“I can feed myself,” she protests, reaching for the bowl, but I simply pull a stool in front of her and sit down.
“You can.” I fill the spoon and hold it out.
“Grayson, I’m not a child.” Her cheeks are a bright red.
“Far from it.” I wait. When she doesn’t move, I bring the spoon to her lips. She makes a sound of pure affront but opens her mouth because her body has more sense than her pride does right now.
I feed her three more spoonfuls before she snatches the spoon back. I let her have it. She eats the rest herself, jaw set, pointedly not looking at me. Her hand is still unsteady.
“So,” I ask when the bowl is nearly empty, “what does a free woman do next?”
She stills. “I’m not free. I still owe you.”
“No. You don’t.”
“The money—”
“Was never a debt.” I hold her gaze. “I was always going to pay it off, Miranda.” She opens her mouth, but I keep going. “Whether you liked it or not.”
She stares at me. The kitchen is quiet. Her scent reaches me across the small distance between us, warm and clean with a hint of sweetness underneath that makes the animal in me want to press closer and breathe deeper.
I look down at the bowl, trying to control my emotions. “Once you’ve recovered, I’ll set you up wherever you want to go. I have properties in several states, any of them yours. I’ll transfer the deed, full ownership, no conditions attached. And I’ll establish an account that will make sure you never have to think about money again. You can work if you want. You don’t have to. Either way—”
Her hand closes around my wrist.
My wolf lunges so hard against my ribs that I lose my breath.
Everything in me goes absolutely still. Her fingers are cool, her grip light, but I feel every point of contact like a brand against my skin. My pulse kicks hard beneath her hand. The hunger that moves through me is a living thing, and I am abruptly, vividly aware of exactly how close she is sitting, of the loose fall of her hair, of the fact that she’s wearing my shirt and nothing else is between that fabric and her skin.
I remember the taste of her mouth. I want it again with an urgency that has nothing to do with reason.
“Grayson.”
I hear her from a distance.
“What are you talking about?” Her brows are pulled together. “Grayson. What are you talking about?”
I pull myself back, grounding myself in reality. “I’ll make sure you’re financially stable. For life. I’ll give you a clean start, somewhere new, completely on your own terms.”
She releases my wrist.
My wolf registers the loss immediately and makes its feelings on the matter both clear and uncharitable. I ignore it.
Miranda is quiet for a moment, her eyes moving across my face, a tension in her eyes. “Why do you think you have to do anything for me?”
Because you are mine. The words sit at the base of my throat, and I press them down.
“Can’t I do it because I want to?” I ask finally.
“There’s no such thing as a free lunch in this world.” She lifts her chin, eyes flashing. “I can’t take this from you, Grayson. Not from you.”
I reach out and take her jaw in my hand, gently, tilting her face up. “I don’t remember giving you a choice. This is a done deal.”
Two weeks ago, she would have said something nasty to me, but tonight she’s just looking down at her bowl. “I won’t take it. I won’t take your money or anything. I don’t want it.”
“I need you to take it, Miranda.” My hand winds around her nape, and when I nudge her head up to look at me, I let her see the vulnerability in my eyes. “I need you to do this for me. Take everything I’m giving you. If you leave—When you leave, we might not see each other anymore. I want to know that you have nothing to worry about. I’m doing this for me and Ethan.”
“Why?” The word is a bare whisper.
