He tears a piece off with those blunt white teeth, and I can’t stop watching the way his lips shine with honey. My chest feels warm, too full, like maybe I'm in deeper than I realized.
“This bread...” He closes his eyes, clearly enjoying it. “Amazing. From a troll-run bakery downtown. My freezer’s loaded. And the honey—straight from a dryad hive out in Willow Glen. You sure you don’t want to try it?” He tears off a corner and holds it out toward me. “Come on, Torres. Best snack ever.”
“Okay, just a taste. When in Rome and all.”
I take the piece from his fingers and pop it into my mouth. The bread is thick and soft with a faint chew at the crust, and the honey bursts across my tongue—warm, floral, just the right amount of sweetness. It clings to my lips, and for a second I swear the entire condo narrows down to golden honey and the way Magnus is watching me taste it.
“You’ve got something on your lip,” he murmurs.
I blush and fumble with a napkin, trying to wipe the stickiness away. “You did that on purpose,” I tease. “Gave me a messy snack.”
“Maybe.” His eyes lock with mine, steady and warm.There’s something in them I’ve wanted all week but refused to let myself hope for.
“Here, let me.” His hand is gentle as he reaches over, one thick finger brushing my bottom lip. He swipes the honey then lifts it to his mouth, sucking it off with a low, pleased sound.
My breath catches. It’s ridiculous how something so small makes my body tremble.
“You’re dangerous,” I whisper, my heart hammering.
Magnus huffs a quiet laugh, though it’s softer than usual. “I think you’ve got that backward.” His gaze lingers, searching my face like he’s trying to memorize it.
I shift, suddenly nervous and exhilarated all at once. “Magnus…”
He exhales, his broad shoulders slumping a little, as if he’s letting go of something he’s been holding tight. “Jamie, I… I owe you an apology. For what I said. After… last time. In my office.” He glances down for a moment but then locks his gaze with mine. “About it being only once. I thought it was the right thing. That I had to draw that line.”
He hesitates, his hand still hovering close to me, like he’s not ready to pull away. “But I can’t stop thinking about you. And pretending—it’s not fair to you. Or me.”
My heart pounds in my chest. I’ve been dreaming about this all week.
“I got scared.” He runs a hand through his mane then lets it fall to rest on the sofa between us, his eyes flicking to mine. “It’s not you. It’s me. I… I haven’t felt like this in a long time, and I panicked. And I’m the boss. That makes it even more complicated.”
I lean forward, a small smile tugging at my lips. “Magnus… maybe being the boss just means you get to admit when you’re vulnerable too.” My hand brushes briefly against his, not daring to linger, but enough to make him look at me again, and I swear I see some of the tension ease from his broad shoulders.
He chuckles nervously. “Being the boss usually comes with… less mess, more control. Not… whatever this is.”
I grin. “Oh, come on. You literally built a company on outsmarting everyone and keeping control. You can’t handle a little… chemistry with the new junior strategist?”
He groans, burying his face in his hands for a second, then peeks out between his fingers. “I can handle mergers, acquisitions, investor dinners… but not you, Jamie. Not like this.”
“And here I thought I was supposed to be intimidated by the CEO,” I tease, leaning back slightly, letting him see the twinkle in my eyes.
His ears, then his tail, twitch. “You’re not supposed to be afraid of me.”
“Good,” I say softly, leaning a little closer, “because I’m not.”
“Jamie,” he murmurs, and the weight of his gaze hits me, the tension in his shoulders, the pull of his tail swishing slightly.
I let my hands wander a little closer, tracing the linesof his broad shoulders. He leans into me, sighing softly, and I know we’re past teasing.
Magnus clears his throat. “I’ve been holding back all week,” he admits. “You don’t know how difficult it’s been.”
My hand hovers over his arm, unsure, then I let it drop, letting him see I’m not going anywhere. “I… I’d like a kiss,” I whisper, my throat dry.
His eyes darken, and I see that slight flush along his jawline. “Finally,” he mutters, leaning in. Our lips meet—hesitant at first, then slower, deeper, until everything else—the loft, the city, the world—blurs.
I’m kissing Magnus Trainor. Again. We’re on his enormous sofa, but that hardly matters—I’m already clambering into his lap like I can’t get close enough. It’s a little awkward, my legs tangling, my arms stretching to wrap around his massive shoulders, but then his hands settle at my waist, steadying me, pulling me in. My laugh dissolves against his mouth, and the kiss deepens, heat sparking low in my belly when my tongue brushes against one of his large teeth. He kisses like he means it—like he’s been starving—and the way he holds me makes it easy to forget everything else.
When we finally pull back, breathless, I grin. “You’re relentless.”
