“Or in your cottage. Either way, I want to wake up with you in the morning.”
“Rowan.” I wanted to. So badly. But we obviously were having a hard time keeping our hands off each other.
“I will never ask you for more than you’re willing to give. But I enjoyed sleeping with you, and I want to do it again. If we decide to fool around—” His eyes sparkled. “I will let you lead.” He bent his head and whispered in my ear. “I’ll even let you tie me to the bed, so my hands won’t wander.”
My breath caught.
“Or, if you’re concerned about your hands wandering, maybe you’re the one who should be secured.”
“Gods,” I choked. “Rowan.”
He laughed and tugged me toward the Keep. “Come. Lunch awaits. Your mother called me earlier and requested entrance to the Keep a few days from now.”
“Wow. Mom is being nice.” Cliona could walk right through Rowan’s wards if she chose. Sometimes she did, but she usually tried to play by the rules.
“I am not Caelan.” There was an edge to his voice that made me still.
“Did something happen?”
He pulled my hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to my wrist. “Our meetings together rarely go well. Nothing to worry about. Posturing is inevitable with the Lords.”
He held the door open for me. Lunch had already been spread out on the table. Comfort and routine were doing much to heal my body and soul.
With a smile at Rowan, I took a seat and dug in.
Mom and Moirashowed up at the door a few nights later grinning like thieves after a successful mission.
I frowned. “Do I need to worry about this?”
Moira’s expression grew innocent. Too innocent. “Worry about what?”
Mom held up a bottle of booze and a large thermal bag. “I brought taco fixings!”
Both women breezed in. Moira dropped a kiss on my cheek and followed Mom to the kitchen. When Mom opened the bag and started pulling things out, I inspected the meat very thoroughly after her joke about fae eating people for dinner.
She clicked her tongue. “Honestly, Evie. It’s ground beef. The other one is grilled chicken.”
Moira dug through the cabinets until she found a cocktail shaker, then started mixing an alarming number of ingredients inside.
“Just checking,” I said. “One can never be too sure.”
“Plus,” Mom added, an evil glint in her eyes, “you don’t use that kind of meat for tacos. That’s more steak night fare.”
Moira snickered.
“I’m not sure when to take you seriously anymore.”
“Just get the sour cream out of the fridge, will you?” Mom rolled her eyes and unpacked the rest of the bag. She’d even remembered to bring cilantro.
Once we fixed our plates, Moira brought over three drinks and set them on the coffee table. I clicked on the fireplace and turned on some music. We didn’t speak all that much until we finished.
“What is this?” I asked Moira, swirling the pink drink around in my glass.
“Some kind of raspberry mixed drink. I can’t remember the name. Delicious, right?”
It really was.
Mom took a sip. “I’ll have that recipe. You have my number.”
