I want to turn around and return to my office, but my feet remain rooted to the ground. Taking a deep breath, I head out into the gardens. I’ve been in my office all morning; I just need some fresh air. Never mind that my window was open the whole time.
By the time I reach the tree Sienna is under, her eyes are closed against the sun. She is dozing, or close to it, and it occurs to me that she has probably not been sleeping well, either. I lean against the trunk on the other side, gazing up at the foliage. I can hear her breathing. Slowly, evenly.
The bark is rough against my back as I sink to the ground. I can feel the vibration of her breaths through the wood, or I am imagining I can. Either way, my wolf feels contented at the proximity.
I close my eyes. Just for a minute.
My fingers play with the edge of my tie. The fabric is cool under my fingers, and I think, with the loose, unguarded honesty of a man on the edge of sleep, that I’ve been picking out ties for a woman who made an offhand remark that she likes her men with a little color.
I have been dressing for her. Every morning. Like a little boy with a crush.
What are you doing, Steele? She has walked away from you, I remind myself. She is working diligently with her two handsome assistants in her corner office. She has stopped looking at you across conference tables. This is the point. It’s what you wanted. This is what will keep her alive.
So, why, asks the part of me that never lies, are you sitting on the other side of a tree where she is napping?
I don’t have an answer. All I know is her presence soothes me. It unfurls the knot of tension that has lived within me since I was a child. When I catch her scent, I feel like I can breathe easier.
I let myself rest for a while. The silence is peaceful, calming almost, and I drift off into a hazy sleep even though I know I shouldn’t. Just a few minutes. Not long.
I come to slowly, the way you do on a Sunday morning when there is nowhere to be. The sun has moved. The warmth on my face has shifted from forehead to cheek. My shoulders are loose in a way they have not been in weeks.
Then, I register that someone is watching me.
I open my eyes.
Sienna is sitting across from me.
Not behind the oak, where I left her. Here. Facing me. Legs drawn up to her chest, arms wrapped around them, chin resting on the top of one knee. Her blazer is off and folded under her as a cushion. Her hair has come half out of its twist. There is a single leaf caught in it that she hasn’t brushed away.
She is looking at me with an expression I can’t read.
I blink at her slowly. “When did you move?”
The corner of her mouth tugs. “Ten minutes ago.” Her voice is soft, the kind of soft you use around someone you don’t want to wake. “You fell asleep.”
I feel the heat climb up the back of my neck before I can stop it.
The Alpha of Silvercrest Pack does not fall asleep in his own garden in the middle of the working day, and certainly not near the woman he is trying, with the discipline of his entire being, to keep at arm’s length.
“I was…” I clear my throat, sit up straighter, rake a hand through my hair and discover it is sticking up at an angle. “The sun.”
“The sun,” she repeats gravely.
“It was warm.”
“It is warm,” she agrees, amusement in her eyes.
“I’d been working since breakfast.”
“Mm.”
I feel embarrassed and flustered, two emotions I never experience. But this woman seems to bring out parts of me that I never thought existed.
Slowly and deliberately, she lifts one hand and reaches across the short space between us. My whole body goes still. Her fingers don’t touch my skin; they find the knot of my tie instead and hover there, just close enough that I can feel the heat of her hand through the fabric.
“I like your tie,” she murmurs.
My pulse jumps so hard, I swear she can see it in my throat.
