Page 60 of Late Harvest

Bash

Their lips brushed, the briefest touches of their tongues, and she kissed him with a tenderness that made his heart feel about a hundred sizes too large for his chest.

This wasn’t a scorching embrace. It was a shared vow.

A truth promise—even if the premise behind it was a fabrication. Something so pure and so true, Bash knew he’d treasure it as a golden memory for the rest of his life.

Arabella rested her forehead against his. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I didn’t know I needed that, but…” She sighed against his lips. “Thank you, Sebastian.”

“Thank you.”

Between them, Chicane emitted what could only be described as a honking sound.

She breathed out a laugh. “I believe the bunny prince requests the servants feed him.”

Bash hopped up. “Me! I volunteer as tribute. Teach me what to do.”

Arabella laughed again, her eyes sparkling. So different from the version of her he’d met that day in Brinder’s office. Who knew it would be such a gratifying adventure to uncover all the facets of this complicated, beautiful woman?

“So, uh, are you staying here tonight?” Arabella looked up from her laptop, where she was reviewing upcoming surgical cases. She’d told him it was her Sunday night habit, getting her in the mindset for the week.

They were sitting on opposite ends of her deep couch, her feet tucked under the cushion at his side, his own feet rested alongside her. Not touching. But close enough that he could brush against her…accidentally on purpose.

Bash put a bookmark in the engrossing wolf shifter romance he was currently consuming. “I thought I would. I’m sorry we didn’t discuss this during the week.”

That was a lie. He’d intentionally avoided the conversation, not wanting to risk hearing she’d changed her mind on the living arrangements and he’d need to find a different place to stay while they ‘dated.’ Because he longed to be in her home. With her. Near her. Breathing the same air. Such was the intensity of his infatuation with Arabella Remington.

“It’s ok. We were both busy. I just…I saw your luggage, so I figured…” she trailed.

“Oh, yeah. That’s just the basics. If you’re alright with it, I’ll have Jared ship more of my belongings. I can store them in your guest room.”

Arabella bit her lip. “There might be a tiny problem with that.”

“Oh?” Crap. Did she not want him to stay? This whole situation had evolved so quickly, and then he’d disappeared for a week, working long hours. He and Arabella hadn’t actually discussed the specifics of how this relationship would unfold. Oh, he’d bullied himself into her bed. Even if she never let him closer than that—Jesu forfend—a gnawing ache in him to be near her wouldn’t abate.

“I told you before. I don’t have any furniture in there.”

“At all?”

“I don’t have guests,” she snapped, and Bash realized they’d hit a nerve with the topic. Prickly, beautiful woman.

“That’s ok. How about I do some measurements and have Jared select some options for you? I’ll cover the cost⁠—”

“I can afford furniture, Sebastian.”

The soft, vulnerable woman from earlier had retreated behind the walls of her fortress. Enter the ice queen. Oh, that reminded him of “Enter Sandman.” Epic song. Did Arabella like it?

An impatient throat-clearing interrupted the music playing in his head. “I said I can pay for it. But I would appreciate it if you’d please ask…Jared?”—she cocked her head and he nodded that she got his name right—“to pick something out. I don’t care. I honestly never go in there. I couldn’t even tell you what color the carpet is. Or if it even has carpet. Or window coverings.”

Bash examined his couch-mate. Did her carpet match the drapes? Did she have a landing strip? Maybe a triangle? Perhaps full bush—he’d been with a woman sporting that and found it unexpectedly erotic. Though Remy struck him as too tidy a woman to let the bush roam free. Or…were her nether lips as bare as the ones currently pursed at him.

She’d removed the messy bun and pulled her lustrous hair into a low ponytail. He wouldn’t be able to wrap it around his fist, but he could tug it and⁠—

“Sebastian? You with me?”

He blinked his eyes and then shook his head, laughing. Fucking ADHD. “Sorry. I didn’t take my meds today. I’m off schedule.”

A pretty frown marred her largely unlined brow. For someone who scowled with such frequency, Arabella had very few lines in her forehead. Just slight indentations that smoothed out when she was relaxed—a status that was rare but he was determined to bring out more often. She had small lines at the corners of her eyes, and Bash wondered how hard-earned the smiles were that caused those.