He glances at me immediately, softening, then leans in to press a quick kiss to my forehead. “Speed of healing in bond marks,” he says. “There’s some conflicting data depending on timing and—”
A low groan sounds behind me.
Saint. I feel him before I see him, his chest pressing warm against my back, ginger and molasses surrounding me as his arms slide around my waist. He pulls me close.
“Don’t get him started, princess,” he mutters into my neck. “He’ll never stop.”
I giggle, tipping my head back against his shoulder. “I like it when Graham tells me about what he’s reading.”
Graham huffs. “Yeah, didn’t you say she has a thing for intelligent men?”
I chuckle, warmth blooming in my chest as I think back to messages that started all this. Back to when Saint was just CoffeeGuy.
Saint snorts softly. “She likes all kinds of intelligence,” he says. “Even street smarts.”
I turn my head just enough to catch his eye, smiling. “I do like intelligence,” I say. “In all forms.”
Silas shifts into the nest at my feet. His hands slide over my bare legs.
I reach for them, all of them, pulling everyone closer together until there’s no space left between us.
“But mostly…” My voice softens. “I love you.”
Epilogue - Lark
3 months later
I spot Graham first. His blond head rises above the back of the booth a full three inches above where any normal person's would be. He's turned toward something Saint is saying, laughing at whatever it is, and the sight of all three of them laughing, waiting—it still does something to me that three months has done absolutely nothing to diminish.
Silas sees me before I make it halfway across the room. He stands and waits, and I walk to him like there's a string between us that gets shorter the moment I walkthrough the door.
He cups my face in both hands and kisses me. His thumbs brush my cheeks before he lets go. "Little bird," he murmurs against my mouth.
Graham is already on his feet by the time Silas releases me, unfolding himself from the booth with more enthusiasm than grace. His kiss lands warm and sure, his hands finding my waist automatically. "You're late."
"I had a meeting that ran a little over.”
Saint finds me last. He doesn't say anything. He just looks at me for half a second and then he pulls me in. His kiss is quieter than the others. But there's nothing small about it.
"Hi," he says.
"Hi," I say back.
They settle back into the booth. Saint pushes a margarita across the table toward me without a word. I wrap my hand around the salted rim and drag my tongue along it before taking a sip. All three scents surge at once.
"Princess." Saint's voice is low. "If you want to finish that margarita, you'll find another way to drink it."
Graham laughs and pulls me into his side. "I don't know. I like watching you do that."
Saint cuts his eyes at him. "Watching her do anything gets you fired up."
Graham considers this with complete sincerity. "Exactly."
Silas lets the moment settle. Then his dark, steady gaze finds mine across the table. "What was your meeting?"
"Not a meeting, exactly."
They all look at me with the same expression. Trying to sus out the difference.
