“Yeah.” His voice was rough, satisfied, still slightly dazed. “That was.”
She laughed, the sound bubbling up from somewhere deep in her chest. He lifted his head to look at her, his ears swiveling forward, and his expression was so openly besotted that it made her heart flip.
“What?” he asked.
“Nothing. Just… you.” She reached up to trace the line of his jaw, marveling at the softness of his fur. “You built me a nest.”
“I did.”
“You carried me across the lawn in my pajamas.”
“Also true.”
“And you just thoroughly ravished me in said nest.”
His mouth curved—that rare, devastating smile. “Guilty as charged.”
She pulled him down for a kiss, soft and sweet, and felt him melt against her. When they finally broke apart, he rolled to the side, gathering her against his chest and arranging the blankets around them with instinctive care.
“Stay,” he murmured into her hair. “Stay here tonight. Stay here every night.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?” He sounded almost surprised. “Just like that?”
“Just like that.” She nestled closer, breathing in his scent—wild and musky but most of all, home. “You built me a nest, Ben. The least I can do is sleep in it.”
His arms tightened around her, and she felt his chest rumble with something that might have been a laugh or might have been a purr.
“I meant what I said,” he told her quietly. “About mating for life. About this being permanent.”
“I know.”
“And you’re sure?”
“Ben.” She tilted her head back to meet his eyes. “I’ve been waiting my whole life for somewhere to belong. For someone to choose me. Not as a temporary thing, not as a convenience, but really and truly and forever.” She touched his face gently. “And then I found you. Grumpy and kind and so desperately trying to protect me from yourself that you didn’t notice I was falling in love with you the whole time.”
His breath caught. “Love?”
“Love.” She smiled at his stunned expression. “Is that okay?”
“Is it—” He made a sound that was half laugh, half groan. “Sara, I’ve been in love with you since you left bunny food by my fence. Since the moment you looked at me like I was someone worth knowing instead of someone to be afraid of.”
“You’re not scary.”
“I’m a six and a half-foot rabbit with claws and mating instincts and a serious attitude problem.”
“Like I said.” She kissed his chin. “Not scary.”
He laughed then, really laughed—a full, rich sound she’d never heard from him before. It transformed his face, softening the hard edges, making him look younger and lighter and impossibly beautiful.
“You’re impossible,” he said.
“And you love me.”
“God help me, I do.”
She grinned and burrowed closer, pulling one of the ridiculously soft blankets up to her chin. The nest was exactly as perfect as it had looked—warm and supportive and somehow shaped precisely to cradle her body.
