We round the corner before Miranda says a word.
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“I really did.”
“Grayson.”
I keep my pace steady. My free hand is in my pocket because if I take it out, I will go back and put it through something brick. The wolf is still pacing in my chest, not satisfied, never going to be satisfied with words alone.
I keep my voice casual. “Why did you let them talk to you like that?”
She glances up at me. Her cheeks are still flushed. “Grayson, we’re under constant public scrutiny right now. One wrong move from me and we throw the whole case. You could lose Ethan.”
I stop walking. “Look at me.”
She does, reluctantly. “I don’t care what anyone says to me,” she continues quietly. “I can bear it. For Ethan.”
The thing in my chest goes feral.
I turn her toward me by both shoulders, careful with the bandaged arm. The midday street keeps moving around us. I don’t see it.
“Well, I can’t bear it,” I tell her hoarsely. “Don’t you ever let anybody talk to you like that again. I don’t think I’ll be able to control myself the next time.”
She blinks up at me, her eyes going wide and uncertain. That look on her face makes me wonder when she’ll ever truly believe me.
I bring my hand up and push a strand of her hair off her cheek. My thumb brushes the shell of her ear. She inhales sharply.
“Miranda.” My voice has gone low and rough. “Everything that affects you matters to me. And if you don’t know why by now, I might have to throw you in the lake again.”
She bristles immediately, just like I knew she would.
“Don’t you dare.”
I grin.
There she is.
I take her hand in mine and kiss her palm. “Come on. I’m not going to let them ruin our date. Let’s have lunch.”
I made a reservation in a fancy French place that has too many weird sounding names on the menu. But Miranda enjoys the food. When she converses with the waiter in French, I want to kiss that mouth of hers.
“You speak French?”
She shifts awkwardly in her seat. “I took French in high school. And a bit of German.”
“That’s so hot.” I grin, and she flushes at my blunt words. “So what? If you’re in…emotionally charged situations, can you suddenly start speaking in French?”
“Emotionally charged…?” She gives me a confused look before my meaning registers on her. Her face turns a bright red. “Grayson!”
I wink at her, and she kicks me under the table. I take the hit, laughing. “Now that’s all I’ll be daydreaming of today.”
“You’re such a pervert.” She shakes her head, but she’s trying to hide her smile.
“Anything else you want to do today?” I ask, watching her chase the last olive around her plate.
“No more shopping,” she says immediately. “Unless you actually need something for yourself.”
I lift my fork and then pause. “Now that you mention it.” I clear my throat. “I should probably grab a few things. I’ve been meaning to replace some shirts.”
