I tucked my toes under his thigh, sending a little warmth his way.
“Tell me something good,” I mumbled.
“Like what?”
I shrugged, making my blanket move. “Something that will help me sleep.”
“We could ask Henrik to read some poetry.”
I laughed. “Not that desperate…yet.”
Just that little laugh buoyed my mood slightly.
“Something about baby Roux, maybe?” I suggested.
“State secret, sorry.”
I tried again. “Anand is an Indian name, I think.”
“Oui,” he murmured.
I thought that would be it, but a moment later, he went on quietly.
“My mother was backpacking through India when she met my father. It didn’t last, though. A few years later, she returned to France with my sister and me.”
His tone suggested a warm relationship with those two, but not his father. Which was strange, because shifters were great believers in destiny. On the other hand, destiny didn’t instantly serve up one’s perfect partner, as I’d learned the hard way.
“Do you ever visit him there?” I asked.
“No.”
One short syllable. A crystal-clear message. Papa Anand was not in the picture. I changed the subject.
“Is your mother a tiger?”
He shook his head. “Lynx, like my sister.”
“Oh. Cool.”
He shrugged, then tapped my shoulder. “What happened to going to sleep?”
“Still trying,” I admitted.
“So, something boring…” He thought it over, then chuckled. “Croquet.”
I shook a finger at him. “Don’t knock croquet, man.”
“Not knocking it. Just trying to think of something nice.”
The firelight reflected on his face, making his amber eyes glow. Gorgeous.
“You and Mina played croquet here as kids, right?” he asked.
I marveled at the tiny wonders taciturn tigers revealed at times. I didn’t think he knew that, let alone cared or appreciated the value of such a silly pastime.
I nodded.
“So, think of that. All the details. Starting with a misty morning and dewdrops on the lawn.”
