After dinner, Garen refuses my help with the dishes and sends me to the living room with another glass of wine so I canput my feet up. The storm howls outside as R&B plays, and I dreamily stare at the flames dancing in the fireplace.
When he steps into the room, the song changes. He closes his eyes, smiling to himself as he sways in place. I take in the sight of him, this ruggedly handsome mountain man with his thick beard and graying brown mop of hair. Then, he opens his eyes and catches me watching.
"Sorry, I just absolutely love this song," he says, smiling at me. "It's such a good song to dance to with someone."
"Did you want to dance?" I ask, surprised at my boldness.
"I would love to, but your ankle," he reminds me.
I set my wineglass on the table. "I'm sure one dance won't be a big deal."
Standing, I hobble over to him. When he takes me in his burly arms, I melt into the feel of him, my body igniting with a fiery spark just like when he carried me home. We dance in rhythm without speaking, letting our bodies do the talking. Thunder explodes above us as rain pelts the windows, and I'm overwhelmed by how magical this moment feels. Almost unreal.
An hour later, I'm wearing his oversized T-shirt and brushing my teeth with a guest toothbrush Garen had on hand. I crawl into bed and listen to the rain pounding outside as I snuggle under the heavy quilt. What a random day.
Like a dream.
7
Garen
My eyes flutter open to the dim room, rain still pouring outside. I yawn and stretch, and then the memory hits me. Bellamy is sleeping downstairs in my guest room. I sit up with a start.
Normally, I like to be alone in the mornings. Granted, I like to be alone most of the time, morning or not. But the thought of having breakfast with the curvy shifter excites me in a way I haven't felt in years. It surprises me.
I jump out of bed, hop in the shower, and throw on flannel pajama bottoms and an old concert T-shirt before padding downstairs. Bellamy is sitting by the fire, flipping through my coffee-table book on theLord of the Ringsmovies. She looks up when I walk in, and her smile makes my chest tighten.
"I love this movie series," she says, and I try to ignore my stomach flipping at her enthusiasm.
"Looks like we're stuck inside again unless you want to risk heading out to your car in this," I say, nodding toward the window.
She quickly shakes her head. "No. I don't trust myself driving down the mountain in this weather. Is that okay? I don't want to be a burden."
"Nothing about you is a burden," I say, turning on my heel as my cheeks catch fire. I hurry into the kitchen to cook breakfast.
We spend the morning lazily in front of the fire, Bellamy nose-deep in theLord of the Ringsbook while I quietly work on my latest epic fantasy. The fire crackles, keeping us cozy, and when lunch rolls around, I suggest homemade mushroom pizza.
"Are you serious?" she says.
"Why? Do you not like mushrooms?"
"No. I love mushrooms, butyoumake homemade pizza?"
"I actually have an outdoor pizza oven."
She grins at me, shaking her head.
"I'm not going to ask you to make pizza in the rain."
"Don't worry. My back patio is covered," I say, standing.
Later, when I come in with the delicious-smelling pie, I call out to her as I place it on the counter.
"I thought maybe we could have a movie marathon. I have theLord of the Ringstrilogy on DVD."
Bellamy squeals in the living room. I grin to myself as I slice the pizza.
"I take it that's a yes?" I call out.
