My eyes widen, and it hits me like a ton of bricks.
I’ve been a jackass.
Not surprising on most days, but this was unintentional. The family’s been out and about a lot. My wife wants to mix more in the community, so people aren’t likely to side with the gnome in whatever nonsense she has planned. However, when we go out, we’re configured as normal couples. But my primary’s attempted to pay attention to her new mate from time to time. She’s not made a big display of it, but she’s also not shied away from showing her love.
I’ve barely acknowledged his presence in public outside of the usual guys being guy’s shit. He thinks I’m ashamed of him. He’s asking that incredulously because he’d just accepted that I was hiding our relationship. It had to be painful, given what I know of his past, but he never once tried to make an issue of it. Now I have to tell him ‘no’, which will hurt him more, but not because I’m ashamed. I have other plans. That doesn’t mean I will not remedy the situation I’ve caused as soon as possible.
“No, but I have something special in mind.”
His face falls for a split second, but he rolls off the bed. “Just a few and I’ll be ready, love.” He pads into the bathroom, pulling the door shut.
I sigh. Not much of a leap to figure out he’s upset. I can only hope that what I have to show him will ease that a bit. I have every intention of fixing the other issue later, but I need some time to plan. If I’m going to make a statement, it’ll be a bloody statement, and he’ll know where he stands.
Nothing halfway, that’s me.
Rafe pads out in a pair of tight, threadbare jeans that stress every inch of his lithe frame. I blink, eyes roving from bare feet to low-slung waistband to body mods to his attractive mane. I’ve never seen a single pair of jeans make someone look so delicious in my entire existence. “Ready, then?”
He nods and comes over. I take his hand, squeezing it and kissing his knuckles. I enjoy watching the slight flush he’s trying to hide. Giving me a shy grin, he mirrors the action. “I am.”
I blink us to the hallway on the bottom floor of the house, lips curved in a mysterious grin. He looks around, expression confused. I led him to the set of ornate double doors.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been to this floor before,” he muses, looking around. “Is this where you store the bodies?”
I roll my eyes. “Of course not. I don’t have a sodding mortuary on site, and you know the wife’s edict about dead people in the house. One drop of blood on the floor and she’d be on it like a mystery-solving pup.”
He grins. “Hey, you learned the game.”
Chuckling, I nod. “Sods at the bar taught me. If I hadn’t mentioned it, you’ve got a right decent crowd living in that place. Your wife and I have had a good time getting to know everyone, even briefly.”
His lips curve. “That’ll make the cat happy to hear. She’s a fan of the kumbaya.”
“She’s also a fan of hanging people by their toes until they bleed out.”
“Layers? What would we be without them?” he says, giving me a small smile.
“We’d be more boring than most people already are.” I let go of his hand, turning to stand. “It occurred to me that you’ve gone through a lot of shit. Between the exes and the currents, my primary and me... you’ve had a lot of pain come your way. You seem to keep rolling, not asking for a bloody thing in return for your consideration. That feels wrong to me.”
He looks like he wants to speak, but I shake my head. “Let me finish.” I grin, feeling my excitement ramp up a bit. “I got you something.”
“Is it in the room?”
I grin and throw open the doors dramatically—I can’t help myself—to reveal the studio. “No. Itisthe room.”
His eyes widen as he steps into the renovated room, taking in the setup with his mouth hanging open. Like a little kid, he goes running over to the pottery wheel, then to each of the easels, and then pulls open cabinets and doors. I have no idea what supplies Benton got, but by the look on Sampson’s face, they must be top of the line. “You—you...”
I don’t think I’ve seen anyone look so floored over a gift outside of the minx. They both expect no one to do anything for them. Whatever happened in the past, every single idiot who ever hurt them should be flayed and served in bloody chili.
Rushing over, he nearly knocks me to the floor with a crushing hug. I feel the gratitude overflowing through our bond, and I open myself up a little. His heart almost floors me again, and I swallow hard. I feel like a sodding superhero again.
Hell in a handbasket. It clicks. Everything comes into focus.
I pull back a little and give him a gentle smile. “Christ, mate. I need to bring you shit more often. It’s right nice to see someone you love so happy.”
It clicks. He nods and tugs on my hand, pulling me over to the couch. As if he'd just got it, he stops cold and turns to look at me. “You... love?”
Giving him a rueful smile, I tug him back and kiss him, then let go. “Yes, yes, you bloody reprobate. Sodding women were—” Before I finish, he’s knocked me onto the couch and has me pinned into a hungry kiss.
I suppose there’s time for more conversation later.
