But also?
Words are currently not my strong suit.
Because she’s standing there, looking like that, smelling like that, and I’m suddenly very aware of how much I want to be able to touch her.
To kiss her.
To claim her in front of all and sundry.
Shit.
My body is trembling with yearning, and I can feel my Tiger scratching at my insides, demanding I stake my claim.
Mine.
Shhh. Don’t go there. Not yet.
I rein him back in—barely.
And I force my gaze to drop.
I see the bags in her hands.
Heavy.
Too many.
Without thinking, I step forward and take them from her.
All of them.
She keeps talking.
“I swear if you think you can just walk in here and push your weight around, you have got another think coming, buster—wait—what are you doing?”
I don’t answer.
I just turn and start walking.
She follows me automatically, still mid-rant, as I head toward the back of the shop like I’ve been here a hundred times.
Which I haven’t.
But it doesn’t matter.
Because my Tiger knows exactly where to go.
I follow the remnants of her scent. It’s like a map, outlining the pattern of her daily travels.
I go up the private staircase.
To her place.
She finally catches up, grabbing my arm.
“What are you doing?” she demands.
I glance down at her, shifting the bags in my grip like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
