That’s it.
That’s the moment when my control starts slipping.
Her bed is right there.
Sheets a little rumpled, like she made it in a hurry.
Pillows soft and inviting.
The faintest hint of her scent is just clinging to everything.
My Tiger rumbles.
Low.
Possessive.
Hungry.
Mine.
I set the bags down slowly, my gaze dragging across the room, taking in every detail like I’m committing it to memory.
Because this?
This is her space.
Her safe place.
And now I’m standing in it.
Something shifts in my chest.
Something deeper than instinct.
I turn back to her.
She’s hovering near the doorway, arms crossed now like she’s remembering she’s supposed to be mad at me.
“Okay,” she says, lifting her chin. “You brought the bags up. Great. Gold star for you. Now what?”
I take a step toward her.
She doesn’t move.
Another step.
Her breath hitches—just a little.
“Now?” I repeat, voice rougher than before.
My Tiger prowls under my skin, pleased.
“Now we talk.”
Her eyes narrow.
“Oh, we’re talking? That’s funny. Because last time we ‘talked,’ you told me you didn’t want me.”
