Nate shifted and burrowed his face into her neck. “Are they always like this?”
“Worse,” she said, smiling, her fingers tangling in his hair. “But they mean well.”
Nate trailed little kisses up her throat, and she made a noise of need as desire stirred, warm and languorous. Then she remembered the invite to the castle and groaned, “We can’t. You heard Kira. C’mon. I need to pee, anyway.” She rolled off the bed.
He fumbled her pillow to him and buried his face in it. “You wore me out. I can’t move.”
Huffing out a laugh, she rushed off to the bathroom. Ten minutes later, showered and toweled, she hurried out.
“Okay,” she drawled at Nate’s prone form as she pulled on her underwear and bra. “Whenever you’re ready, you can join me at the castle. I’ll enjoy the noon walk by myself—
He got off the bed and cast her an unimpressed stare before stalking off, raking back his mussed, inky hair. Darn, but he was a sight for sore eyes, his tight backside flexing, making her want to drag him back to bed.
Biting back a groan, she changed into jeans and a sweater, then straightened the bed covers, and tidied the room when Nate reappeared, rubbing his hair dry with a towel, another wrapped around his lean hips.
Ely watched him in the full-length vanity mirror in the corner as she hung up their coats. He stopped behind her, picked up her shorter, dark hair, and kissed her nape. “You gonna keep this color?”
“Maybe for a while.” She leaned against his warm, hard body. “If you don’t like it, I can ask Kira to change it once we get to the castle.”
“Ely, you could wear your hair pink, sport a dome if you want, and you’ll always be gorgeous. It’s you.”
The guy certainly knew how to turn her to mush.
“Besides…” He moved away, picked up his backpack from the floor near the bed, and set it on the bench. “Won’t it take time tinting your hair? It’s already past noon.”
She laughed. “No. Kira has the ability to change color. Before she and Týr became a couple, they had a tumultuous relationship. She turned some of his hair red.”
Nate smirked, opening the bag. “Would have been something to see Blondie sporting the reds.”
Ely shook her head. Guys.
A deep sigh escaped him as he dumped the contents of the bag on the bed. “Three t-shirts and socks. No extra pants. With everything that occurred last night, I didn’t want to leave the garage and bring my things over.”
Yes, she could understand that. “Go get them,” she said, twisting her hair and fastening the topknot. “I’ll make us something to eat in the meantime.”
A glimmer of a smile appeared as he dropped the towel and pulled on his boxers.
“What? I can make sandwiches,” she protested.
“Didn’t say anything.” He finished changing, wearing the used, greased-stained jeans again. “Be right back.” He walked out.
Knowing him, it would take five minutes, tops.
Ely put on socks and her boots, then headed for the kitchen and started the coffee pot.
As she got the mugs out from the cupboard, prickles skidded down her spine, and she stilled.
Someone watched her.
Not her friends. This felt different, a scraping of her psyche like a steel brush. It put all her senses on alert. Setting the beakers on the counter, she crossed to the front window wall.
A light layer of snow had fallen in the early hours, coating the deck. She couldn’t see anyone outside, and no footprints, either, except for Nate’s one marring the white stuff near the entrance before he dematerialized.
Darn it, they’d dealt with the pests in their lives, but then there were always those who crawled out from the gutter to cause more strife. But whoever this was had tracked them to the boathouse, and that annoyed her. Not even a moment to enjoy her off time with her mate without somefosserinfringing on their home lives, too.
She opened the front door and stepped out into the chilly air, wrapping her arms around her waist. “I know you’re there. Show yourself.”
The abrasive vibration grew stronger, the scent of smoky incense, bitter citrus, one she’d gotten a whiff of recently. The damn stalker!
