the white chiffon and blue beading and small straps. I felt gangly and awkward and also completely gorgeous.
Well, I wanted to look good when I saw Garrak.
He’d be here tonight. Hewould.
I mean, I felt it in my chest, but Ialsochecked with one of the LeClair brothers’ goons manning the front door. I told him I was here with my—with Trevor Hendricks, and he sent me to wait in this room.
But I wasn’t waiting for Dad. I didn’t want toseeDad. I was waiting for Garrak. Not terribly patiently either.
I’d been back in New Orleans for three days now and had avoided my father—hadn’t even told him I was around. I crashed on friends’ couches, pretending each night that I was totally fine, and yesof courseI want another beer and to laugh about old times.
And pretend like I hadn’t spent the entire bus ride from the East Coast crying my eyes out.
God, I was so confused. I still didn’t know what I wanted to do.
But each morning that I woke up without Garrak, something became more clear: I needed him. Not just missing him, not justwantinghim…Ineededhim in a way I couldn’t explain. Maybe it was the Mate Bond he’d talked about, I dunno. All I knew was that I was slowly going nuts without him, and I needed to be with him.
And if that meant sitting on my ass and being fed bonbons in the bathtub and have orgasm after mind-numbing orgasm…then what in theabsolute fuckwas I complaining about?
