Grace looked around and gasped. Her photographs, ones she’d taken through the years and sold through an intermediary in Florida, adorned the walls. The black and white shot above the mantle had been taken in the aftermath of one of the Seven’s headquarters being blown up, which used to happen with frequency. Rain poured onto the damaged mountain, giving a sense of finality along with longing. “Adare—”
“This way.” He grasped her arm and led her to an entry hall before the fireplace. “Jacki? We’ll catch up in a few,” he called back.
“Can’t wait,” the shifter returned.
Grace stumbled down the short hallway to double doors that Adare opened to reveal a suite with bedroom, office alcove to the right, sitting room to the left, and another door that must lead to a master bath. The bed must’ve been specially ordered. Far larger than king-sized, it was topped by a photograph she’d taken of the lake edging Realm headquarters, right when fall turned to winter and the water shone silver with mystery.
The rest of the room was utilitarian with a dark blue bedspread and no personal objects, save for a smaller photograph above the desk that she’d shot of a fledgling deer near the lake. Why did he have her photographs decorating his lair? Her heart warmed.
“Your lair seems more like a retreat,” she murmured, her eyes scratchy.
Adare moved to a heavy-looking mahogany dresser and pulled out a long-sleeved T-shirt, socks, and sweats. “Go take a shower, we’ll eat something, and then we’re having a talk.” He handed her the clothing, his eyes a burning black, tension rolling from him with more force than the wind had blown earlier.
She opened her mouth to argue and then, her skin itchy, took the clothes and turned for the bathroom without a word. A shower would center her, and she needed all her faculties if she was going to argue with the badass Highlander. For one thing, they really needed to discuss the way he’d threatened to choke her out so she’d ride his ex-girlfriend, the cougar shifter, up a snowy hill while a fight to the death happened because she’d screwed up on the internet.
Life was just getting weirder and weirder. She also had to deal with the completely inappropriate and bizarre jealousy she felt for said shifter.
Adare wasn’t Grace’s. He never would be.
Chapter 9
Adare’s body felt marginally better after a hot shower and clean clothing, although his temper kept pricking him from inside like a hot poker. He pushed his plate back, his stomach full and his limbs tired. Grace had been quiet during dinner, her mind seeming miles away. No doubt the human had never seen a bloody fight like the one they’d endured earlier, and she was probably in shock. His sweats had been too big for her, so she’d left them in their room. In his oversized shirt and socks, she looked adorably lost. He needed to get her into bed. To sleep. Just to sleep.
“Excellent, Benny.” As always. Most people didn’t realize the slightly crazy hybrid was an excellent cook who’d studied with the best through the years.
Ben, his long hair wet from his shower, nodded and swirled a glass of Scotch in one hand. “My pleasure. Let’s get some sleep and we’ll figure out how to acquire more explosives tomorrow.” He winked at Jacqueline. “Perhaps I could use my impressive powers of persuasion to start bargaining tonight?” His eyebrows wiggled, but his eyes were soft and serious.
Good Lord. He was making a play for the shifter.
“Then you’d just owe me more money.” Jacki winked and stood with her plate. “Adare? I would like a moment to talk and catch up, if you don’t mind.”
Grace finally looked up, and one of her elegant eyebrows arched.
Adare stood, taking Grace’s plate with his to the sink. “Let’s dicker over explosives tomorrow. Ben and I will pay ten percent more than last time, for the same order, because of the shorter timeframe. No more than that.” He looked around the demolished kitchen. While Benny could cook, he liked to destroy every pan at the same time.
Benny waved him off. “I’ll clean up. Whatever can’t be salvaged, I’ll just toss in the garbage. Again.”
Adare didn’t feel like arguing. “Thanks.” He pulled back Grace’s chair, and when she stood, almost woodenly, he guided her through the living room to his quarters. Once inside, he shut the door. “We need to talk.”
She moved toward the bed, sitting and looking so incredibly small on its wide expanse that he almost reconsidered the discussion. Her hair had dried, long and curly down her shoulders, and without makeup, her skin was nearly luminous, enhanced by her pink lips. “She still cares for you, you know,” Grace said.
He frowned, trying to figure out what she was talking about. “Huh?”
“Jacqueline. She wants to chat with you tonight because she still cares for you.” Grace tilted her head, her voice soft and her eyes inscrutable.
He ran a hand through his thick hair. “I’m mated, Grace.”
“So?” Grace tucked her legs up, crossing them. “That has nothing to do with feelings. What do you feel for her?”
Why the hell were they having this discussion? “She’s an old friend who mated somebody else. I hadn’t realized he’d passed on, but I haven’t kept in touch with anybody except the Seven for a long time.” Even if Jacki still had feelings for him, that was irrelevant. Forgetting the fact that he was more than likely going to die taking out Cyst headquarters, he had mated Grace, his eyes fully open. There could only be one mate.
Grace plucked at a string on her sock. Or rather, his sock, which reached above her knees. “You could have a second chance, you know.”
He leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms. “I told you five years ago that neither one of us would ever take that damn virus.” It’d probably kill them, and that wasn’t an exaggeration.
“Love might be worth it,” she said, facing him head on.
The kick to his gut had him biting back a growl. “I’m sorry you had to give that up, and that you didn’t have a choice in the matter.” It was the truth.
