“No, I told you.” Corin shrugs. “Didn’t I?”
She shakes her head as she rounds the desk, and he swivels in his chair to face her. Before he can rise, she lays one hand on his shoulder and the other on his cheek. Bends and kisses him deeply, her hair falling to partially cover their faces, but its short length cannot hide the clash of lips and tongue.
My heart beats faster, blood pooling in my groin.
So beautiful to watch two lovers together. If I were kissing her or being kissed, I’d miss many of the myriad subtle details showing her pleasure: the way her fingers flex as she holds him close, the arch of her throat and fluttering of her lashes as she savors his taste, the clench of his hands on the chair arms as he resists taking control.
Cranberry and apples. Cranberry and cedar. A hint of woodsmoke and midnight forest from behind me, and even a gust of my own scent; which I rarely notice but can’t miss now because it’s pouring off me. Johanna and Corin smell glorious together, with or without the tinge of Dan’s and my arousal.
As Johanna breaks the kiss, her hand slips from Corin’s shoulder down along his chest to his groin. The desk obscures my view, but Corin arches and gasps. Apples and cedar flare, and his lips draw up in a snarl. His teeth flash, tongue touching the tips of canines, suggesting he’s desperate to bite and initiate a bond between them. But no, he holds onto the chair rather than grabbing for her.
Such admirable control.
Then, she stands and stalks away, back to the door. She pauses, turning her head just far enough to glance over her shoulder. “Payback will be sweet.”
The door closes behind her.
Corin’s still gasping. He manages a shaky smile at me. “Your turn with her Friday. Still interested?”
All the more—in her, Dan,andhim, or better still: all three together.
Chapter 29
Delay Before Gratification
CORIN
Johanna makes me wait all afternoon—and halfway through the evening before we get a chance to talk. She delights in delay. Every time I approach, she whisks herself in another direction, first pleading the need to focus on business decisions while at the office, about which I can’t complain, since we’ve always done our best to keep work and home separate.
I wade through my own pile of work and keep away from her, despite aching at the distant sound of her voice on the other side of our shared office wall.
Yet, back at the house, she still manages to stay out of reach. When I’m on one side of the kitchen preparing dinner, she’s on the other. Instead of sitting next to each other at the table, she takes the far end. She banishes me to the living room while cleaning up. At last, with the dishwasher humming away in the distance, we’re both in the same room again; I try to sit next to her on the sofa in the living room, and she shifts to a chair opposite.
Worse, she enlists Anamaria’s help. My daughter oversees the dinner, places at the table, and assigns cleanup duties.
After tidying up, when Johanna claims a need to change into something more comfortable, Anamaria takes undue pleasure in blocking my way when I would’ve followed up the stairs. Johanna returns in a soft, fuzzy bathrobe over a lacy, pink satin nightgown, showing flashes of leg as she settles back on the sofa. Anamaria’s quick to settle sideways next to her, leaving no room for me as they chatter away about the possibilities of creating additional structured communities for older singles of any designation.
My patience is in shorter supply than it usual—but two can play at this game.
I match her more comfortable clothing by removing my button-down, leaving only my undershirt. It’s thin enough that I feel a chill, except when I catch her casting glances my way, thinking I’m not looking. Her scent also betrays interest, settling decidedly on the sweet side, though with a residual tang.
Anamaria’s laughing silently the whole time, her nose twitching as she scents Johanna then me, and vice-versa. She favors Johanna at the moment, but I know my daughter well enough to offer bait to redirect her.
“Did you enjoy your lunch date?” I ask Johanna in a carefully neutral tone.
She flushes, beautiful shades of pink to red covering her cheeks and spreading down her chest.
“Aunty Jo, you didn’t!” Not a question, a demand. Anamaria whirls and claps her hands in excitement. “Who was it? The delicious Dan? The nummy Nathan?”
I choke a little at the descriptions, glad I’m nowhere on that list. It’s clear she picked up on their interest the other day—hard for an omega to miss the way we all were perfuming, even if Johanna’s beta nose could barely catch any of it.
“It was just lunch with Dan,” Johanna says, casting a narrow-eyed glance my way.
“It’s never just ‘lunch’ when it’s with an old lover.” Anamaria wags a warning finger. “Where did he take you? Any stolen kisses? I need details!”
“He brought a picnic lunch that we ate in the conference room, and it was lovely.” Johanna’s gaze flashes my way as she ignores Anamaria’s second questions, the lack of denial a clear suggestion there were some kisses other than the ones with me. “I enjoyed catching up with Dan while Corin ate with Nathan.”
My daughter’s focus switches to me; sadly, she’s bribable by both sides. “Dad! Are you dating too? Nathan? For an older alpha, he’s sort of hunky.”
