Wild Darkness

He smiled and it warmed her. Man, she was in big trouble.

“Why don’t you look at the one in our bedroom first? Then you can decide.”

“I’m going to eat this Double-Double with cheese and suck down my milkshake first. Then I’ll look.”

He put the box he’d been holding down on the bed and followed her out. “I’ll get plates. Sit.”

“Okay then. Thanks.”

He brought plates and she put all the food out and they sat in companionable silence for some time as they ate.

Once they’d finished and cleaned up—he dried and she washed—they’d brought the rest of her things into the house.

She busied herself getting the layout of the closet and the built-in drawers. It was a weird thing she knew. But organizing stuff made her relax, enabled her to let go of all the insanity of the last months and focus on some problem solving. Not just where her socks would go, but how to organize the new teams going out into the field.

She turned to see him pocket a silver box. One she’d noticed on a side table earlier.

“What’s that?”

“An old silver piece. It doesn’t really go in here.” He looked her over with that face of his and she forgot why she had that little frisson of uncertainty.

“This is your home too. I want you to . . . feel that. Put things where you like them. Tell me what color you want walls to be and I’ll take care of it. Don’t like the bedding? I can change that.”

“You’re such a prince.” She grinned as she watched him as he stalked her way. “I have no doubt you can snap your fingers and make all sorts of things happen.”

“I am what I am, alamah, and you’ll need to get used to that too. I want you to be happy. I’ll do what it takes to make that happen.” He shrugged as if most people were that way when they weren’t. Despite how fast things had jumped from hot chemistry to ohmigod you’re it for me, it moved her that he was so focused on her well-being. No one had ever been that for her. It was overwhelming but in a good way.

“I’m really hard to live with.” She shrugged. And then she remembered the box. Funny thing about having such a sharp memory. There was a stylized L on the lid. Lydia perhaps?

He barked a laugh. “You can organize your books by color and spine size. I’ll make an effort to comply.”

“Oh that. Well, that’s why it’s a good thing I can have my own closet. I like things in their place. It makes me feel better to know exactly where stuff will be. But I’m sort of temperamental.”

Again he laughed. “I haven’t noticed.” And then he kept laughing.

“Har. Look, Mister, I’m just trying to be up front, as you seem to want to try this living together thing. I’m not all purple scarves and glitter like my sister.” Or flirting behind fans and elbow-length gloves and stuff.

“You bring that up as if I don’t know. You’re not anyone else but you, thank gods. I crave you, not anyone else. I admit it, I’m sort of strangely turned on in anticipation of seeing what your closet will look like once you’ve finished.”

She shook her head at him, unable to hold back a smile.

“I’m particular. I get up very early and I’m often bitchy about it. I am intolerant of generic ice cream. I only like Kraft macaroni and cheese or homemade. I am religious about my coffee. My mother will make you eat tofu and mung beans. You need to accept that. She’s a total hippie. Her name is Rain after all. She will talk to you at length about how awesome veganism is and how cake with no eggs or butter is just as good as cake with, and you have to nod and pretend such a thing could ever be true. I’ll need a workspace here where you will not lay your crap or borrow my pens.”

“Are you trying to scare me? Because you’re not. There are four bedrooms here. You can have any of the other three to use as an office. I won’t borrow your pens.” He snorted and she sent him a raised brow. “I promise. Or lay my crap on your work things. Though, alamah, I don’t lay my crap anywhere. I don’t even have crap. I have belongings.”

“I told you I was difficult.”

“But you’re worth it, so stop trying to scare me off.”

“I’m not nice. Or easy to be around.”

He paused, leaning over to take her hand. “What’s this about? Hm?”

She squirmed, uncomfortable that he knew her so well. “I don’t know what you mean. I just think it should be clear what you’re getting into.” She wasn’t a high-born fancypants Regency lady–type person. His wife probably had been gentle and had soft hands and never said boo. Helena didn’t have gentle manners, though, if she did say so herself, she’d wager her fashion sense was as good as, if not better than, Lydia’s had been.

He merely looked at her carefully. “Your scent changes. Just a small, nearly imperceptible bit when you’re being evasive. Did you know that?”

“No. I’ve never dated a Lycian before.”

“Of course you haven’t. Also, we’re not dating. You’re my woman. What aren’t you saying? You’re standing here in our home talking about how I should know what I’m getting into. And believe me, beautiful, beautiful witch, I do. You’re troublesome. You have a special talent for attracting the sort of people who seem to want to blow you up or shoot you.”

He kissed each eyelid with such gentleness she found her eyes stinging with unshed tears.

“You make me vulnerable.” She didn’t know how to be. Not emotionally vulnerable anyway. She could deal with physical vulnerability. It came with her job. She could work on being less of that. But emotional stuff?

He tipped her chin so he could look in her eyes. Alarm raced over his features when he saw the tears. “Of course I do. If there weren’t this enormity of feeling and connection between us, you’d easily evade feeling deeply for me. I would never hurt you. Not on purpose. Your heart is safe with me. Don’t you know that?”

She swallowed back the panic and the sob that wanted to escape. Oh gods, she was jealous of a woman who’d died more than two centuries before. What was wrong with her?

“What is it? How can I make it better?”

“The box. The one you just put in your pocket. It was hers, wasn’t it?”

She didn’t need to use a name and he was too grown up to evade or deny.

“Yes. I’m sorry. It’s been part of my home for so long I didn’t think. Are you bothered by it? She’s long gone, Helena.”

“I’ve never really been jealous before. Especially not of a centuries-dead woman. I’m sorry. I’m embarrassed to be so petty. I know you loved her. I don’t expect you to have been a monk before I was even born. I’m just . . .”

He drew the pad of his thumb down her cheek. “Shh. It’s not petty. It’s all right to feel that way. I loved her. She meant something to me and she always will. I can’t deny that or it would shame not only what I had with her, but myself as well. And what I have with you.”

“I don’t expect you to. Honestly, it’s not that you loved her. I understand that. I accept that. I’m just . . .”

“Just what?”

“Not that. Not gentle born. I have weapons calluses. I say bad words and I often come home covered in bruises, cuts and sometimes in a sling. I don’t know how to keep a genteel home for my husband and, well, that’s not me. I can’t be her. I can’t be like her. I’ve never ridden a horse!”

He smiled and kissed her quickly. “You’re you. My amazing female. Brave and strong. Smart. Angry and righteous. Full of love and passion. Protective. I love that. All of it. Lydia was part of my life then. But you’re my life now and forever. The difference is vast. I’d never want you to be anyone or anything but what you are. Because that’s what I love about you. And you don’t need to ride horses. We don’t have the time anyway.”

He brushed the hair back from her face and slid his palm around to cup the back of her neck. It was dominant and tender all at once.

“From the moment I first met you I knew you’d be important to me. We have so much time to build a future. A long, beautiful future. You are brilliant. Magnificent. My match in every way. Do you know what it means to a male like me that you have weapons calluses?” His grin told her all sorts of things and made her tingly.

“I feel like a baby next to you.”